Badajos.--Its Capture by the French.--Attempts to retake it by
the English.--Wellington invests it in Person.--Assault upon Fort
Christoval.--Storming of the Town.--Terrific Conflict.--The place
sacked by the Victors.--Disgraceful Drunkenness and Debauchery of the
Troops.--The Main Body of the Army depart for Beira.
[Sidenote: BADAJOS.]
Badajos, the capital of the Spanish province of Estremadura, is
situated near the Portuguese frontier, at the confluence of the
small stream of the Rivillas with the Guadiana. It is very strongly
fortified, both nature and art having contributed their stores to
render its position impregnable. A huge rock, one hundred feet high,
overlooks the meeting of the waters. On the top of this rock rises an
old castle, venerable from its age, and itself a strong fortification.
The town occupies a triangular space between the rivers, and is
protected by eight curtains and bastions, from twenty-three to thirty
feet high, with good counterscarps, covered way and glacis. On the
left bank of the Guadiana there is a lunette, covering a dam and
sluice, which commands an inundation. Beyond the Rivillas stands an
isolated redoubt, called the Picurina. This is four hundred yards
from the town. Two hundred yards from the ramparts, rises a defective
crown-work, called the Pardaleras. On the right bank of the Guadiana
rises a hill, crowned by a regular fort, three hundred feet square,
called San Christoval. A bridge, supported by twenty-two stone
arches, crosses the stream, and this is protected by a bridge head.
The strength of this place made its possession a desirable object to
both parties. It had been early invested by the French, under Soult,
and vigorously assaulted. It was, however, well defended, and would
probably have maintained its position, had it not been for the weakness
and inefficiency of its commanding officers, which caused the battle of
the Gebora to terminate in a shameful defeat and immense loss to the
Spanish army. Rafael Menacho was next made commander of the place. He
sustained the siege with great spirit, and everything seemed to promise
favorably, when Menacho was unfortunately killed, during a sally, and
the command devolved upon Imas, a man most unfitted for this situation.
He surrendered, almost without a struggle, to the French; although
he had received certain information that a strong army was moving to
his assistance, and would soon raise the siege. He demanded that his
grenadiers should march out of the breach. Permission was granted, but
they were obliged themselves to enlarge it, before they could do so.
The French immediately took possession of the city, and strengthened
its defences. Lord Wellington was much chagrined at the loss of this
place, and early in May sent Lord William Stewart to invest it. The
siege was carried on with vigor, but under great disadvantages,
arising from want of the proper materials for construction of the
works. In endeavoring to erect their batteries, the engineers were
obliged to labor exposed to a heavy fire from the city, which proved
so destructive, that, before one small battery against one of the
outworks of the town was completed, seven hundred men and five officers
had fallen. When, at length, on the morning of the 11th of May, this
battery was completed, before night five of its guns were silenced by
the enemy, and the rest were so exposed that it was impossible to man
them. The same day news reached our army that the French army were
coming to the relief of Badajos. Immediately our commander took steps
to raise the siege, as to remain there would have exposed our whole
force to destruction. On the night of the 13th, he removed all his
artillery and platforms; and on that of the 14th, his guns and stores.
But so secretly was this done, that the French were entirely ignorant
of it, until, as the rear guard were about being drawn off, they made
a sally, and, of course, discovered it. Soon after this, the battle of
Albuera occurred.
[Sidenote: ASSAULT UPON FORT CHRISTOVAL.]
Our own division was not, however, engaged in this battle, having been
ordered to Campo Mayor, where, on the 24th, orders reached us that we
were again to march for Badajos, Lord Wellington having resolved to
invest it in person. We immediately marched, and arrived on the evening
of the 27th, where we found Lord Wellington, with ten thousand men.
