Origin of the War in the Peninsula--Siege of Saragossa--Murderous
Character of the War--Success of the French in Portugal--Battle of
Rolica--Battle of Vimiero--Convention of Cintra--The French
evacuate Portugal--Preparations of Napoleon for another Campaign--He
subdues the Country, and enters Madrid--Address to the Spanish
People--Napoleon recalled by the War with Austria--Soult and
Ney intrusted with the Command of the French Army in Spain--Retreat
of Sir John Moore--Battle of Corunna--Death of Sir John Moore--The
British Army sail for England.
Before entering into a particular account of the battles in which I
was myself an actor, it might not be uninteresting to my readers to
take a hasty survey of the war which was now raging in the Peninsula,
and the causes which led to British intervention. In doing this, I
can, of course, in so small a work, only allude to its principal
events, and relate some anecdotes, interesting, as well from their
authenticity, as from the patriotism of which they were such bright
examples.
Charles IV., a descendant of the Spanish Bourbons, in 1807, occupied
the throne of Spain. He was feeble in mind, impotent in action, and
extremely dissolute in his habits. Writing to Napoleon, he gives an
account of himself which must have filled with contempt the mind of
the hard-working emperor for the imbecile king who thus disgraced a
throne. “Every day,” says he, “winter as well as summer, I go out to
shoot, from morning till noon. I then dine, and return to the chase,
which I continue till sunset. Manuel Godoy then gives me a brief
account of what is going on, and I go to bed, to recommence the same
life on the morrow.” His wife, Louisa, was a shameless profligate.
She had selected, from the body-guard of the king, a young soldier,
named Godoy, as her principal favorite; and had freely lavished on
him both wealth and honors. He was known as the Prince of Peace. A
favorite of the king, as well as queen, the realm was, in reality,
governed by him. Ferdinand, Prince of the Asturias, and heir to the
throne, hated this favorite. Weak, unprincipled, and ambitious,
unwilling to wait until the crown should become his by inheritance,
it is said that he concerted a scheme to remove both his parents
by poison. He was arrested, and imprisoned. Natural affection was
entirely extinct in the bosoms of his parents. Louisa, speaking of
her son, said that “he had a mule’s head and a tiger’s heart;” and
history informs us that if injustice is done here, it is only to the
tiger and mule. Both king and queen did all they could to cover his
name with obloquy, and prepare the nation for his execution. But the
popular voice was with Ferdinand. The rule of the base-born favorite
could not be tolerated by the Spanish hidalgos; and the nation,
groaning under the burdens that the vices and misrule of Charles
had brought upon them, looked with hope to the youth, whose very
abandonment had excited an interest in his favor. From the depths of
his prison he wrote to Napoleon, imploring his aid, and requesting an
alliance with his family. Charles, too, invoked the assistance “of
the hero destined by Providence to save Europe and support thrones.”
A secret treaty was concluded between the emperor and Charles, whose
object was nominally the conquest of Portugal; and thus French
troops were brought to Madrid. A judicial investigation was held on
the charge against Ferdinand, which ended in the submission of that
prince to his parents. But the intrigues of the two parties still
continued. In March, 1808, hatred of Godoy, and contempt of the king,
had increased to such a degree, that the populace of Madrid could no
longer be controlled. The palace of the Prince of Peace was broken
open and sacked. The miserable favorite, allowed scarcely a moment’s
warning of the coming storm, had barely time to conceal himself
beneath a pile of old mats, in his garret. Here, for thirty-six
hours, he lay, shivering with terror and suffering. Unable longer to
endure the pangs of thirst, he crept down from his hiding-place, was
seen, and dragged out by the mob. A few select troops of the king
rushed to his rescue; and, half dead with fright and bruises, he
was thrown into prison. The populace, enraged by the loss of their
victim, now threatened to attack the palace. Charles, alarmed for
his own safety, abdicated in favor of Ferdinand, and that prince was
proclaimed king, amid the greatest rejoicings. But Charles wrote to
Napoleon that his abdication was a forced one, and again implored his
aid. Soon after, determined to advocate his cause in person, he went
to Bayonne to meet the emperor, accompanied by Louisa and Godoy, and,
with them, his two younger sons. Ferdinand, jealous of his father’s
influence with Napoleon, determined to confront him there. His people
everywhere declared against this measure. They cut the traces of
his carriage; they threw themselves before the horses, imploring
him, with prayers and tears, not to desert his people. But Ferdinand
went on. The emperor received them all with kindness. In a private
interview with him, Charles, Louisa, and Godoy, willingly exchanged
their rights to the uneasy crown of Spain for a luxurious home in
Italy, where money for the gratification of all their voluptuous
desires should be at their command. Ferdinand and his two brothers,
Carlos and Francisco, were not so easily persuaded to surrender
the crown of their ancestors. But Napoleon’s iron will at length
prevailed, and the three brothers remained not unwilling prisoners
in the castle of Valencey. The throne of Spain was now vacant.
The right to fill it was assumed by the emperor, in virtue of the
cession to him, by Charles, of his rights. The council of Castile,
the municipality of Madrid, and the governing junta, in obedience to
Napoleon’s dictate, declared that their choice had fallen upon Joseph
Bonaparte, King of Naples. He was already on his way to Bayonne.
On the 20th of July he entered Madrid; and, on the 24th, he was
proclaimed King of Spain and the Indies.
But, if the rulers of Spain, and a few of her pusillanimous nobles,
had agreed to accept a king of Napoleon’s choice, not so decided
the great body of the people. They everywhere flew to arms. To
acknowledge the authority of the self-constituted government, was to
declare one’s self an enemy to the nation. Assassinations at Cadiz
and Seville were imitated in every part of Spain. Grenada had its
murders; Carthagena rivalled Cadiz in ruthless cruelty; and Valencia
reeked with blood. In Gallicia, the people assembled and endeavored
to oblige their governor to declare war against France. Prompted by
prudence, he advised them to delay. Enraged at this, the ferocious
soldiers seized him, and, planting their weapons in the earth, tossed
him on their points, and left him to die. In Asturias, two noblemen
were selected, and sent to implore the assistance of England. In
England, the greatest enthusiasm prevailed. The universal rising of
the Spanish nation was regarded as a pledge of their patriotism, and
aid and assistance was immediately promised and given. Napoleon,
with his usual promptness, poured his troops into Spain. They were
successful in many places; but the enemy, always forming in small
numbers, if easily defeated, soon appeared in another place. The
first permanent stand was made at Saragossa. Palafox had, with some
hastily gathered followers, disputed the passage of the Ebro, and,
routed by superior force, had fallen back upon this city, whose
heroic defence presents acts of daring courage of which the world’s
history scarcely furnishes a parallel. It was regularly invested
by the French, under Lefebre Desnouttes. The city had no regular
defences, but the houses were very strong, being vaulted so as to
be nearly fire-proof, and the massy walls of the convents afforded
security to the riflemen who filled them. The French troops had at
one time nearly gained possession of the town, but, for some unknown
reasons, they fell back. This gave confidence to the besieged. They
redoubled their exertions. All shared the labor,--women, children,
priests and friars, labored for the common cause,--and in twenty-four
hours the defences were so strengthened that the place was prepared
to stand a siege. But the next morning Palafox imprudently left the
city, and offered battle to the French. He was, of course, quickly
beaten; but succeeded in escaping, with a few of his troops, into
the city. A small hill rises close to the convent of St. Joseph’s,
called Monte Torrero. Some stone houses on this hill were strongly
fortified, and occupied by twelve hundred men. This place was
attacked by Lefebre, and taken by assault, on the 27th of June, 1808.
The convents of St. Joseph’s and the Capuchins were next attacked
by the French, and, after a long resistance, taken by storm. The
command of the besiegers was now transferred to General Verdier.
