The Author, with his Regiment, leaves Gibraltar, for Tarifa
--Dissensions between the Spanish and English Officers--Battle
of Barossa--Retreat of the French--Suffering of the Pursuing Army
--Guerillas--Don Julian Sanchez--Juan Martin Diaz--Xavier Mina
--Continued Privations of the British Army--Adventures of the
Author in Search of Food--Arrival of the Commissariat with
Provisions--Extravagant Joy of the Troops--Departure of the
British Army for Badajos.
Having given to my readers some slight sketches of the rise and
progress of this war previous to the time when I first became an
active participator in its scenes, I shall now continue it, with the
history of my own adventures.
In looking back through the long series of years that have elapsed
since those eventful days, there are few scenes that I can recall
more vividly than that which occurred on the morning I left
Gibraltar. It was my first experience of the kind, and, therefore,
made a deeper impression than many after scenes, which might have
been far more worthy of record than this. It was a beautiful morning,
and everywhere the troops were in motion. Horses were brought out,
our baggage prepared and sent on; the light jest and laugh and
joke went freely round, serving, in many instances, to conceal the
thoughts that longed for utterance. Farewells were exchanged, last
words spoken; and, finally, all were prepared, the word given, and
our gallant little army marched out of Gibraltar. It was truly a
brilliant sight; and the lively strains of our music contributed its
share to make us forget that we were marching into a country at all
times perilous, and now doubly so, to meet certain dangers, and,
many of us, certain death. Yet these were in the future, and lost
beneath the crowd of bright and joyous anticipations that kindled in
our hearts as the last loud cheering of our comrades died away, and
the walls of the far-famed city receded in the distance behind our
onward march. Our course was directed to Tarifa; here we had orders
to wait until the forces from Cadiz should come up. An expedition had
been sent out from this city, consisting of ten thousand men, three
thousand of whom were British, whose object was to drive the French
general out of his lines. Victor, having heard of this project,
enlarged and strengthened his own forces, which now amounted to about
twenty thousand men, in Andalusia.
The allied army sailed from Cadiz on the 20th of February, for
Tarifa; but, a storm arising soon after they left, they were driven
past this port, and disembarked at Algesiras. They marched to Tarifa
on the 23d, under the command of General Thomas Graham. Here we
met; and, as we were more recently from home than these troops, we
had many questions to answer, and much information both to give and
receive. Before night, however, we had all our places assigned to us,
and were now ready for our march. But the Spanish General La Pena
had not yet arrived; and so we remained encamped here until the
27th, when he came up, with his forces; and to him General Graham,
for the sake of unanimity, ceded the chief command. All day we were
busy in preparations for our morrow’s march, expecting at its close
to come within a short distance of the enemy’s outposts. Early the
next morning, our whole army was in motion. We moved forward about
twelve miles, over the mountain ridges that descend from Ronda to
the sea; and then, having learned that the enemy were only four
leagues distance, we halted, for the purpose of reorganizing the
army. The command of the vanguard was given to Lardizabal, that
of the centre to the Prince of Anglona, while General Graham had
charge of the reserve, consisting of two Spanish regiments and the
British troops. The cavalry of both nations, formed in one body, was
commanded by Colonel Whittingham. The French army were encamped near
Chiclana, narrowly observing the movements of the allied armies, and
determined, at all events, to hold complete possession of the country.
The next day, March 2d, the vanguard of our army stormed Casa Viejas.
Having gained this small place, and stationed here a regiment, we
continued our march on the 3d and 4th.
Early in the morning of the 5th, as the advanced guards of our
cavalry had proceeded a short distance from the main army, they
suddenly came upon a squadron of French troops. Unfortunately for
them, several stone fences and enclosures prevented an immediate
attack, so that the French had time to form into a square, and
received their charge with great coolness and intrepidity. Their
square was unbroken, although numbers had fallen on both sides.
A second charge was equally unsuccessful, and the colonel of our
cavalry was mortally wounded. Our men then judged it most prudent to
fall back upon the main army, and no attempt was made to follow them
by the enemy. An anxious look-out was instituted, but the foe did not
again make his appearance, and at nine o’clock the same morning our
commander took up his position on the heights of Barossa.
The hill of Barossa is a low ridge, creeping in from the coast about
a mile and a half, and overlooking a high broken plain. On one side
of this plain rise the huge coast cliffs, while the other is skirted
by the deep forest of Chiclana. Directly in front, there lies a
light pine wood, beyond which rises a long narrow height, called
the Bermeja. There were two ways by which this might be reached;
the first was through the woods, while the second was a narrow road
directly under the coast cliffs.
I have already alluded to the fact, that, although the English and
Spanish were fighting under the same banner, there was a great want
of unanimity of feeling and opinion as to the course which ought to
be pursued in ridding their country of their common foe. Nowhere,
in the history of the war, was this more apparent than at the
battle whose history I am about to relate. The deep-seated pride
of the Spanish made them unwilling to acknowledge or yield to the
superiority of the British, or hardly to allow that they were at
all indebted to them. A modern traveller tells us that, in a recent
history of this war, which was, not long since, published in Spain,
the British are not even mentioned, nor the fact of their assistance
at all alluded to. It was impossible for two nations so unlike in
their customs and manners, so different in language, religion,
and education, to be so closely associated together as they were
obliged to be, without occasions of dispute constantly occurring,
which would, probably, have terminated in open rupture, had not the
discipline of war prevented.