During the absence of our army, Phillipon, the governor of the place,
had entirely destroyed the little remains of fortifications left by
them, repaired all his own damages, and procured a fresh supply of
wine and vegetables from the country. He had also mounted more guns,
and interested the towns-people on his side. The works of the siege
were commenced under Wellington’s own direction, on the 29th, and
carried on a week, with various success. Then it was resolved to make
an assault upon Fort Christoval. The storming party, preceded by a
forlorn hope, and led by Major McIntosh, with the engineer Forster as
a guide, reached the glacis and descended to the ditch about midnight,
on the night of the sixth of June. The French had, however, cleared all
the rubbish away, so that seven feet perpendicular still remained; and
above this were many obstacles, such as carts chained together, pointed
beams of wood, and large shells ranged along the ramparts, to roll
down upon the assailants. The forlorn hope, finding that the breach
was still impracticable, was retiring, with little loss, when they met
the main body, leaping into the ditch with ladders, and the ascent was
again attempted; but the ladders were too short, and the confusion and
mischief occasioned by the bursting of the shells was so great that
the assailants again retired, with the loss of more than one hundred
men. Two nights after, a second attack was made, but met with no better
success. The British troops, with loud shouts, jumped into the ditch.
The French defied them to come on, and at the same time rolled barrels
of powder and shells down, while the musketry made fearful and rapid
havoc. In a little time, the two leading columns united at the main
breach; the supports also came up; confusion arose about the ladders,
of which only a few could be reared; and the enemy, standing on the
ramparts, bayoneted the foremost assailants, overturned the ladders,
and again poured their destructive fire upon the crowd below. One
hundred and forty men had already fallen, and yet not a single foot
had been gained, nor was there one bright spot in the darkness to
encourage them to proceed. The order was given to retire. The next day,
Wellington heard that the army of Soult was again advancing to attack
him; and as to receive battle there would throw all the disadvantage
on his side, he thought best to raise the siege. On the 10th, the
stores were all removed, and the siege turned to a blockade, which was
afterwards terminated, when the armies of Marmont and Soult, having
effected a junction, advanced to its relief. It was nearly a year
before the allied army again found it desirable to approach Badajos.
Meanwhile the war was carried on with great activity, although with
varied success.
My own time was passed with the regiment to which I belonged, either in
the mountains, or in foraging or bringing supplies, as circumstances
dictated. Although again and again engaged in light skirmishes with
small bodies of the enemy, occupied as our own regiment were, it was
not my fortune to engage in a general battle, until the last siege of
Badajos. And as this city was one of the most important, and its siege
the best sustained of any on the Peninsula, I shall give an account of
it more in detail than I have thought best to do of the rest.
[Sidenote: LAST SIEGE OF BADAJOS.]
The unfavorable issue of the two former investments, had induced Lord
Wellington to wait until a combination of favorable circumstances
should at least give more hope of success. The auspicious moment had,
in his view, now arrived. The heavy rains which occur at this season
of the year would so raise the rivers in the high lands, where his
troops were located, that there would be no risk of their detention in
proceeding at once to the Alemtejo, while this same flow of waters,
in the more level portion occupied by the French, would prove a
fatal impediment to the junction of their forces, which were at this
time considerably scattered, owing to the difficulty of obtaining
provisions. Regiments were despatched, therefore, to bring all the
stores of clothing and provisions from the different points where they
had been left, and concentrate them near Badajos.
Wellington himself, having remained at his headquarters, on the Coa,
until the last moment, in order to conceal his real intentions, now
came in person to superintend the new works. As the French had
strongly occupied the stone bridge over the Guadiana, he ordered a
flying bridge to be thrown across, which was completed on the 15th of
March, 1812. Over this Major-general Beresford passed, and immediately
invested Badajos, with an army of fifteen thousand men. A covering army
of thirty thousand occupied different positions near; and, including a
division on its march from Beira, the whole of the allied forces now
in Estremadura numbered fifty-one thousand. The garrison of the enemy,
composed of French, Hessian and Spanish troops, was five thousand
strong. Phillipon, its brave commander, had been busily occupied, since
the last siege, in strengthening the defences of the place, and in
procuring supplies for the expected invasion. Every family was obliged
to keep three months’ provision on hand, or leave the place, and every
preparation was made for an obstinate and long-continued resistance.