He continued the siege during the whole of July, making several
assaults on the gates, from which he was repulsed, with great loss.
The Spaniards, having received a reinforcement, made a sortie to
retake Monte Torrero; but were defeated, their commander killed,
and most of their number left dead. On the 2d of August, the enemy
opened a dreadful fire on the town. One of their shells lighted upon
the powder magazine, which was in the most secure part of the city,
and blew it up, destroying many houses and killing numbers of the
besieged. The carnage, during this siege, was truly terrible. Six
hundred women and children perished, and above forty thousand men
were killed.
It was at this place that the act of female heroism so beautifully
celebrated by Byron was performed. An assault had been made upon one
of the gates, which was withstood with great courage by the besieged.
At the battery of the Portillo, their fire had been so fatal, that
but one artillery-man remained able to serve the gun. He seemed to
bear a charmed life. Though shot and shell fell thick and fast around
him, he still stood unharmed, and rapidly loaded and discharged his
gun. At length, worn out by his own exertions, his strength seemed
about to fail. There was little time, in a contest like this, to
watch for the safety of others; but there was one eye near which not
for a moment lost sight of him. Augustina, a girl twenty-two years
of age, had followed her daring lover to his post. She would not
leave him there alone, although every moment exposed her to share
his death. When she saw his strength begin to fail, she seized a
cordial, and held it to his lips. In the very act of receiving it,
the fatal death-stroke came, and he fell dead at her feet. Not for
a moment paused the daring maid. No tear fell for the slain. She
lived to do what he had done. Snatching a match from the hand of a
dead artillery-man, she fired off the gun, and swore never to quit it
alive, during the siege. The soldiers and citizens, who had begun to
retire, stimulated by so heroic an example, rushed to the battery a
second time, and again opened a tremendous fire upon the enemy. For
this daring act, Augustina received a small shield of honor, and had
the word “Saragossa” embroidered on the sleeve of her dress, with the
pay of an artillery-man. Byron thus commemorates this heroism, in his
own transcendent manner:
“The Spanish maid, aroused,
Hangs on the willow her unstrung guitar,
And, all unsexed, the anlace hath espoused,
Sung the loud song, and dared the deeds of war.
And she, whom once the semblance of a scar
Appalled, an owlet’s ’larum filled with dread,
Now views the column-scattering bayonet jar,
The falchion flash, and o’er the yet warm dead
Stalks with Minerva’s step, where Mars might quake to tread.
Ye who shall marvel when you hear her tale,
O! had you known her in the softer hour,--
Marked her black eye, that mocks her coal-black veil,--
Heard her light, lively tones in lady’s bower,--
Seen her long locks, that foil the painter’s power,--
Her fairy form, with more than female grace,--
Scarce would you deem that Saragossa’s tower
Beheld her smile in danger’s Gorgon face,
Thin the closed ranks, and lead in glory’s fearful chase!
Her lover sinks--she sheds no ill-timed tear;
Her chief is slain--she fills his fatal post;
Her fellows flee--she checks their base career;
The foe retires--she heads the sallying host,
Who can appease like her a lover’s ghost?
Who can avenge so well a leader’s fall?
What maid retrieve, when man’s flushed hope is lost?
Who hang so fiercely on the flying Gaul,
Foiled by a woman’s hand, before the battered wall!”
On the 4th of August, the French stormed the city, and penetrated
as far as the Corso, or public square. Here a terrible conflict was
maintained. Every inch of ground was manfully contested; but the
enemy’s cavalry was irresistible, and the besieged began to give
way. All appeared lost. The French, thinking the victory gained,
began to plunder. Seeing this, the besieged rallied, and attacked
them. They succeeded in driving the enemy back to the Corso. They
also set fire to the convent of Francisco, and many perished in its
conflagration. Night now came, to add its horrors to the scene. The
fierce contest still raged on. The lunatic asylum was invaded, and
soon the dread cry of “Fire” mingled with the incoherent ravings
of its inmates. “Here,” says one writer, “were to be seen grinning
maniacs, shouting with hideous joy, and mocking the cries of the
wounded; there, others, with seeming delight, were dabbling in the
crimson fluid of many a brave heart, which had scarcely ceased to
beat. On one side, young and lovely women, dressed in the fantastic
rigging of a mind diseased, were bearing away headless trunks and
mutilated limbs, which lay scattered around them, while the unearthly
cries of the idiot kept up a hideous concert with the shouts of the
infuriated combatants. In short, it was a scene of unmingled horror,
too fearful for the mind to dwell upon.” After a severe contest and
dreadful carnage, the French forced their way into the Corso, in
the very centre of the city, and before night were in possession
of one-half of it. Lefebre now believed that he had effected his
purpose, and required Palafox to surrender, in a note containing
only these words: “Headquarters, St. Engrucia,--Capitulation.”
Equally laconic the brave Spaniard’s answer was: “Headquarters,
Saragossa,--War to the knife’s point.”
The contest which was now carried on stands unparalleled. One side
of the Corso was held by the French soldiery; the opposite was in
possession of the Arragonese, who erected batteries at the end of
the cross-streets, within a few paces of those the French had thrown
up. The space between these was covered with the dead. Next day,
the powder of the besieged began to fail; but even this dismayed
them not. One cry broke from the people, whenever Palafox came among
them, “War to the knife!--no capitulation.” The night was coming
on, and still the French continued their impetuous onsets. But now
the brother of Palafox entered the city with a convoy of arms and
ammunition, and a reinforcement of three thousand men. This succor
was as unexpected as it was welcome, and raised the desperate courage
of the citizens to the highest pitch of enthusiasm. The war was now
carried on from street to street, and even from room to room. A
priest, by the name of Santiago Suss, displayed the most undaunted
bravery, fighting at the head of the besieged, and cheering and
consoling the wounded and the dying. At the head of forty chosen men,
he succeeded in procuring a supply of powder for the town, and, by
united stratagem and courage, effected its entrance, even through
the French lines. This murderous contest was continued for eleven
successive days and nights,--more, indeed, by night than by day, for
it was almost certain death to appear by daylight within reach of
houses occupied by the other party. But, concealed by the darkness of
the night, they frequently dashed across the street, to attack each
other’s batteries; and the battle, commenced there, was often carried
into the houses beyond, from room to room, and from floor to floor.
As if not enough of suffering had accompanied this memorable siege,
a new scourge came to add its horrors to the scene. Pestilence, with
all its accumulated terrors, burst upon the doomed city. Numbers of
putrescent bodies, in various stages of decomposition, were strewed
thickly around the spot where the death-struggle was still going on.
The air was impregnated with the pestiferous miasma of festering
mortality; and this, too, in a climate like Spain, and in the month
of August! This evil must be removed,--but how? Certain death would
have been the penalty of any Arragonese who should attempt it. The
only remedy was to tie ropes to the French prisoners, and, pushing
them forward amid the dead and dying compel them to remove the
bodies, and bring them away for interment. Even for this office, as
necessary to one party as the other, there was no truce; only the
prisoners were better secured, by the compassion of their countrymen,
from the fire.
From day to day, this heroic defence was kept up, with unremitting
obstinacy. In vain breaches were made and stormed; the besiegers were
constantly repulsed. At last Verdier received orders to retire; and
the French, after reducing the city almost to ashes, were compelled
to abandon their attacks, and retreat.
Meanwhile, all over Spain the contest was continued, and everywhere
with the most unsparing cruelty. Her purest and noblest sons often
fell victims to private malice. “No one’s life,” says one author,
“was worth a week’s purchase.” One anecdote may serve as an example
to illustrate the spirit of the times.