The fact that our gallant general had ceded the chief command to
the weak and imperious Spanish commander had occasioned no little
dissatisfaction among our men; while, from the conditions required
of him by Graham, we may judge that that general himself did not
pursue this course because he judged La Pena his superior in military
tactics. These conditions were, that his army should make short
marches; that they should be kept fresh for battle, and that they
should never approach the enemy except in concentrated masses.
Although the Spanish general had pledged his word of honor that these
conditions should be fulfilled, how much attention he paid to them
may be judged from the fact, that, on the day but one preceding this,
we had marched fifteen hours, through bad roads; and, after a short
rest, had occupied the whole night in our march to Barossa. Before
the troops had all arrived, or had any time for rest or refreshment,
La Pena commanded the vanguard to march against San Petri, which lay
about four miles distant. A detachment of the Spanish army, under
Zayas, had, only two days before, commenced an intrenchment at this
point; but had been surprised by the French, and driven back, so that
the enemy now held possession of all the outposts down to the sea.
But a short time had elapsed, after the departure of the vanguard,
when we were startled by the roar of the artillery, whose rapid
discharge, together with the quick volleys of musketry, showed us
that a sharp engagement had already taken place. Lardizabal,--far
more worthy of command than his superior,--notwithstanding the
unfavorable situation in which he found himself placed, succeeded in
forcing his way through the enemy’s troops, leaving three hundred men
dead on the field of battle, and in effecting a junction with Zayas.
Graham now endeavored to persuade La Pena to occupy the heights
of Barossa, as a superior position to the Bermeja. The Spanish
general not only refused to listen to his representations, but sent
an immediate order to General Graham to march through the wood to
Bermeja with all the British troops. This order he obeyed, although
it was in opposition to his own better judgment, leaving only two
detachments at Barossa, under Major Brown, to guard the baggage. He
would have left a stronger force, had he not supposed that La Pena
would remain in his present position, with his own troops, and would
thus assist those detachments, in case of an attack. But scarcely
had the British entered the wood, when La Pena, without the least
notice to his colleague, with his whole army, took the sea road under
the cliffs, and marched to San Petri, leaving Barossa crowded with
baggage, within sight of the enemy, and guarded only by four guns and
five battalions.
No sooner did Victor, the French general, observe its defenceless
state, than he advanced with a rapid pace, and, ascending behind the
hill, drove off the guard, and took possession of the whole stores
and provisions of our army. Major Brown, finding his force wholly
inadequate to face the enemy, slowly withdrew, having immediately
despatched an aide-de-camp to inform General Graham of the attack.
Our army had then nearly reached the Bermeja; but, as soon as
the messenger arrived with the news, our general saw at once the
necessity of taking the direction of affairs himself. Orders were
immediately given to retrace our steps as rapidly as possible, that
we might assist the Spanish army in its defence. Judge, then, of the
astonishment of our general, on reaching the plain, at the view that
presented itself! One side of the heights was occupied by the French,
while the Spanish rear-guard was flying, with their baggage, in great
confusion, on the other. On one side of us lay the cavalry of the
French, and, on the other marching to the attack was a large body of
troops, under Laval. “Where is La Pena?” was the first exclamation of
our commander, as, casting his eye rapidly around, he could nowhere
see the least trace of him. It was impossible that he could have
been defeated. The cannonade would have been heard, or at least some
fugitives have taken the direction of our army. Slowly the conviction
forced itself upon his mind that he had been deserted. A general
burst of indignation ran along our lines; but short time was allowed
for feelings like these. Only one alternative existed,--a hasty
retreat, or an immediate attack. It need hardly be said that Graham
chose the latter.
Ten guns immediately opened their fire upon Laval’s troops, and
were promptly answered back by the artillery of the French. No time
was given to the British to form with any attention to regiments;
but, hastily dividing themselves into two masses, they rushed to
the attack. The charge on the left was, indeed, a furious one, for
we felt that conquest or death was the alternative. It was bravely
met, however, on the part of the French. After the first discharge
of artillery, the soldiers pressed rapidly onward, and were soon
mingled with the foe in fierce and deadly conflict. The front ranks
of the French were pressed back upon the second line, which, unable
to withstand the shock, was broken in the same manner, and scattered
in much confusion, only the chosen battalion remaining to cover the
retreat.
Ruffin, who commanded the enemy on the right, had stationed his
troops just within the wood, where they awaited, in perfect order,
the division under Brown, who rushed with headlong haste to the
contest. When they had nearly reached the wood, they discharged
their musketry. Nearly half of Brown’s detachment fell at the
first fire; yet, nothing daunted, the remainder maintained their
ground, until another detachment came to their aid. Then, mingling
close in the dreadful combat, they pressed together to the brow of
the hill, without either party gaining a decided advantage. Here
the contest continued, with more bravery than before. The issue
still remained quite doubtful, when the British, retiring a short
distance, again rushed to the attack. Ruffin and Rousseau, the French
leaders, both fell, mortally wounded, and the French were obliged to
retire, leaving three of their guns in possession of their enemies.
Discomfited but not disheartened, they withdrew again, re-formed,
and rushed to the attack. But they found no slumbering foe. Our guns
were well manned. Their fire was reserved until the enemy were close
at hand, and then they were allowed to tell upon that living mass.