General Picton took the chief command of the assailants. He was
alternately assisted by Generals Kempt, Colville, and Bowis.
The night of the 17th was ushered in by a violent storm of wind and
rain. It was extremely dark and uncomfortable; but, as the loud roar
of the tempest would effectually drown the noise of the pick-axes,
eighteen hundred men were ordered to break ground only one hundred and
sixty yards from the Picurina. They were accompanied by a guard of two
thousand men. So rapidly did they work, that, though it was late when
they commenced, before morning they had completed a communication four
thousand feet in length, and a parallel six hundred yards long, three
feet deep, and three wide. The next night these works were enlarged,
and two batteries traced out. To destroy these works was now the first
object of the besieged. On the 19th, thirteen hundred of their number
stole out of the city, unobserved, into the communication, and began to
destroy the parallel. They were soon discovered, however, and driven
away. As they rode up, part of the French cavalry entered into a mock
contest, giving the countersign in Portuguese, and were thus permitted
to pass the pickets; but they soon betrayed their real character, and
our troops, hastily seizing their arms, drove them back to the castle,
with a loss of three hundred men. One hundred and fifty of the British
fell, and, unfortunately, Colonel Fletcher, the chief engineer, was
badly wounded. Owing to this circumstance, and the continued wet and
boisterous state of the weather, the works advanced slowly; but the
batteries were at length completed. Owing to the heavy rains, the
parallel remained full of water, and it was found impossible to drain
it. But this was in some degree remedied by making an artificial
bottom of sandbags. One place yet remained, on the right bank of the
Guadiana, which Wellington had not invested. The eagle eye of Phillipon
soon perceived his advantage. He erected here three batteries, which
completely swept our works with a most destructive fire; and its
effect would have been yet greater, had it not been that the mud
obstructed the bound of the bullets. A courier was instantly despatched
to the fifth division, stationed at Campo Mayor, for assistance. But
misfortunes seldom come alone. The heavy rains had caused such a rise
in the river, that the flying bridges were swept away, and the trenches
filled with water. The provisions and ammunition of the army were
still on the other side of the river, so that we were soon in want of
both. To add to this, the earth thrown up for intrenchments became
so saturated with water that it crumbled away, and our labors were
for the time wholly suspended. A few days of fine weather, however,
relieved us from our unpleasant situation. The river subsided, another
flying bridge was constructed and row-boats obtained, so that the
communication might not again be interrupted, under any circumstances.
On the 25th the reinforcement from Campo Mayor arrived, and the
right bank of the Guadiana was immediately invested. The same day,
our batteries were opened upon the fort. The enemy were by no means
silent spectators of this invasion. They returned our fire with such
vigor, that several of our guns were dismounted, and quite a number of
officers killed. Marksmen were also stationed on the trenches, to shoot
every one who should show his head over the parapet.
General Picton now resolved to take the fort by assault. Its external
appearance did not indicate much strength, and he hoped for an easy
victory. But the event proved that these appearances were deceptive.
The fort was strong; the ditch fourteen feet perpendicular, and guarded
with thick, slanting poles, and from the top there were sixteen feet
of an earthen slope. Seven guns were mounted on the walls, and two
hundred men, each armed with two loaded muskets, stood ready to repel
all intruders. Loaded shells were also ranged along the walls, to be
pushed over, in case of an attack. General Kempt took the direction of
the assault, which was arranged for the night of the 25th. Five hundred
men were selected from the third division, of which two hundred were
stationed in the communication of San Roque, to prevent any assistance
reaching the fort from the town; one hundred occupied a position at the
right of the fort, one hundred at the left, and the remainder were held
as a reserve, under the command of Captain Powis.
About nine o’clock, the signal was given, and the troops moved forward.