It was night. The rays of the full moon shed their beautiful light
on the hills of the Sierra Morena. On one of these hills lay a small
division of the patriotic army. Its chief was a dark, fierce-looking
man, in whose bosom the spirit of human kindness seemed extinct
forever. A brigand, who had long dealt in deeds of death, he had
placed himself without the pale even of the laws of Spain. But, when
the war commenced, he had offered his own services and that of his
men against the French, and had been accepted. On this night he sat,
wrapped in his huge cloak, beside the decaying watch-fire, seemingly
deep in thought. Near him lay a prisoner on the grass, with the
knotted cords so firmly bound around his limbs that the black blood
seemed every moment ready to burst from its enclosure. He might have
groaned aloud in his agony, had not the pride of his nation,--for
he, too, was a Spaniard,--and his own deep courage, prevented. His
crime was, that, yielding to the promptings of humanity, he had shown
kindness to a wounded French officer, and had thus drawn upon himself
suspicion of favoring their cause. Short trial was needed, in those
days, to doom a man to death; and, with the morning’s dawn, the brave
Murillo was informed that he must die.
With closed eyes and a calm countenance, his heart was yet filled
with agony, as he remembered his desolated home and his defenceless
little ones. Suddenly, a light footstep was heard in the wood
adjoining. The sentinel sprang to his feet, and demanded, “Who goes
there?” A boy, over whose youthful brow scarce twelve summers could
have passed, answered the summons. “I would speak with your chief,”
he said. The ruthless man raised his head as the boy spoke this;
and, not waiting for an answer, he sprang forward and stood before
him. “What is your errand here, boy?” asked the brigand. “I come a
suppliant for my father’s life,” he said, pointing to the prisoner on
the grass. “He dies with the morrow’s sun,” was the unmoved reply.
“Nay, chieftain, spare him, for my mother’s sake, and for her
children. Let _him_ live, and, if you must have blood, I will die for
him;” and the noble boy threw himself at the feet of the chief, and
looked up imploringly in his face. “He is so good!--You smile: you
will save his life!” “You speak lightly of life,” said the stern man,
“and you know little of death. Are you willing to lose one of your
ears, for your father’s sake?” “I am,” said the boy, and he removed
his cap, and fixed his eyes on his father’s face. Not a single tear
fell, as the severed member, struck off by the chief’s hand, lay at
his feet. “You bear it bravely, boy; are you willing to lose the
other?” “If it will save my father’s life,” was the unfaltering
response. A moment more, and the second one lay beside its fellow,
while yet not a groan, or word expressive of suffering, passed the
lips of the noble child. “Will you now release my father?” he asked,
as he turned to the prostrate man, whose tears, which his own pain
had no power to bring forth, fell thick and fast, as he witnessed
the bravery of his unoffending son. For a moment it seemed that a
feeling of compassion had penetrated the flinty soul of the man of
blood. But, if the spark had fallen, it glimmered but a moment on the
cold iron of that heart, and then went out forever. “Before I release
him, tell me who taught you thus to endure suffering.” “My father,”
answered the boy. “Then that father must die; for Spain is not safe
while he lives to rear such children.” And before the morning dawned
father and son slept their last sleep.
While Lefebre and Verdier were prosecuting the fatal siege of
Saragossa, Marshal Bessières was pursuing his victorious course
in Castile, compelling one force after another to acknowledge
the authority of Joseph. General Duhesme and Marshal Moncey, in
Catalonia, met with varied success;--repulsed at Valencia and at
Gerona, they yet met with enough good fortune to maintain their
reputation as generals. In Andalusia, the French army, under Dupont,
met with serious reverses. At Baylen, eighteen thousand men laid down
their arms, only stipulating that they should be sent to France. This
capitulation, disgraceful in itself to the French, was shamefully
broken. Eighty of the officers were murdered, at Lebrixa, in cold
blood; armed only with their swords, they kept their assassins some
time at bay, and succeeded in retreating into an open space in the
town, where they endeavored to defend themselves; but, a fire being
opened upon them from the surrounding houses, the last of these
unfortunate men were destroyed. The rest of the troops were marched
to Cadiz, and many died on the road. Those who survived the march
were treated with the greatest indignity, and cast into the hulks,
at that port. Two years afterwards, a few hundreds of them escaped,
by cutting the cables of their prison-ship, and drifting in a storm
upon a lee shore. The remainder were sent to the desert island of
Cabrera, without clothing, without provisions, with scarcely any
water, and there died by hundreds. It is related that some of them
dug several feet into the solid stone with a single knife, in search
of water. They had no shelter, nor was there any means of providing
it. At the close of the war, when returning peace caused an exchange
of prisoners, only a few hundred of all those thousands remained
alive. This victory at Baylen greatly encouraged the Spanish troops,
whose ardor was beginning to fail, before the conquering career of
Bessières, and the disgust and terror occasioned by the murders and
excesses of the populace. When the news of the capitulation reached
Madrid, Joseph called a council of war, and it was decided that the
French should abandon Madrid, and retire behind the Ebro.
But if the French arms had met with a reverse in Spain, it was
compensated by their success in Portugal. Junôt, at the head of
twenty-five thousand men, marched from Alcantara to Lisbon. At an
unfavorable season of the year, and encountering fatigue, and want,
and tempests, that daily thinned his ranks, until of his whole force
only two thousand remained, he yet entered Lisbon victorious. This
city contained three hundred thousand inhabitants, and fourteen
thousand regular troops were collected there. A powerful British
fleet was at the mouth of the harbor, and its commander, Sir Sidney
Smith, offered his powerful aid, in resisting the French; yet such
was the terror that Napoleon’s name excited, and such the hatred
of their rulers, that the people of Lisbon yielded, almost without
a struggle. When Napoleon, in his Moniteur, made the startling
announcement that “the house of Braganza had ceased to reign,” the
feeble prince-regent, alarmed for his own safety, embarked, with
his whole court, and sailed for the Brazils. Junôt himself was
created Duke of Abrantes, and made governor-general of the kingdom.
He exerted himself to give an efficient government to Portugal; and
met with such success, that a strong French interest was created,
and steps were actually taken to have Prince Eugene declared King
of Portugal. The people themselves, and the literary men, were in
favor of this step; but it met with the strongest opposition from the
priests, and this was nurtured and fanned into a flame by persons in
the pay of the English, whose whole influence was exerted in making
Napoleon’s name and nation as odious to the people as possible.
Among a people so superstitious as the Portuguese, the monks would,
of course, exert great influence; and many were the prodigies which
appeared, to prove that their cause was under the protection of
Heaven. Among others, was that of an egg, marked by some chemical
process, with certain letters, which were interpreted to indicate the
coming of Don Sebastian, King of Portugal. This adventurous monarch,
years before, earnestly desirous of promoting the interests of his
country, and of the Christian religion, had raised a large army,
consisting of the flower of his nobility, and the choicest troops of
his kingdom, and crossed the Straits into Africa, for the purpose of
waging war with the Moorish king. Young, ardent and inexperienced,
he violated every dictate of prudence, by marching into the enemy’s
country to meet an army compared with which his own was a mere
handful. The whole of his army perished, and his own fate was never
known. But, as his body was not found among the dead, the peasantry
of Portugal, ardently attached to their king, believed that he would
some time return, and deliver his country from all their woes. He was
supposed to be concealed in a secret island, waiting the destined
period, in immortal youth. The prophecy of the egg was, therefore,
believed; and people, even of the higher classes, were often seen on
the highest points of the hills, looking towards the sea with earnest
gaze, for the appearance of the island where their long-lost hero was
detained.
The constant efforts of the English and the priests at length had
their effect, in arousing the Portuguese peasantry into action; and
the news of the insurrection in Spain added new fuel to the flame.
