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.
[Sidenote: ORIGIN OF THE PENINSULAR WAR.]
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.
[Sidenote: SIEGE OF SARAGOSSA.]
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.
[Sidenote: THE MAID OF SARAGOSSA.]
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!”
[Sidenote: DESPERATE CONFLICT.]
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 miasm
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.
[Sidenote: ANECDOTE.]
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.
[Sidenote: FRENCH SUCCESSES IN PORTUGAL.]
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.
[Sidenote: STATE OF AFFAIRS IN PORTUGAL.]
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.
[Sidenote: BATTLE OF ROLICA.]
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:
[Sidenote: BATTLE OF VIMIERO.]
“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.
[Sidenote: THE FRENCH EVACUATE PORTUGAL.]
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.
[Sidenote: ENERGY OF THE FRENCH.]
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 Conde 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.
[Sidenote: THE PASS OF SOMOSIERRA.]
[Sidenote: NAPOLEON BEFORE MADRID.]
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 reopened, 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!
[Sidenote: ADDRESS TO THE SPANISH PEOPLE.]
“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.”
[Sidenote: BONAPARTE LEAVES SPAIN.]
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.
[Sidenote: RETREAT OF SIR JOHN MOORE.]
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.”
[Sidenote: DESTRUCTION OF MAGAZINES AT CORUNNA.]
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.
[Sidenote: DEATH OF SIR JOHN MOORE.]
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.”
[Sidenote: RESULT OF THE BATTLE.]
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.