The night was very clear, although there was no moon; and the fort,
which had loomed up in the darkness still and silent, as though
untenanted, answered back the first shot of the assailants with a
discharge that caused it to resemble a sheet of fire. The first attack
was directed against the palisades in the rear; but the strength of
these, and the destructive fire poured down upon them, obliged them to
seek some weaker part. They turned to the face of the fort; but here,
the depth of the ditch, and the slanting stakes at the top of it,
again baffled their attempts. The enemy lost not a moment in pouring
their fire upon the assailants, and the loud death-screams told that
the crisis was becoming more and more imminent. The alarm-bells in the
city itself now rung out their shrill sounds, the guns on the walls
and on the castle opened on the assailants, rockets were thrown up
by the besieged, and the answering shots from the trenches served to
increase the tumult. All eyes were turned in the direction of the fort.
A battalion, hastily sent out from the city, advanced to its aid; but
they had scarcely entered the communication, when the troops stationed
there rushed to the onset, and in a few moments they were driven back
within the walls. By the light of those streams of fire, which ascended
every moment from the Picurina, dark forms might be seen struggling on
the ramparts, in all the energy of determined contest. Continued rounds
of artillery had broken down the palisades in front, and the assailants
were fighting, hand to hand, for an entrance.
The party in the rear of the fort had thrown their ladders, like
bridges, across the ditch, resting them on the slanting stakes, and
springing on them, drove back their guards. Fifty men, bearing axes,
now discovered the gate, which soon fell beneath their blows, and they
rushed in to a nearer contest. The little garrison, stern in their
resistance, did what they could. Powis, Gips, Holloway and Oates, fell
on the ramparts. Nixon, Shaw, and Rudd, were not long behind. Scarcely
an officer was left; and yet the struggle continued. At length, when
only eighty-six men remained, they surrendered, and the Picurina passed
to the allies. Only one hour had that fierce conflict lasted, yet of
our troops four officers and fifty men had fallen, and fifteen officers
and two hundred and fifty men were wounded. Phillipon felt deeply the
loss of this fort. He did not conceal from his soldiers the increase
of danger to their city from it; but he stimulated their courage by
reminding them that death was far preferable to an abode in the English
prison-ships. They deeply felt that appeal, and, with the first dawn of
light, their guns were manned with renewed activity. These were turned
against the fort, and so raked it that it was impossible for our troops
to remain there, and it was deserted. This victory gave fresh courage
to the besiegers. Our whole force was occupied, the three succeeding
nights, in erecting new batteries, and in extending the parallels and
communications. In the daytime, comparatively little could be done,
as the fire from the town so galled the workmen. Repeatedly they
dismounted our guns, and destroyed the defences which had been erected
to shield the laborers, so that we were obliged to wait until the
darkness prevented their marksmen from taking aim, in order to carry on
our works. The night of the 27th, an attempt was made to destroy the
dam, which had been built for the purpose of forming an inundation,
and lessening the space where our troops could work; but the moon had
now made her appearance, and shone so brightly that the effort was
unsuccessful.
On this night a most daring feat was performed by one of the French.
Having disguised himself, he crept over the wall, and concealed himself
until he had caught the watchword for the night. Then, boldly mingling
with the troops, he proceeded to the works. Here the engineer had
placed a line to mark the direction of the sap. Just before the workmen
arrived, he moved the string, until he brought it within complete range
of the castle guns. The men commenced work at once, but the light of
the moon enabled the guns to tell with fearful precision upon them; and
it was not until a severe loss had been sustained, that the mistake
was discovered. Meanwhile, the intruder stole quietly back to his old
quarters, which he reached unmolested.
Soult, trusting to the strong intrenchments of the place, had but
little fear that it would finally surrender; but he knew a hard-fought
battle was inevitable. He therefore endeavored, as much as possible,
to concentrate his forces near; but, while they were marching for
this purpose, Graham and Hill attacked their flanks, and forced them
to take another direction. The whole of the Spanish army now moved on
to the Ronda hills, and threatened to attack Seville. This movement
obliged Soult to detach a large part of his army to the assistance of
this city, and had, as the event proved, fatally delayed his march to
Badajos. On the 30th, Wellington received information that Soult had
resumed his march, and would soon arrive; but this news only served to
hasten the preparations for the attack. Forty-eight pieces of artillery
were now constantly playing against the San Roque, and the siege
advanced at all points. Still the San Roque stood firm. General Picton
was the more anxious for its destruction, as the inundation, which was
caused by the dam, and protected by this lunette, prevented the free
action of the troops.