The Spaniards in Portugal immediately rose against the French; and
their situation would have become dangerous in the extreme, had
not the promptness and dexterity of Junôt succeeded in averting
the danger for the present. Such was the state of affairs in the
Peninsula, when the English troops made their descent into Spain.
It has often been said that England was moved by pure patriotism,
or by a strong desire to relieve the Spanish nation, in being thus
prodigal of her soldiers and treasures; but her hatred to Napoleon,
and her determination, at all hazards, to put a stop to his growing
power, was, in all probability, the real motive that influenced her
to bestow aid upon that people.
The English collected their army of nine thousand in Cork, in
June, 1808. Sir Hugh Dalrymple had, nominally the chief command of
the army, and Sir Harry Burrard the second; but the really acting
officers were, Sir Arthur Wellesley and Sir John Moore. These troops
disembarked at the Mondego river on the first of August, and marching
along the coast, proceeded to Rolica, where they determined to give
battle to the French. Junôt, having left in Lisbon a sufficient force
to hold the revolutionary movement in check, placed himself at the
head of his army, and advanced to the contest. He was not, however,
present at the battle of Rolica. The French troops were under the
command of Generals Loison and Laborde. Nearly in the centre of the
heights of Rolica stands an old Moorish castle. This, and every
favorable post on the high ground, was occupied by detachments of the
French army. It was a strong position; but Sir Arthur, anxious to
give battle before the two divisions of the French army should effect
a junction, decided upon an immediate attack.
It was morning, and a calm and quiet beauty seemed to linger on
the scene of the impending conflict. The heights of Rolica, though
steep and difficult of access, possess few of the sterner and more
imposing features of mountain scenery. The heat of summer had
deprived them of much of that brightness of verdure common in a
colder climate. Here and there the face of the heights was indented
by deep ravines, worn by the winter torrents, the precipitous banks
of which were occasionally covered with wood, and below extended
groves of the cork-tree and olive; while Obidas, with its ancient
walls and fortress, and stupendous aqueduct, rose in the middle
distance. In the east Mount Junto reared its lofty summit, while
on the west lay the broad Atlantic. And this was the battle-ground
that was to witness the first outpouring of that blood which flowed
so profusely, on both sides, during the progress of this long and
desolating war. Sir Arthur had divided his army into three columns,
of which he himself commanded the centre, Colonel Trant the right,
while the left, directed against Loison, was under General Ferguson.
The centre marched against Laborde, who was posted on the elevated
plain. This general, perceiving, at a glance, that his position was
an unfavorable one, evaded the danger by falling rapidly back to the
heights of Zambugeria, where he could only be approached by narrow
paths, leading through deep ravines. A swarm of skirmishers, starting
forward, soon plunged into the passes; and, spreading to the right
and left, won their way among the rocks and tangled evergreens that
overspread the steep ascent, and impeded their progress.
With still greater difficulty the supporting column followed, their
formation being disordered in the confined and rugged passes, while
the hollows echoed with the continual roar of musketry, and the
shouts of the advancing troops were loudly answered by the enemy,
while the curling smoke, breaking out from the side of the mountain,
marked the progress of the assailants, and showed how stoutly the
defence was maintained. The right of the 29th arrived first at the
top; and, ere it could form, Col. Lake was killed, and a French
company, falling on their flanks, broke through, carrying with them
fifty or sixty prisoners. Thus pressed, this regiment fell back, and,
re-forming under the hill, again advanced to the charge. At the same
time, General Ferguson poured his troops upon the other side of the
devoted army. Laborde, seeing it impossible to effect a junction with
Loison, or to maintain his present position, fell back,--commencing
his retreat by alternate masses, and protecting his movements by
vigorous charges of cavalry,--and halted at the Quinta de Bugagleira,
where his scattered detachments rejoined him. From this place he
marched all night, to gain the position of Montechique, leaving
three guns on the field of battle, and the road to Torres Vedras
open to the victors. The French lost six hundred men, killed and
wounded, among the latter of which was the gallant Laborde himself.
Although the English were victors in this strife, the heroic defence
of the French served to show them that they had no mean enemy to
contend with. The personal enmity to Napoleon, and the violent party
prejudices in England, were so great, that the most absurd stories
as to the want of order and valor in his troops gained immediate
credence there; and many of the English army believed that they
had but to show themselves, and the French would fly. The bravery
with which their attack was met was, of course, a matter of great
surprise, and served as an efficient check to that rashness which
this erroneous belief had engendered.
Instead of pursuing this victory, as Wellesley would have done, he
was obliged to go to the seashore, to protect the landing of General
Anstruthers and his troops. After having effected a junction with
this general, he marched to Vimiero, where the French, under Junôt,
arrived on the 21st of August. The following brief and vivid sketch
of this combat is taken from Alexander’s Life of Wellington:
“Vimiero is a village, pleasantly situated in a gentle and quiet
valley, through which flows the small river of Maceria. Beyond, and
to the westward and northward of this village, rises a mountain, of
which the western point reaches the sea; the eastern is separated
by a deep ravine from the height, over which passes the road that
leads from Lourinha and the northward to Vimiero. On this mountain
were posted the chief part of the infantry, with eight pieces of
artillery. General Hill’s brigade was on the right, and Ferguson’s
on the left, having one battalion on the heights, separated from them
by the mountain. Towards the east and south of the town lay a mill,
wholly commanded by the mountain on the west side, and commanding,
also, the surrounding ground to the south and east, on which General
Fane was posted, with his riflemen, and the 50th regiment, and
General Anstruthers’ brigade, with the artillery, which had been
ordered to that position during the night.
“About eight o’clock a picket of the enemy’s horse was first seen on
the heights, toward Lourinha; and, after pushing forward his scouts,
soon appeared in full force, with the evident object of attacking the
British.
“Immediately four brigades, from the mountains on the east, moved
across the ravine to the heights on the road to Lourinha, with three
pieces of cannon. They were formed with their right resting upon
these heights, and their left upon a ravine which separates the
heights from a range at Maceria. On these heights were the Portuguese
troops, and they were supported by General Crawford’s brigade.
“The enemy opened his attack, in strong columns, against the entire
body of troops on this height. On the left they advanced, through
the fire of the riflemen, close up to the 50th regiment, until they
were checked and driven back by that regiment, at the point of the
bayonet. The French infantry, in these divisions, was commanded by
Laborde, Loison, and Kellerman, and the horse by General Margaron.
Their attack was simultaneous, and like that of a man determined to
conquer or to perish. Besides the conflict on the heights, the battle
raged with equal fury on every part of the field. The possession
of the road leading into Vimiero was disputed with persevering
resolution, and especially where a strong body had been posted in the
church-yard, to prevent the enemy forcing an entrance into the town.
Up to this period of the battle the British had received and repulsed
the attacks of the enemy, acting altogether on the defensive. But
now they were attacked in flank by General Ackland’s brigade, as it
advanced to its position on the height to the left, while a brisk
cannonade was kept up by the artillery on those heights.
“The brunt of the attack was continued on the brigade of General
Fane, but was bravely repulsed at all points. Once, as the French
retired in confusion, a regiment of light dragoons pursued them with
so little precaution, that they were suddenly set upon by the heavy
cavalry of Margaron, and cut to pieces, with their gallant colonel at
their head.