The execution was terrible. Closely and rapidly, discharge followed
discharge. Again and again were they summoned to the attack; but
the lines had hardly closed over their dying comrades, when another
volley would again send confusion and death among the advancing
ranks. Victor saw it was useless to struggle longer. The trumpet
sounded, the contest stopped, and in less than an hour the English
were again undisputed masters of Barossa.
And where, during this conflict, were the Spanish troops, in whose
cause the British were so freely lavishing, not only treasure, but
their own lives? Scarcely three miles away, the report of every round
of musketry reached La Pena’s ears. He knew that his ally was placed
under great disadvantages; yet he could look idly on, not knowing,
scarcely caring, apparently, how the contest should be decided. In
vain did many of his brave troops mount their chargers, and wait only
for the word of command to rush upon the enemy. He listened neither
to the voice of honor nor to the entreaties of his officers, nor to
the ill-repressed murmurings of the soldiery. No stroke in aid of the
British was struck by a Spanish sabre that day; although one or two
regiments, unable longer to contain their indignation, left without
orders, and came up in season to witness the defeat of the French.
And thus terminated the attack on Barossa. Scarcely two hours had
passed from the first alarm before the French were retreating beyond
our reach, for our troops were too much exhausted by their twenty-two
hours’ march, and their still longer fast, to think of pursuing. Yet,
short as the conflict was, the terrible evidences of its fatality
lay all around us. Fifty officers, sixty sergeants, and more than
eleven hundred British soldiers, had fallen, while two thousand of
the enemy were either killed or wounded. Six guns, an eagle, two
generals mortally wounded, and four hundred prisoners, fell into
the power of the English. La Pena’s conduct during this battle was
complained of by our commander, and the Spanish cortes went through
the forms of arresting him; but he was soon after released, without
investigation, and published what he called his justification, in
which he blamed Graham severely for his disobedience of orders.
When the last of the enemy had disappeared in the distance, the
troops were all summoned to the field of battle. We collected there,
and gazed around with saddened hearts. Four hours ago, and there
was not one, of all that now lay lifeless on that bloody field,
whose heart did not beat as high as our own, whose hopes were not
as brilliant; and yet, their sun had now set forever! I know of
no sadder scene than a field of battle presents soon after the
conflict, even though the glorious result may have filled our hearts
with joy. When the roll is called, and name after name uttered
without response, it cannot but awaken the deepest sensibility in
the heart of the survivors. And then the hasty burial of the dead,
and the hurried sending off the wounded, the surgeon’s necessary
operations, and the groans of the sufferers, all make us feel
that these are the horrors of war. Before the battle is the rapid
marching and counter-marching, and the enlivening strains of martial
music, the encouraging words of the officers,--more than all, the
excitement which must exist in such a scene,--and all these serve to
elevate and sustain the spirits. During the contest the excitement
increases, until all sense of fear and danger is lost. But one
thing is seen--the foe;--but one object exists--to conquer. When
all these have passed away, and there is no longer aught to excite,
then the eye opens on stern and dread reality, and we realize what
we have escaped, and the pain and suffering ever attendant on such
scenes. There is something awfully trying to the soul, when the
last sad rites are being performed for those so lately buoyant in
life and health,--especially when we meet with the corpses of those
we have known and loved. I have seen many affecting instances of
such recognitions. Among others that I might name, is that of a
French captain of dragoons, who came over after the battle with a
trumpet, and requested permission to search among the dead for his
colonel. His regiment was a fine one, with bright brass helmets and
black horse-hair, bearing a strong resemblance to the costume of
the ancient Romans. Many of our own soldiers accompanied him in his
melancholy search. It was long before we found the French colonel,
for he was lying on his face, his naked body weltering in blood. As
soon as he was turned over, the captain recognized him. He uttered
a sort of agonizing scream, sprang off his horse, dashed his helmet
on the ground, knelt by the body, and, taking the bloody hand in his
own, kissed it many times, in an agony of grief. He seemed entirely
to forget, in his sorrow, that any one was present. We afterwards
learned that the colonel had, in his youth, done him a great service,
by releasing him from the police when evil company had led him to
the commission of some crime. It was his first act of the kind; and
gratitude to the colonel led to an immediate enlistment in his corps.
From that hour he had been to the captain as a father, and it was
through his influence that he had attained his present rank in the
army. The scene was truly an affecting one; and it was with feelings
of deep sympathy that we assisted him in committing the body to the
earth.
Our gallant commander remained on the field of battle all that day;
and when all the last sad duties were performed, and as many of the
commissariat mules as could be found were gathered in, we marched
from the scene of our late victory, and took up our position behind
the Isla. The news of our victory was received in England with much
joy, and our own regiment, the 28th, was spoken of with peculiar
honor. These contests in Spain called forth much newspaper praise,
and awakened the lyre of many a poet in the halls of old England.
Perhaps the following lines from Southey, written on this battle, may
be acceptable to the reader:
“Though the four quarters of the world have seen
The British valor proved triumphantly
Upon the French, in many a field far famed,
Yet may the noble island in her rolls
Of glory write Barossa’s name. For there
Not by the issue of deliberate plans,
Consulted well, was the fierce conflict won,--
Nor by the leader’s eye intuitive,
Nor force of either arm of war, nor art
Of skilled artillerist, nor the discipline
Of troops to absolute obedience trained,--
But by the spring and impulse of the heart,
Brought fairly to the trial, when all else
Seemed like a wrestler’s garment thrown aside.