On the night of the 1st of April, several brave fellows determined
to see if they could not accomplish by stratagem what open force
had failed to effect. Two officers placed themselves at the head of
a small company of sappers. Under cover of the darkness, and their
motions encumbered by the powder they were obliged to carry, they stole
rapidly, but noiselessly, into the camp of the enemy. It was, indeed,
a dangerous experiment. The least noise, the slightest accident, might
alarm the sentinel; and then, they well knew, none would return to tell
their fate. Scarcely venturing to breathe, they reached, in safety, a
spot near the place. One of the officers then went to examine the dam.
During his absence, the rest of the party could see the sentinel, as
he approached within a very few feet of where they lay concealed. They
saw, if they could dispose of him without noise, they might probably
accomplish their aim undiscovered. The officer, having examined the
dam, now returned, just as the sentinel approached. “Now, boys, is
your time,” he whispered. “Remember, one word, one sound, and we are
lost.” Riquet, a powerful Irishman, selected for this purpose, seized
his cloak, and stood prepared. As the man was passing, he sprang
forward, and, throwing his cloak over him, he was in an instant gagged
and bound. Then, rapidly and silently, the powder was placed against
the dam, the train laid, and the match applied. They waited a moment,
to see that it was not extinguished, and then hastily retreated. A few
moments passed, and the loud explosion was the first intelligence the
enemy had of the intrusion. All eyes were bent anxiously upon the spot,
but our hopes were destined to a sad disappointment. The dam stood
firm, and the inundations still remained. But, although this brave
attempt had failed, it soon became apparent to our general that the
crisis was rapidly approaching. The bastions of the Trinidad and the
Santa Maria had already given way; the breaches were daily enlarging,
and hope grew strong that we should succeed in reducing the place
before Soult should arrive. Nor were the enemy blind to their danger.
They had already built a strong intrenchment behind the walls. Now they
converted the nearest houses and garden-walls into a third line of
defence.
Rumors were continually circulating that the French army was close
at hand; but they were so uncertain that no dependence could be
placed upon them. About this time, however, certain intelligence was
brought that Soult had effected a junction with Drouet and Daricoa,
and was already at Albuera. No time was then to be lost. Wellington
himself examined the breaches, and pronounced them practicable, and
the night of the 6th of April was fixed for the assault. Rapidly the
news circulated among the army, and eighteen thousand daring soldiers
burned for that attack, that was to carry to posterity so dreadful a
tale. I shall never forget the effect on our own regiment, when it was
announced. General Sponsbury himself bore the tidings, and asked if our
regiment--the 28th of foot--was willing to lead the assault upon the
castle. This offer had already been made to the colonels of the 10th
and 17th regiments; but their men were suffering so severely from a
disease in the eyes, called the Jamaica Sands, that they declined the
honor. “My men have their eyes open, at such a time, general,” answered
our brave colonel; “nor is their leader ever blind to the interests of
king and country.” Then, turning to us, he cried, “What say you, my
lads? Are you willing to take the front ranks in this attack?” A loud
shout gave its affirmative to this appeal. Every heart thrilled at the
honor thus conferred, although all knew how perilous such a distinction
must necessarily be.
The dreaded yet longed-for night drew on, and our officers were busily
engaged in arranging the order of the attack, and in preparing the men
for their duty. Picton’s division was to cross the Rivillas river,
and scale the castle walls, which were from eighteen to twenty feet in
height, furnished with every means of destruction, and so narrow at the
top that their defenders could easily reach and overturn the ladders.
To Leith was appointed the distant bastion of San Vincente, where the
glacis was mined, the ditch deep, the scarp thirty feet high, and the
defenders of the parapet armed with three loaded muskets each, that
their first fire should be as deadly as possible.