“No less desperate was the encounter between Kellerman’s column of
reserve and the gallant 43d, in their conflict for the vineyard
adjoining the church. The advanced companies were at first driven
back, with great slaughter; but, again rallying upon the next ranks,
they threw themselves upon the head of a French column in a ravine,
and, charging with the bayonet, put them to the rout. At length the
vigor of the enemy’s attack ceased. They, pressed on all sides by the
British, had lost thirteen cannons and a great number of prisoners;
but were still enabled to retire without confusion, owing to the
protection of their numerous cavalry. An incident occurred in this
battle, so highly characteristic of Highland courage, that I cannot
refrain from quoting it. It is very common for the wounded to cheer
their more fortunate comrades, as they pass on to the attack. A man
named Stewart, the piper of the 71st regiment, was wounded in the
thigh, very severely, at an early period of the action, and refused
to be removed. He sat upon a bank, playing martial airs, during the
remainder of the battle. As a party of his comrades were passing, he
addressed them thus: ‘Weel, my brave lads, I can gang na langer wi’
ye a fightin’, but ye shall na want music.’ On his return home, the
Highland Society voted him a handsome set of pipes, with a flattering
inscription engraved on them.”
The total loss of the French was estimated at three thousand. Soon
after the battle, General Kellerman presented himself, with a
strong body of cavalry, at the outposts, and demanded an interview
with the English general. The result of this interview was the
famous convention of Cintra. By it, it was stipulated that Portugal
should be delivered up to the British army, and the French should
evacuate it, with arms and baggage, but not as prisoners of war;
that the French should be transported, by the British, into their
own country; that the army should carry with it all its artillery,
cavalry, arms, and ammunition, and the soldiers all their private
property. It also provided that the Portuguese who had favored the
French party should not be punished.
According to the terms of this convention, Junôt, on the 2d of
September, yielded the government of the capital. This suspension of
military rule was followed by a wild scene of anarchy and confusion.
The police disbanded of their own accord, and crime stalked abroad on
every side. Lisbon was illuminated with thousands of little lamps,
at their departure; and such was the state of the public mind, that
Sir John Hope was obliged to make many and severe examples, before he
succeeded in restoring order.
On the 13th, the Duke of Abrantes embarked, with his staff; and
by the 30th of September only the garrisons of Elvas and Almeida
remained in Portugal. This convention was very unpopular in England.
The whole voice of the press was against it; and such was the state
of feeling, that Sir Harry Burrard and Sir Hugh Dalrymple were both
recalled, to present themselves before a court of inquiry, instituted
for the occasion. After a minute investigation, these generals were
declared innocent, but it was judged best to detain them at home.
Having seen Portugal under the control of the English, let us return
to the affairs of Spain. Immediately after the battle of Baylen,
which induced the retreat of Joseph from Madrid, Ferdinand was again
declared king, and the pomp and rejoicings attendant on this event
put an end to all business, except that of intrigue. The French were
everywhere looked upon by the Spanish as a conquered foe, and they
spent their time in the pageant of military triumphs and rejoicings,
as though the enemy had already fled. From this dream of fancied
security Palafox was at length awakened by the appearance of a French
corps, which retook Tudela, and pushed on almost to Saragossa. He
appealed to the governing junta for aid and assistance. Much time was
lost in intrigue and disputes, but at length the army was organized
by appointing La Pena and Llamas to the charge. To supply the place
usually occupied by the commander-in-chief, a board of general
officers was projected, of which Castanos should be chief; but when
some difficulty arose as to who the other members should be, this
plan was deferred, with the remark, that “when the enemy was driven
across the frontier, Castanos would have leisure to take his seat.”
Of the state of the Spanish forces at this time, Napier says, “The
idea of a defeat, the possibility of a failure, had never entered
their minds. The government, evincing neither apprehension, nor
activity, nor foresight, were contented if the people believed the
daily falsehoods propagated relative to the enemy; and the people
were content to be so deceived. The armies were neglected, even to
nakedness; the soldier’s constancy under privations cruelly abused;
disunion, cupidity, incapacity, prevailed in the higher orders;
patriotic ardor was visibly abating among the lower classes; the
rulers were grasping, improvident, and boasting; the enemy powerful,
the people insubordinate. Such were the allies whom the British
found on their arrival in Spain.” Sir Arthur Wellesley had returned
to Ireland, and the chief command was now given to Sir John Moore.
This general, with the greatest celerity, marched his troops to the
Spanish frontier, by the way of Almeida, having overcome almost
insurmountable obstacles, arising from the state of affairs in Spain.
Sir David Baird, with a force of ten thousand men, landed at Corunna,
and also advanced to the contest; but they soon found that they were
to meet an enemy with whom they were little able to cope.
Napoleon, with that energy so often displayed by him, when the
greatness of the occasion required its exercise, collected, in an
incredibly short space of time, an immense army of two hundred
thousand men, most of them veterans who had partaken of the glories
of Jena, Austerlitz, and Friedland. These were divided by the emperor
into eight parts, called “corps d’armée.” At the head of each of them
was placed one of his old and tried generals,--veterans on whom he
could rely. The very names of Victor, Bessières, Moncey, Lefebre,
Mortier, Ney, St. Cyr, and Junôt, speak volumes for the character of
the army.
These troops were excited to the highest pitch of enthusiasm, by
the emperor’s address, as he passed through Paris, promising that
he would head them in person, to drive the hideous leopard into the
sea. What were the scattered and divided troops of the Spaniards,
to contend with such a force? The grand French army reached
Vittoria almost without an interruption. Blake was in position at
Villarcayo, the Asturians were close at hand, Romana at Bilboa,
and the Estremadurans at Burgos. With more valor than discretion,
Blake made an attack upon Tornosa. The enemy pretended to retreat.
Blake, flushed with his apparent success, pursued them with avidity,
when he suddenly came before twenty-five thousand men, under the
Duke of Dantzic, and was furiously assailed. Blake, after a gallant
defence, was obliged to retreat, in great confusion, upon Bilboa. He
rallied, however, and was again in the field in a few days, fought
a brave action with Villate, and was this time successful. With the
vain-glory of his nation, he next attacked the strong city of Bilboa.
Here, Marshal Victor gained a signal success, Blake losing two of
his generals, and many of his men. Romana, who had joined Blake,
renewed the action, with his veterans. They were made prisoners, but
their brave chief escaped to the mountains. Napoleon himself now left
Bayonne, and directed his course into Spain. Only one day sufficed
for his arrival into Vittoria. At the gates of the city, a large
procession, headed by the civil and military chiefs, met him, and
wished to escort him to a splendid house prepared for his reception;
but they were destined to a disappointment. Napoleon was there, not
for pomp or show, but to direct, with his genius, the march of that
army which he had raised. Jumping from his horse, he entered the
first small inn he observed, and calling for his maps, and a report
of the situation of the armies on both sides, proceeded to arrange
the plan of his campaign. By daylight the next morning, his forces
were in motion. The hastily levied troops of the Condé de Belvidere,
himself a youth of only twenty years, were opposed to him. These were
routed, with great slaughter,--one whole battalion, composed of the
students of Salamanca and Lecon, fell to a man.
The army of the centre, under the command of Castanos, which was
composed of fifty thousand men, with forty pieces of cannon, was
totally routed at Tudela, by the French, under Lasnes and Ney; and
now but one stronghold remained to the Spaniards, between the enemy
and Madrid. This was the pass of the Somosierra. Here the Spanish
army, under St. Juan, had posted their force. Sixteen pieces of
artillery, planted in the neck of the pass, swept the road along
the whole ascent, which was exceedingly steep and favorable for
the defence. The Spanish troops were disposed in lines, one above
another; and when the French came on to the contest, they warmly
returned their fire, and stood their ground. As yet, the grand
battery had not opened its fire. This was waiting for the approach
of the centre, under Napoleon himself. And now Napoleon, seeing
that his troops were not advancing, rode slowly into the foot of the
pass. The lofty mountain towered above him. Around its top hung a
heavy fog, mingled with the curling smoke that was ascending from
the mouth of all those cannon, rendering every object indistinct in
the distance. Silently he gazed up the mountain. A sudden thought
strikes him. His practised eye has discerned, in a moment, what
course to pursue. Turning to his brave Polish lancers, he orders them
to charge up the causeway, and take the battery. They dashed onward.