By individual courage, and the sense
Of honor, their old country’s and their own,
There to be forfeited, or there upheld,--
This warmed the soldier’s soul, and gave his hand
The strength that carries with it victory.
More to enhance their praise, the day was fought
Against all circumstance; a painful march
Through twenty hours of night and day prolonged
Forespent the British troops, and hope delayed
Had left their spirits palled. But when the word
Was given to turn, and charge, and win the heights
The welcome order came to them like rain
Upon a traveller in the thirsty sands.
Rejoicing, up the ascent, and in the front
Of danger, they with steady step advanced,
And with the insupportable bayonet
Drove down the foe. The vanquished victor saw,
And thought of Talavera, and deplored
His eagle lost. But England saw, well pleased,
Her old ascendency that day sustained;
And Scotland, shouting over all her hills,
Among her worthies ranked another Graham.”
The brilliant success gained on the heights of Barossa was but the
prelude of other victories. The star of Napoleon, so long in the
ascendant, had begun to decline in the horizon. Obliged to draw
off many of his troops, those that remained felt the want of his
guiding hand. Division reigned in the councils of his generals; and
the British leader, ever ready to take advantage, and ever on the
watch for opportunity, saw his favorable moment, and followed it
up. The French had retreated from Portugal, followed at every step
by the army of the English. After the battle of Barossa, Graham
had withdrawn from the command of our army, and joined that of
Wellington, while Sir Thomas Picton took his place. We remained for
a number of days near our position, while these changes were taking
place, and then orders arrived that we should proceed at once to the
mountains of the Sierra Morena, to assist in harassing the retreat of
the French. We had scarcely commenced our march when our provisions
began to fail, owing to the conduct of the Portuguese government,
who would not supply their troops with provisions; and so they were
unable to continue the pursuit, while numbers were perishing for
want of food. Our generals could not see their allies suffering
thus, and our own supplies were shared with them, and we were all
put upon short allowance. Half a pound of bread, and half a pound
of salt pork, was all that we received for a day’s provision. And
we were ascending mountains covered with woods and deep forests,
infested by guerillas, who often fell upon and murdered our men, if
they strayed away from the ranks. To prevent this was impossible;
for, if there were provisions in the country, men in our starving
condition would not fail to obtain them; but scarcely anything could
be found, at this season. The French army were also suffering for
want of food, and, as they preceded us in their retreat, they either
devoured or destroyed everything that could sustain life. The poor
peasants on their route fled from their homes, and shrunk equally
from French and English, for they well knew that either would equally
deprive them of the little they possessed. The sufferings of the
peasantry were truly terrible. In the third day of our march, a scene
occurred which I shall never forget. We were slowly toiling up a
huge mountain, so exhausted, from fatigue and want, that we could
hardly proceed. When about half-way to the summit, we perceived
before us a large house. Some of our men hastened to it at once,
hoping to procure some provision. The slight fastenings of the door
soon yielded to their eager haste, and they were about to rush in,
when their steps were arrested by the misery the scene presented.
The floor was covered with persons in a state of actual starvation.
Thirty women and children had already expired; and, scattered around
among the corpses, lay fifteen or sixteen more wretched beings, still
breathing, but unable to speak. Hungry as we were, the hearts of the
soldiers were moved at the scene, and our next day’s provision was
cheerfully contributed to rescue them from death. But this kindness
could only delay their fate. They were too weak to seek for more
food; they had scarcely strength to eat the little we could offer
them; and it is more than probable that every one perished.
The next day my comrade, who had been fast failing, declared himself
unable to proceed. He was a fine fellow,--one that I had known in
Ireland, and to whom I was much attached. Feeble as we were, we could
not leave him behind, and we carried him a short distance; but he
soon died. Permission was given us to carry him a little way from the
camp to bury him. We hollowed out a shallow grave, wrapped him in his
blanket, and left him to his fate. Near the spot where we interred
him was a small house, which we entered, and were fortunate enough
to obtain a little wine. While in the house, we heard a scream, as
of fear. We hastened out, and saw several of our soldiers running
swiftly towards the camp, from the place where we had interred our
comrade. They had dug him up, for the purpose of robbing him of his
blanket. As they were ripping it open, the knife entered the flesh,
and he began to struggle. It was this that had so frightened them.
We went to the poor fellow, finished removing his blanket, and found
that he was still alive. Want and fatigue had produced a state of
insensibility resembling death, from which he had been aroused by
the pain of his wound. We shared with him the little wine we had
obtained, which so revived him that he was able to accompany us back
from his own funeral. He soon after recovered, and returned home to
Ireland.
A day or two after this occurrence, I left the company, with one
of my companions, and went higher up the mountain, in search of
wild pigs, which are sometimes found there. This was absolutely
against our orders; but, as we were literally starving to death,
the consequences of disobedience, and the dangers of our journey,
weighed but little in the balance. I agreed to search one side of the
mountain, while he ascended the other, and we were to meet at the
top. When about half-way up the mountain, I was stopped by a ball
whizzing close past my ear. Thinking that it might be my comrade,
who did not see me, I turned, and, looking around, soon saw the
green feather of my assailant, projecting over a rock. At this I was
somewhat alarmed; for he was so completely hid behind the rock that I
could not fire at him, and I knew that he was reloading his musket.