As they did so, the guns were turned full upon them, and their front
ranks were levelled to the earth; but, ere they could reload, the
Poles, nothing daunted, sprang over their dying comrades, and before
the thick smoke, which enveloped them as a cloud, had dispersed,
they rushed, sword in hand, upon the soldiers, and, cutting down
the gunners, possessed themselves of the whole Spanish battery. The
panic became general. The Spaniards fled, leaving arms, ammunition,
and baggage, to the enemy, and the road open to Madrid. Meanwhile,
this city was in a state of anarchy seldom equalled. A multitude of
peasants had entered the place. The pavements were taken up, the
streets barricaded, and the houses pierced. They demanded arms and
ammunition. These were supplied them. Then they pretended that sand
had been mixed with the powder furnished. The Marquis of Perales, an
old and worthy gentleman, was accused of the deed. The mob rushed to
his house. They had no regard for age. They seized him by his silvery
hair, and, dragging him down the steps, drew him through the streets
until life was extinct. For eight days the mob held possession of the
city. No man was safe; none dared assume authority, or even offer
advice. Murder, and lust, and rapine, and cruelty, stalked fearlessly
through the streets. On the morning of the ninth, far away on the
hills to the north-west, appeared a large body of cavalry, like a
dark cloud overhanging the troubled city. At noon, the resistless
emperor sat down before the gates of Madrid, and summoned the city to
surrender. Calmness and quiet reigned in the French camp, but Madrid
was struggling like a wild beast in the toils. Napoleon had no wish
to destroy the capital of his brother’s kingdom, but he was not to be
trifled with. At midnight, a second summons was sent. It was answered
by an equivocal reply, and responded to by the roar of cannon and the
onset of the soldiery. This was an appeal not to be resisted. Madrid
was in no state to stand a siege. At noon, two officers, in Spanish
uniform, and bearing a flag of truce, were observed approaching
the French headquarters. They came to demand a suspension of arms,
necessary, they said, to persuade the people to surrender. It was
granted, and they returned to the city, with Napoleon’s message.
Before six o’clock in the morning, Madrid must surrender, or perish.
Dissensions arose, but the voice of prudence prevailed, and the
capital yielded. Napoleon was wise; he had no wish to goad a people
already incensed to fury. The strictest discipline was maintained,
and a soldier of his own guard was shot for having stolen a watch.
Shops were reöpened, public amusements recommenced, and all was
quiet. In six short weeks every Spanish army was dissipated. From
St. Sebastian to the Asturias, from the Asturias to Talavera, from
Talavera to the gates of Saragossa, all was submission, and beyond
that boundary all was apathy or dread.
An assemblage of the nobles, the clergy, the corporations, and the
tribunals, of Madrid, now waited on Napoleon at his headquarters, and
presented an address, in which they expressed their desire to have
Joseph return among them. Napoleon’s reply was an exposition of what
he had done and intended doing for Spain. Could the people but have
yielded their prejudices, and submitted to his wise plans, what seas
of tears and blood, what degradation and confusion, might have been
spared to poor, unhappy Spain!
“I accept,” said he, “the sentiments of the town of Madrid. I regret
the misfortunes that have befallen it, and I hold it as a particular
good fortune, that I am enabled to spare that city, and save it yet
greater misfortunes. I have hastened to take measures to tranquillize
all classes of citizens, knowing well that to all people and men
uncertainty is intolerable.
“I have preserved the religious orders, but I have restrained the
number of monks; no sane person can doubt that they are too numerous.
Those who are truly called to this vocation, by the grace of God,
will remain in the convents; those who have lightly, or for worldly
motives, adopted it, will have their existence secured among the
secular ecclesiastics, from the surplus of the convents.
“I have provided for the wants of the most interesting and useful of
the clergy, the parish priests.
“I have abolished that tribunal against which Europe and the age
alike exclaimed. Priests ought to guide consciences, but they should
not exercise any exterior or corporal jurisdiction over men.
“I have taken the satisfaction which was due to myself and to my
nation, and the part of vengeance is completed. Ten of the principal
criminals bend their heads before her; but for all others there is
absolute and entire pardon.
“I have suppressed the rights usurped by the nobles during civil
wars, when the kings have been too often obliged to abandon their own
rights, to purchase tranquillity and the repose of the people.
“I have suppressed the feudal rights, and every person can now
establish inns, mills, ovens, weirs, and fisheries, and give good
play to their industry, only observing the laws and customs of the
place. The self-love, the riches, and the prosperity, of a small
number of men, were more hurtful to your agriculture than the heats
of the dog-days.
“As there is but one God, there should be in one estate but one
justice; wherefore all the particular jurisdictions have been
usurped, and, being contrary to the national rights, I have destroyed
them. I have also made known to all persons that which each can have
to fear, and that which they may hope for.
“The English armies I will drive from the Peninsula. Saragossa,
Valencia, Seville, shall be reduced, either by persuasion or by force
of arms.
“There is no obstacle capable of retarding, for any length of time,
my will; but that which is above my power is to constitute the
Spaniards a nation, under the orders of a king, if they continue to
be imbued with divisions, and hatred towards France, such as the
English partisans and the enemies of the continent have instilled
into them. I cannot establish a nation, a king, and Spanish
independence, if that king is not sure of the affection and fidelity
of his subjects.
“The Bourbons can never reign again in Europe. The divisions in the
royal family were concerted by the English. It was not either King
Charles or his favorite, but the Duke of Infantado, the instrument
of England, that was upon the point of overturning the throne.
The papers recently found in his house prove this. It was the
preponderance of England that they wished to establish in Spain.
Insensate project! which would have produced a long war without end,
and caused torrents of blood to be shed.
“No power influenced by England can exist upon this continent. If any
desire it, their desire is folly and sooner or later will ruin them.
I shall be obliged to govern Spain; and it will be easy for me to do
it, by establishing a viceroy in each province. However, I will not
refuse to concede my rights of conquest to the king, and to establish
him in Madrid, when the thirty thousand citizens assemble in the
churches, and on the holy sacrament take an oath, not with the mouth
alone, but with the heart, and without any jesuitical restriction,
‘to be true to the king,--to love and support him.’ Let the priests
from the pulpit and in the confessional, the tradesmen in their
correspondence and in their discourses, inculcate these sentiments in
the people; then I will relinquish my rights of conquest, and I will
place the king upon the throne, and I will take a pleasure in showing
myself the faithful friend of the Spaniards.
“The present generation may differ in opinions. Too many passions
have been excited; but your descendants will bless me, as the
regenerator of the nation. They will mark my sojourn among you as
memorable days, and from those days they will date the prosperity of
Spain. These are my sentiments. Go, consult your fellow-citizens;
choose your part, but do it frankly, and exhibit only true colors.”
The ten criminals were the Dukes of Infantado, of Hijah, of
Mediniceli, and Ossuna; Marquis Santa Cruz, Counts Fernan, Minez, and
Altamira; Prince of Castello Franco, Pedro Cevallos, and the Bishop
of St. Ander, were proscribed, body and goods, as traitors to France
and Spain.
Napoleon now made dispositions indicating a vast plan of operations.
But, vast as his plan of campaign appears, it was not beyond the
emperor’s means, for, without taking into consideration his own
genius, activity and vigor, there were upon his muster-rolls above
three hundred and thirty thousand men and above sixty thousand
horse; two hundred pieces of field artillery followed his corps to
battle; and as many more remained in reserve. Of this great army,
however, only two hundred and fifty thousand men and fifty thousand
horses were actually under arms with the different regiments, while
above thirty thousand were detached or in garrisons, preserving
tranquillity in the rear, and guarding the communications of the
active forces. The remainder were in hospitals. Of the whole host,
two hundred and thirteen thousand were native Frenchmen, the residue
were Poles, Germans and Italians; thirty-five thousand men and five
thousand horses were available for fresh enterprise, without taking
a single man from the lines of communication.
The fate of the Peninsula hung, at this moment, evidently upon a
thread; and the deliverance of that country was due to other causes
than the courage, the patriotism, or the constancy, of the Spaniards.
The strength and spirit of Spain was broken; the enthusiasm was
null, except in a few places, in consequence of the civil wars, and
intestinal divisions incited by the monks and British hirelings; and
the emperor was, with respect to the Spaniards, perfectly master of
operations. He was in the centre of the country; he held the capital,
the fortresses, the command of the great lines of communication
between the provinces; and on the wide military horizon no cloud
interrupted his view, save the city of Saragossa on the one side, and
the British army on the other. “Sooner or later,” said the emperor,
and with truth, “Saragossa must fall.” The subjugation of Spain
seemed inevitable, when, at this instant, the Austrian war broke
out, and this master-spirit was suddenly withdrawn. England then put
forth all her vast resources, and the genius and vigor of Sir John
Moore, aided, most fortunately, by the absence of Napoleon, and the
withdrawal of the strength of his army for the subjugation of the
Peninsula; and it was delivered from the French, after oceans of
blood had been spilt and millions of treasure wasted, to fall into
the hands of the not less tyrannical and oppressive English. “But
through what changes of fortune, by what unexpected helps, by what
unlooked-for events,--under what difficulties, by whose perseverance,
and in despite of whose errors,--let posterity judge; for in that
judgment,” says Napier, “only will impartiality and justice be found.”
Tidings having reached the emperor that the Austrian army was about
to invade France, he recalled a large portion of his army, and
appointing his brother Joseph to be his lieutenant-general, he
allotted separate provinces to each corps d’armée, and directing the
imperial guard to hasten to France, he returned to Valladolid, where
he received the addresses of the nobles and deputies of Madrid, and
other great towns; and after three days’ delay, he departed himself,
with scarcely any escort, but with such astonishing speed as to
frustrate the designs which some Spaniards had, in some way, formed
against his person.
The general command of the French army in Spain was left with Soult,
assisted by Ney. This gallant general, bearing the title of the
Duke of Dalmatia, commenced his pursuit of the English army with
a vigor that marked his eager desire to finish the campaign in a
manner suitable to its brilliant opening. Sir John Moore had arrived
in Salamanca by the middle of November, and on the 23d the other
divisions of the army had arrived at the stations assigned them.
Sir David Baird had already reported himself at Astorga, when Moore
received positive information that the French had entered Valladolid
in great force. And this place was only three days’ march distant
from the British. At a glance, the great mind of Moore comprehended
the full difficulty of his critical situation. In the heart of a
foreign country, unsupported by the Spanish government, his army
wanting the very necessaries of life, he found himself obliged to
commence that retreat in winter, over mountains covered with snow,
which proved so fatal to the British army, or wait to meet the French
troops, flushed with victory, and sustained by an overwhelming force.
In vain he appealed to the junta of Salamanca for aid. In vain he
endeavored to arouse the spirit of patriotism, which had shone forth
so brightly in the first days of the insurrection. Instead of aiding
him either to advance or retreat, they endeavored to direct him what
course to pursue; and painted, with true Spanish pride and hyperbole,
in glowing colors, what their armies had done, and what they could
do. His camp was therefore struck, and he retreated through the
rocks of Gallicia, closely followed by the pursuing army. Whenever
the advance guards of the enemy approached, the British rallied with
vigor, and sustained their reputation for bravery; but they displayed
a lamentable want of discipline in all other parts of their conduct.
The weather was tempestuous; the roads miserable; the commissariat
was utterly defective, and the very idea that they were retreating
was sufficient to crush the spirits of the soldiery. At Bembibre,
although the English well knew that the French were close behind,
they broke into the immense wine-vaults of that city. All effort by
their officers to control them was utterly useless. Hundreds became
so inebriated as to be unable to proceed, and Sir John Moore was
obliged to proceed without them. Scarcely had the reserve marched out
of the village, when the French cavalry appeared. In a moment the
road was filled with the miserable stragglers, who came crowding
after the troops, some with shrieks of distress and wild gestures,
others with brutal exclamations; while many, overcome with fear,
threw away their arms, and those who preserved them were too stupidly
intoxicated to fire, and kept reeling to and fro, alike insensible
to their danger and disgrace. The enemy’s horsemen, perceiving this,
bore at a gallop through the disorderly mob, cutting to the right
and left as they passed, and riding so close to the columns that
the infantry were forced to halt in order to protect them. At Villa
Franca even greater excesses were committed; the magazines were
plundered, the bakers driven away from the ovens, the wine-stores
forced, the doors of the houses were broken, and the scandalous
insubordination of the soldiers was, indeed, a disgrace to the
army. Moore endeavored to arrest this disorder, and caused one man,
taken in the act of plundering a magazine, to be hanged. He also
endeavored to send despatches to Sir David Baird, directing him to
Corunna, instead of Vigo; but his messenger became drunk and lost his
despatches, and this act cost the lives of more than four hundred
men, besides a vast amount of suffering to the rest of the army. An
unusual number of women and children had been allowed to accompany
the army, and their sufferings were, indeed, dreadful to witness.
Clark, in his history of the war, gives a heart-rending account of
the horrors of this retreat. “The mountains were now covered with
snow; there was neither provision to sustain nature nor shelter from
the rain and snow, nor fuel for fire to keep the vital heat from
total extinction, nor place where the weary and footsore could rest
for a single hour in safety. The soldiers, barefooted, harassed and
weakened by their excesses, were dropping to the rear by hundreds;
while broken carts, dead animals, and the piteous appearance of
women, with children, struggling or falling exhausted in the snow,
completed the dreadful picture. It was still attempted to carry
forward some of the sick and wounded;--the beasts that drew them
failed at every step, and they were left to perish amid the snows.”
“I looked around,” says an officer, “when we had hardly gained the
highest point of those slippery precipices, and saw the rear of
the army winding along the narrow road. I saw their way marked by
the wretched people, who lay on all sides, expiring from fatigue
and the severity of the cold, their bodies reddening in spots the
white surface of the ground. A Portuguese bullock-driver, who had
served the English from the first day of their arrival, was seen on
his knees amid the snow, dying, in the attitude and act of prayer.
He had, at least, the consolations of religion, in his dying hour.
But the English soldiers gave utterance to far different feelings,
in their last moments. Shame and anger mingled with their groans
and imprecations on the Spaniards, who had, as they said, betrayed
them. Mothers found their babes sometimes frozen in their arms, and
helpless infants were seen seeking for nourishment from the empty
breasts of their dead mothers. One woman was taken in labor upon
the mountain. She lay down at the turning of an angle, rather more
sheltered than the rest of the way from the icy sleet which drifted
along; there she was found dead, and two babes which she had brought
forth struggling in the snow. A blanket was thrown over her, to
hide her from sight,--the only burial that could be afforded; and
the infants were given in charge to a woman who came up in one of
the carts, little likely, as it was, that they could survive such a
journey.”