In a moment more he fired again, but, fortunately for me, his musket
flashed in the pan. There was still only his feather in sight; at
this I fired, and struck it. I then reloaded as hastily as possible,
and advanced cautiously up the mountain, hoping to get sight of him.
As I was coming round the point of the rock, he sprang forward, laid
down his gun, spread out his arms, and exposed himself to my shot.
I knew, by his motions, that he had no ammunition, and as I had no
desire to kill him, I fixed my bayonet on my gun, as if I would make
a charge, and then advanced towards him, in a friendly manner. But,
when I was within twice the length of my gun from him, he picked up
his musket and attacked me. Darting back to avoid his bayonet, I
fired my own gun, and he fell to the ground. I examined his knapsack,
and found that it bore the mark of the 95th rifle brigade of our
own division. He was a guerilla, and had doubtless killed the man
whose knapsack he bore. I examined his canteen, and found, to my
great surprise, a pint of Jamaica brandy. In my exhausted state, this
was a discovery which gave me the greatest pleasure. I took some of
it, and, feeling quite refreshed, pursued my search for game. I had
not gone far before I discovered a small pig, which I succeeded in
shooting. This I carried with me to the top of the mountain, where
I found my comrade awaiting me. He had been less successful than
myself, having found nothing. He asked me how I had fared. I told him
that I had shot an old hog and a little pig, at which he expressed
great pleasure. I then showed him the contents of the canteen, which
he joyfully shared with me; and, having related my adventure, we
retraced our steps to the camp. We concealed our treasure as well as
we were able; but, notwithstanding all our care, the first person we
saw, on our return, was the adjutant. He came up to us, and demanded
where we had been. Upon the mountain, in search of food, was my
reply. He told me, if he should report us, as he was required to do,
we should be shot for disobeying orders. I answered, that it made
little difference with us; it would only hasten affairs, as it was
impossible to survive much longer without food. “Did you find any?”
he asked. We showed him our prize. He would gladly have purchased it
of us; but food, in our condition, was far more precious than money,
and we refused his offer of a doubloon, with the assurance that
five would be no temptation to part with it. But, on arrival at our
quarters, as we were cutting up the pig, gratitude for his kindness,
in not reporting us, so far overcame our selfishness, that we sent
him a quarter of it. The remainder made our mess a fine meal; and we
certainly were never in a better condition to estimate the value of
food than when we devoured the little pig of the Morena.
I have alluded to the annoyance by guerillas, or, as they were
sometimes called, Partidas. These were principally, at first, Spanish
peasants, who, unable to present any efficient force against the
French, and unwilling to submit to them, threw themselves into
the mountains, and, being well acquainted with all the passes and
hiding-places, did the French much damage, by cutting off their
communications, robbing their stores, and murdering every one who
dared to stray from the main army. As the war proceeded, their
numbers were enlarged by all those who were weary of the restraints
of law;--every robber that feared a jail, or could break from one;
every smuggler whose trade had been interrupted,--and there were
thousands of these, as there still are, in Spain; every one who was
weary of the restraints of his life, and sought for excitement; and
all idlers who preferred the wild and reckless daring of these troops
to the drill and watch of the army, were found either as associate
or chief in these bands. They soon became regularly organized, chose
their chiefs, and had watchwords, by which they could obtain a safe
pass all over the country. They were professedly our allies, but
they were almost as much a terror to us as to our foes. They proved,
however, invaluable to our army, as a means of communication with
each other, and as spies on the movements of our enemies. It was
impossible for the French to communicate with each other at all,
except by sending strong escorts, and these were often cut off;
while, on our side, news could be sent with almost the rapidity of
telegraph, and this undoubtedly was a great advantage to us. The
chiefs of these bands were often obliged to procure subsistence
and treasure for themselves, by robbing their own countrymen; and,
indeed, one of the principal causes of the sudden growth of these
bands was the hope of intercepting the public and private plate,
which was being carried from all parts of Spain to be coined into
money. Yet, though most of the bands were worthless characters,
there were some among them of more noble spirit. Some were actuated
by revenge--some by a gallant, enterprising spirit--and a few by an
honest ambition to serve their country.
Our troops often met with many adventures with these foes; and many
were the weary hours, in our toilsome marches, that were beguiled by
the recital of their hair-breadth escapes, or their own wonderful
adventures. Some of these were of so much interest that I cannot
refrain from a desire to recount a few to my readers.