Soult hung close on the rear of this unfortunate army, and pursued
them until they reached Corunna, on the 12th of January. As the
morning dawned, the weary and unfortunate general, saddened by the
dark scenes through which he had passed, sensible that the soldiers
were murmuring at their retreat, unsupported by his Spanish allies,
and well aware that rumor and envy and misunderstanding would be
busy with his name in his own native land, appeared on the heights
that overhung the town. With eager and anxious gaze, he turned to
the harbor, hoping to perceive there his fleet, which he had ordered
to sail from Vigo. But the same moody fortune which had followed
him during his whole career pursued him here. The wintry sun looked
down upon the foaming ocean, and only the vast expanse of water
met his view. The fleet, detained by contrary winds, was nowhere
visible; and once more he was obliged to halt with his forces, and
take up quarters. The army was posted on a low ridge, and waited
for the French to come up. The sadness of the scene was by no means
passed. Here, stored in Corunna, was a large quantity of ammunition,
sent over from England, and for the want of which both the Spanish
and English forces had suffered, and which Spanish idleness and
improvidence had suffered to remain here for months, unappropriated.
This must now be destroyed, or fall into the possession of the enemy.
Three miles from the town were piled four thousand barrels of powder
on a hill, and a smaller quantity at some distance from it. On the
morning of the 13th, the inferior magazine blew up, with a terrible
noise, and shook the houses in the town; but when the train reached
the great store, there ensued a crash like the bursting forth of a
volcano;--the earth trembled for miles, the rocks were torn from
their bases, and the agitated waters rolled the vessels, as in a
storm; a vast column of smoke and dust, shooting out fiery sparks
from its sides, arose perpendicularly and slowly to a great height,
and then a shower of stones and fragments of all kinds, bursting out
of it with a roaring sound, killed many persons who remained too
near the spot. Stillness, slightly interrupted by the lashing of the
waves on the shore, succeeded, and then the business of the day went
on. The next scene was a sad one. All the horses of the army were
collected together, and, as it was impossible to embark them in face
of the enemy, they were ordered to be shot. These poor animals would
otherwise have been distributed among the French cavalry, or used as
draft-horses.
On the 14th, the transports from Vigo arrived. The dismounted
cavalry, the sick and wounded, the best horses, belonging to the
officers, which had been saved, and fifty-two pieces of artillery,
were embarked during the night, only retaining twelve guns on shore,
ready for action. And now the closing scene of this sad drama was
rapidly approaching, giving a melancholy but graceful termination to
the campaign.
On the night of the 15th, everything was shipped that was destined
to be removed, excepting the fighting men. These were intending to
embark, as soon as the darkness should permit them to move without
being perceived, on the night of the 16th; but in the afternoon the
French troops drew up, and offered battle. This the English general
would not refuse, and the action soon became general. The battle
was advancing, with varied fortune, when Sir John Moore, who was
earnestly watching the result of the battle in the village of Elvina,
received his death-wound. A spent cannon-ball struck him on his
breast. The shock threw him from his horse, with violence; but he
rose again, in a sitting posture, his countenance unchanged, and his
steadfast eye still fixed on the regiments before him, and betraying
no signs of pain. In a few moments, when satisfied that his troops
were gaining ground, his countenance brightened, and he suffered
himself to be carried to the rear. Then was seen the dreadful nature
of his hurt. The shoulder was shattered to pieces; the arm was
hanging by a piece of skin; the ribs over the heart were broken and
bared of flesh, and the muscles of the breast torn into long strips,
which were interlaced by their recoil from the dragging shot. As
the soldiers placed him in a blanket, his sword got entangled, and
the hilt entered the wound. Captain Hardinge, a staff officer, who
was near, attempted to take it off; but the dying man stopped him,
saying, “It is as well as it is; I had rather it should go out of the
field with me.” And in that manner, so becoming to a soldier, he was
borne from the fight by his devoted men, who went up the hill weeping
as they went. The blood flowed fast, and the torture of his wound was
great; yet, such was the unshaken firmness of his mind, that those
about him judged, from the resolution of his countenance, that his
hurt was not mortal, and said so to him. He looked steadfastly at
the wound for a few moments, and then said, “No,--I feel that to be
impossible.” Several times he caused his attendants to turn around,
that he might behold the field of battle; and, when the firing
indicated the advance of the British, he discovered his satisfaction,
and permitted his bearers to proceed. Being brought to his lodgings,
the surgeon examined his wound, but there was no hope. The pain
increased, and he spoke with great difficulty. Addressing an old
friend, he said, “You know that I always wished to die this way.”
Again he asked if the enemy were defeated; and being told that they
were, observed, “It is a great satisfaction to me that we have beaten
the French.” Once, when he spoke of his mother, he became agitated.
It was the only time. He inquired after his friends and officers who
had survived the battle, and did not even now forget to recommend
those whose merit entitled them to promotion. His strength failed
fast; and life was almost extinct, when he exclaimed, as if in that
dying hour the veil of the future had been lifted, and he had seen
the baseness of his posthumous calumniators, “I hope the people of
England will be satisfied; I hope my country will do me justice.”
In a few minutes afterwards he died, and his corpse, wrapped in a
military cloak, was interred by the officers of his staff, in the
citadel of Corunna. The guns of the enemy paid his funeral honors,
and the valiant Duke of Dalmatia, with a characteristic nobleness,
raised a monument to his memory. The following is so beautiful and
touching a description of his burial, that we cannot refrain from
quoting it, even though it may be familiar to most of our readers. It
was written by the Rev. Charles Wolfe, of Dublin.
“Not a drum was heard--not a funeral note--
As his corse to the ramparts we hurried;
Not a soldier discharged his farewell shot
O’er the grave where our hero was buried.
“We buried him darkly, at dead of night,
The sods with our bayonets turning,
By the struggling moonbeams’ misty light,
And the lantern dimly burning.
“No useless coffin enclosed his breast,
Nor in sheet nor in shroud we wound him;
But he lay like a warrior taking his rest,
With his martial cloak around him.
“Few and short were the prayers we said,
And we spoke not a word of sorrow;
But we steadfastly gazed on the face of the dead,
And bitterly thought of the morrow.
“We thought, as we hollowed his narrow bed,
And smoothed down his lonely pillow,
That the foe and the stranger would tread o’er his head,
And we far away on the billow.
“Lightly they’ll talk of the spirit that’s gone,
And o’er his cold ashes upbraid him;
But little he’ll reck, if they let him sleep on
In the grave where a Briton has laid him.
“But half of our heavy task was done,
When the clock struck the hour for retiring
And we heard the distant and random gun
Of the enemy, suddenly firing.
“Slowly and sadly we laid him down,
From the field of his fame, fresh and gory;
We carved not a line--we raised not a stone--
But we left him alone with his glory.”
The battle was continued until dark, under great disadvantages on
the part of the French, owing to the difficulty they experienced
in dragging their heavy cannon on to the heights, and their small
amount of ammunition. The French loss has been estimated at three
thousand, and the British at eight hundred; but the loss of the
French was undoubtedly exaggerated. The English availed themselves
of the darkness and the confusion among the enemy to embark their
troops; and so complete were the arrangements of Sir John Hope, who
succeeded to the command, that it was all effected, without delay
or difficulty, before morning. The wounded were provided for, and
the fleet, although fired upon by the French, sailed on the 17th for
their home in England.
But their trials were not yet closed. It was Sir John Moore’s
intention to have proceeded to Vigo, that he might restore order
before he sailed for England, but the fleet went directly home from
Corunna, and a terrible storm scattered it, many ships were wrecked,
and the remainder, driving up the channel, were glad to put into
any port. The soldiers thus thrown on shore were spread all over
the country. Their haggard appearance, ragged clothing, and dirty
accoutrements, struck a people only used to the daintiness of parade
with surprise. A deadly fever, the result of anxiety and of the
sudden change from fatigue to the confinement of a ship, filled the
hospitals at every port with officers and soldiers, and the terrible
state of the army was the all-absorbing topic of conversation.