Don Julian Sanchez was the son of a farmer, on the banks of the
Guebra. The little cottage where he resided, with his parents and
one sister, was the abode of happiness and plenty. In an evil hour,
the French army passed that way. Their cattle were driven away and
slaughtered, and their little harvest, just reaped, became the prey
of the plunderers. Terrified and despairing, Julian fled, with his
parents and sister, to the woods. But his parents were old, and,
before they could reach the shelter of the wood, they were overtaken,
carried back to the cottage, and murdered, in cold blood, on their
own hearthstone. Julian and his sister concealed themselves in a
cave; but the next day he left her there, and went to see if he
could obtain any trace of his parents. Directing his course to their
little cottage, he found their murdered corpses. Revenge and anger,
in a spirit like Julian’s, was deep, not loud. He shed no tear,
uttered no complaint,--but calmly proceeded to inter the bodies of
his parents in a humble grave. Then, kneeling on the sod, he swore
revenge on their murderers,--a revenge which should be followed till
his latest breath. He returned to his sister; but, as he approached
the cave where he had left her, what a sight met his view! A party
of the hated army were just issuing from its precincts. The body
of his beautiful sister lay on the ground naked,--dishonored,--the
victim of a vile outrage. Julian gazed for a moment on the scene. He
had no time for tears, and he had sworn to live for revenge,--a vow
which now burned itself in deeper characters upon his soul. He turned
away. A huge rock overhung the cave. He ascended it, and, secreting
himself in a little fissure where he could be heard, not seen, he
gazed for a few moments on the chief of the band, till every line of
his countenance was impressed on his soul. Then, calling to him from
the rock, he said, “You hear me, but you see me not. I am a Spaniard,
the son of those parents you murdered yesterday--the brother of her
whose corpse lies before you. You are their murderer; and I swear,
by the Holy Virgin, that I will never lose sight for one day of your
path, until my hands are imbrued in your heart’s best blood! You may
think to escape me; but remember, you shall die by my hand!”
In a moment, the troops of the French were on the rock. They searched
everywhere for the speaker, but no trace of him could be found,
until, just as they had relinquished their search, one of the number
fell dead by the blow of an unseen assassin. He was the first of
the band that fell. Months passed away. Julian had never since met
his foe; but the frequent death of his followers, and the daring
exploits of robbery that were constantly performing in his camp,
often called to mind the voice he had heard. A few months after, in
battle, this officer was attacked, and would have been killed, had
not a Spaniard saved his life, at the risk of his own. He turned to
thank his unknown deliverer, but was met with so fierce a look of
hate, that he involuntarily shrunk from it. “I desire no thanks,”
said the Spaniard; “your life is mine, and none but me shall take
it.” The voice was recognized, but its owner had glided away in the
confusion. A year had elapsed, when this officer was again sent to
the banks of the Guebra, and took up his quarters in the very house
Julian’s father formerly occupied. The first night of his stop there
was enlivened by the arrival of four of the same party who had met
with him the year before. In joyous mood, they had seated themselves
around the table, and were discussing the events of the campaign.
Suddenly they were startled by a deep voice, which the officer had
cause to remember, and Julian, with four of his associates, glided
into the room. So sudden, so unexpected, was the attack, that they
had not time to grasp their swords, ere they were pinioned and led
away. Julian and the chief alone remained. “Look at me,” said Julian;
“do you know me? In this very room, a year ago, my parents fell
by your murderous hand. The stain of their blood still remains to
witness against you. In that wood lies the corpse of my idolized and
only sister. You were her assassin. You heard my vow. Not for one day
have I left your steps. Twice have I warded death from your head;
but when I saw you desecrate again this hearthstone by your accursed
presence, I knew that your time had come. Frenchman, prepare to die!”
After the death of this man, Julian succeeded in organizing a regular
band. At the head of these, he would again and again assault the
enemy, even though they outnumbered his own band many times. Another
instance of his daring intrepidity, at a time when we were suffering
for want of provisions, and of the patience with which he followed up
his designs, deserves to be recorded. It was the custom of the French
garrison to send out their cattle beyond the walls every morning, for
the purpose of grazing, under the protection of a guard, which at
once kept them from wandering too far, and also watched the movements
of the Spanish army. Don Julian determined, if possible, to surprise
the herd. For this purpose, he concealed himself, with his band, day
after day, among the broken ground, near the river. But the guard was
still too powerful and vigilant to allow him to make the attempt. At
length, as if to reward him for his patience, fortune threw in his
way, not only the object for which he sought, but one of far more
importance to him. On a certain day, the governor of the place where
the garrison was stationed came out, accompanied by a very slender
escort, and ventured imprudently to cross the river, at the self-same
spot where Julian lay concealed. He was instantly surrounded, and
made prisoner. Almost at the same moment, the cattle, frightened
by the explosion of a shell which fell among them, ran towards the
river. The guard followed, but overtook them at such a distance
from the city, that Julian thought himself justified in making the
attack. It was attended with perfect success, and governor and cattle
were conveyed in triumph to the British headquarters.
Another of these chiefs was named Juan Martin Diaz, or the
“Empecinado.” When the news of the detention of Ferdinand at Bayonne
first reached Spain, he was engaged as a farmer. Young, ardent, and
daring, he threw aside his plough, and persuaded a neighboring youth,
only sixteen, to join him. Their first object was to procure horses
and arms. They took post upon the high road from France to Madrid,
for the purpose of intercepting the French couriers. An occasion
soon occurred. A party of six men were riding past a narrow defile.
An old woman went out and arrested the progress of the last two, by
offering them some fruit for sale. She detained them until the others
were in advance some distance; then the two youths fired from their
covert, and their victims fell. Long before the others returned for
their comrades, their horses and arms were far away. These boys were
soon joined by others, of which Juan was the chief; and, as he grew
older and had more experience, his band increased, until it numbered
one thousand five hundred men. With these he performed the most
daring exploits, cutting off supplies, and intercepting convoys. By
his intelligence, activity, and bravery, he was enabled to do the
enemy much mischief. In vain were armies sent to surround his band.
They concealed themselves in their fastnesses, and baffled them
all, until his very name became a terror to the French armies. He
gave no quarter to the conquered; and such was his discipline of his
followers, and his generosity in the division of the spoils, that he
became the idol of his band, and they were willing to undertake any
exploit at his bidding.
A convoy was conveying, in a carriage, a lady, a relative of Marshal
Moncey. The coach was escorted by twelve soldiers, in the centre
of two columns of six thousand each, about a mile asunder. The
Empecinado, with only eight of his followers, was concealed close
to the town of Caraveas. He allowed the leading column to pass,
then boldly rushed upon the convoy, put to death the whole of the
escort, seized and carried off the carriage; and, when the alarm was
given, Martin and his prize were in safety in the mountains, where he
effectually eluded the search made after him. He saved the life of
the lady, who was sent to his own house, and had every attention paid
her. This convoy was a very rich prize of money and jewels. This he
divided among his men, reserving only a small share for himself. He
often met with very narrow escapes. On one occasion, he was unhorsed
and disarmed, and the sword of his opponent passed through his arm,
and entered his side. His wound seemed to give him new courage. He
suddenly sprang at his foe, and, seizing him by the neck, dragged
him to the ground. He fell with him, however, but continued to keep
uppermost. The other refusing to surrender, the Empecinado held him
fast with one hand, while with the other he snatched up a stone, and
beat him to death. On another occasion, he was nearly made prisoner
by some Spanish troops in the pay of the French; and, finding every
other hope of escape impossible, he threw himself down an immense
precipice, rather than fall into their hands. His fall was broken
by the projecting limbs of trees, covered with very thick foliage.
He was discovered here by one of his followers, and taken home. He
recovered finally, after suffering a severe illness, which for some
time prevented his taking the field.
The most distinguished of these courageous leaders was Xavier Mina.
He was a student at Pamplona when the revolution broke out. His
father was a considerable land-owner, and deputy for one of the
valleys of Navarre. Some act of injustice, practised towards his
father, had driven young Xavier to desperation. His resolution was
taken. He threw aside his studies, went to his native village, and,
summoning around him the young men of his acquaintance, related his
wrongs, and urged them to join him in his career of revenge. Moved
by his enthusiastic address, twelve of his companions volunteered
to join him. Arming themselves with muskets and ammunition, they
sought the mountain passes, and maintained themselves, while awaiting
opportunities of action, by subsisting on the sheep belonging to
Mina’s father. His first adventure was to surprise a party of seven
artillery-men, who were carrying two pieces of cannon and a quantity
of ammunition from Saragossa to Pamplona. When the news of this
success reached his village, others were encouraged to volunteer.
His next exploit was, with his band of twenty, to attack a general
officer, who was escorted by twenty-four foot and twelve horsemen.
Stationing his men in a narrow defile, he gave orders to fire as
they were descending, each one having selected his man. Twenty of
the escort were thus levelled to the earth, before they had any
intimation of their danger. The general was one of the number. The
rest of the escort were made prisoners, and a large sum of money
fell into Mina’s hands. This he distributed among his men, advising
them to send part to their families, and retain no more than would
suffice for the expenses of their own interment, exposed as they now
continually were to death. The men were thus raised in their own
estimation, and in that of their countrymen, wherever this was told;
and volunteers soon presented themselves in abundance, attracted by a
success which was reported everywhere with the usual exaggerations.
He received, however, only such persons as he regarded as a valuable
acquisition to his band. These wore a red ribbon in their hats, and
a red collar to their jackets. In Arragon, a band of fifty robbers
were adding to the miseries of that unhappy country. Having heard of
their atrocities, Mina turned his course thither. He succeeded in
surprising them. The greater part were killed on the spot, and the
remainder sent as prisoners to Tarragona. Rations were voluntarily
raised for his people, wherever they were expected, and given as
freely at one time as they were paid for at another by the spoils of
the enemy. It was in vain that the French made repeated efforts to
crush this enterprising enemy. If his band were dispersed, it was
only to unite, and, by striking a blow in some weak point, render
themselves more formidable than before.
A large number of prisoners, and an amount of treasure, were to be
sent from Vittoria to France. Twelve hundred men accompanied it
as an escort. At the Puerto de Arlaban, they were attacked by the
seemingly omnipresent Mina, of whose absence, in another part of
the country, they thought themselves assured. They were entirely
routed; but, unfortunately, two hundred of the prisoners were slain
in the contest. Information of the journey of this escort had been
procured from a new recruit in Mina’s band, who had his own object
to accomplish by it. He was a gentleman of some standing, who was
engaged to a beautiful Spanish lady. Her affections had been stolen
from him by a wounded French officer, quartered in her father’s
house. He had recovered, and was now taking his bride home to France.
The former lover had sworn a deep revenge, and, unable himself to
accomplish this object, had enlisted the powerful Mina on his side.
When the band returned to their haunts, they carried with them six
ladies, who were guilty of the same crime, viz., having accepted,
as husbands, French officers. Their fate was, indeed, a sad one.
The contest for them had been fierce in the extreme. They had seen
their protectors, one by one, fall around them, fighting until the
last breath in their defence; and now they were left helpless to the
mercy of their conquerors. A mock trial was instituted. They were
found guilty of aiding the enemies of their country, and all of them
executed.
But Mina was not always successful. Not long after this, he had
attacked and overcome a party of French. As he was conveying his
prisoners to Robres, he was betrayed by one of his own men, and was
attacked as suddenly as he had fallen upon others. His band were
scattered, many of them slain, and he escaped, with great difficulty,
with his own life. One week afterward, he appeared in the Rioja,
with five thousand men, and attacked a Polish regiment, which was
retiring to France. They were entirely routed. Mina enlarged his
band by an accession of every one of the Spanish prisoners whom he
had liberated, and filled his coffers with the booty. One million of
francs fell into his hands, besides the equipages, arms and stores
of all kinds, and a quantity of church plate. Two weeks after, he
captured another convoy, going from Valencia to France. General Abbé
now bent his whole force to disperse his troops. For three days in
succession he followed Mina’s troops to their haunts, and each day
defeated them; so that, on the last day, Mina was obliged again
to flee alone for his life. Yet, not discouraged, he struggled on
with various success, until at length he fell into the hands of the
French, who sent him a prisoner to France. Great rejoicings were made
when the capture of this formidable enemy was reported; but they
soon found that they had little reason for joy, for his place at
the head of the band was taken by his uncle, Francisco, who proved
himself, if possible, even more formidable than his nephew. His
various adventures would well fill a volume, and it is easy to see
the interest they must have possessed when related around the bivouac
fire on those mountains, where no one knew but that any moment might
bring his army around them.
But to return to my own history. We were still pursuing our weary
course, sometimes coming within sight of our enemies, and sometimes
marching and counter-marching, when our leaders thought best to avoid
a battle. We were still suffering the pangs of hunger, our principal
food being a supply of ground bark. The soldiers continued to wander
away, and often escaped, with their lives, from imminent peril. One
of our men observed, at a little distance from the camp, a commotion
in the bushes, which he thought was occasioned by some wild animal;
and he hastened out to secure it. Creeping cautiously along under the
bushes, his course was suddenly arrested by a bullet flying over him.
Having passed around a rock which concealed him from the camp, he
hastily jumped up, and looked round. He soon spied a woman sitting
near a small spring, with a child in her arms, as he thought; but,
concluding that it was best to be on his guard, he crept cautiously
near her, and soon saw that she was thoroughly armed, and what seemed
to be a child was something which certainly did not possess life.
The shot had evidently been fired by her, and she was watching for
his reäppearance. He fired, and killed her. On taking her arms,
he discovered that it was one of the guerillas, dressed in female
apparel, and evidently intended for a decoy. Judging from articles
found around him, all our troops had not been so successful as was
our soldier in discovering the disguise.
There are not many villages on these mountains, and but few scattered
habitations. The next day after the adventure I have just related, a
small party of us again left in search of food. We soon found, in a
beautiful valley, a small house. We knocked for admission. There was
no answer; so, without further ceremony, the door was broken down,
and we entered. A fire was found burning on the hearth, showing,
however desolate the hut might now be, it had not long wanted
inhabitants. We found, however, no food, and were turning away,
quite disappointed, when one of our number spied an open hole in
the garden. We found there, to our great delight, two pigs of wine,
which our near approach had probably disturbed its owners in their
attempts to conceal. These pig-skins were to us quite a curiosity.
The skin is taken as entire as possible from the animal, and turned
so that the hair will be inside, and then preserved in such a way as
to make it capable of holding wine. These are the common wine-casks
of the country. I have often seen loads of them; and so perfectly do
they retain their resemblance, that any one unaccustomed to the sight
would say, at once, that they were loads of dead porkers. We took our
wine, and returned as rapidly as possible to the lines, to share our
good fortune with our comrades.
A day or two after this, as we were encamped on one of the hills
which overlooked the country to a great distance, a movement on
the plains below attracted the attention of our officers. Scouts
were instantly sent out, to learn the nature of it. Animation again
appeared in the faces of our men; for, even if it were the enemy,
we all felt it would be far better to win an honorable death in an
open battle, than to perish daily, as we were doing, by hunger and
murder. It was not long before our messengers returned, spurring
their horses, and joy in every feature of their countenances. As
soon as they came within hearing, they flung up their caps in the
air, shouting, “Relief, relief! our commissariat is coming! It will
soon be here!” The excitement among our men was intense. They could
hardly be restrained from rushing down immediately to break upon
the long-expected, long-delayed supplies. When, at length, they
came near, and we saw the baggage-wagons, accompanied by a strong
escort, the ill-repressed enthusiasm of the men burst forth in one
long, deafening shout, that reverberated from the tops of those
mountains for miles around. The scene then presented by our camp
was, indeed, an exciting one. Officers were engaged on all sides
in distributing provisions to the starving troops, and these in
administering cordials and refreshments to their sick comrades. Many
of the sick, who were apparently near their end, revived and soon
recovered. The same escort brought information that the destination
of Wellington’s army was now to be changed, and our division of it
was directed to proceed immediately to Badajos. This, too, was joyful
news; and, with the morrow’s dawn, everything was ready for motion.
Tents were struck, our baggage stored, and order everywhere restored.
Once more we had an aim, an object; and, with this, it was easy to
become again docile and obedient. I shall never forget the sensation
of pleasure that throbbed in our hearts, as our last column defiled
down the mountain, and we bade farewell to those haunts, which had
been so nearly fatal to us all. Our course was immediately directed
to Badajos, and, on the 3d of May, we sat down three leagues from its
walls.