The 4th and light divisions were to march against the breaches, well
furnished with ladders and axes, preceded by storming parties of five
hundred men, with their forlorn hopes. Major Wilson, of the 48th, was
directed to storm San Roque, and to General Power was assigned the
bridge head.
The morning had been very clear, but, as night approached, clouds
covered the horizon, as if to veil the bloody scenes of the night.
Fog rose thick from the rivers over every object, thus rendering
the darkness more complete. Unusual stillness prevailed, although
low murmurs pervaded the trenches, and, on the ramparts, lights
occasionally flitted here and there. Every few moments the deep-toned
voices of the sentinels broke in upon our ears, proclaiming that “all
was well in Badajos.”
The possession of this place had become a point of honor with the
soldiers on both sides. Three times had the French seen their foes
sit down before these almost impregnable walls. Twice had they been
obliged to retire, with heavy losses. The memory of these disasters,
revenge for those who had fallen, hatred of their foes, and a strong
desire for glory, now nerved each British arm for the contest; while
the honor of the French nation, the approval of their idolized emperor,
and, more than all, the danger to which their families would be exposed
in case of failure, combined with an equal thirst for glory, awakened
all the ardent enthusiasm of the French.
[Sidenote: THE FINAL ASSAULT.]
At ten o’clock a simultaneous assault was to be made on the castle, the
San Roque, the breaches, the Pardaleras, San Vincente, and the bridge
head, on the other side of the Guadiana.
The enemy were, as yet, all unconscious of the design of our general,
and the dark array of the British moved slowly and silently forward.
Every heart was full; for, although now unusual quiet reigned, every
one knew that it was but the prelude to that hour when death, in its
most terrible and ghastly forms, would be dealt on every side. In one
short half-hour the signal was to be given,--nay, even that little time
was lost. A lighted carcass was thrown up from the castle, and fell at
the very feet of the men in the third division, casting a lurid and
glaring light for yards around. The wild shout of alarm, the hurried
tones of the signal-bells, and the tumultuous rushing of the soldiers,
proclaimed that our array was discovered. Not a moment was to be lost.
“Forward, my men, forward!” passed from rank to rank. One wild, long,
deafening shout, responded, and then the besiegers dashed onward. In a
moment a circle of fire seemed to surround the doomed city.
Our own division, under charge of General Kempt, had crossed the narrow
plank that constituted the bridge over the Rivillas, under a heavy fire
of musketry, and then, re-forming, ran hastily up the rugged hill, to
the foot of the castle. Scarcely had we reached the walls, when our
brave general fell, severely wounded. His faithful aids-de-camp carried
him from the field; and, as they were passing to the trenches, he met
General Picton,--who, hurt by a fall, and unprepared for the advance
of the signal, had been left in the camp,--hastening onward. A few
hurried words passed between them, and General Picton ran on, to find
his brave soldiers already ascending the heavy ladders they had placed
against the castle walls. And well might those men be called brave,
who dared attempt to ascend those ladders, in spite of the showers of
heavy stones, logs of wood, and bursting shells, that rolled off the
parapet,--regardless, too, of that ceaseless roll of musketry, that
was telling with such fearful precision on their flanks,--forgetting,
apparently, that, even should they live to reach the top, they could
scarcely hope to survive the shock of that formidable front of pikes
and bayonets that rose to meet them. Deafening shouts echoed on every
side, as the besieged endeavored to throw down those heavy ladders; and
these were answered back by the groans of the dying, and the shrieks
of the soldiers that were crushed by their fall. Yet, not for a moment
daunted, those behind sprang on to the remaining ladders, and strove
which first should meet the death that seemed inevitable. But their
courage was fruitless. Every ladder was thrown down, and loud shouts of
victory ran along the walls. But the British, though foiled, were not
subdued. They fell back a few paces, and re-formed. Colonel Ridge then
sprang forward, and, seizing a ladder, placed it against the lowest
part of the castle wall, loudly calling to his men to follow. Officer
Canch succeeded in placing another beside him, and in an instant they
were fighting upon the ramparts. Ridge fell, pierced with a hundred
wounds; but, ere his assailants had time to strike again, those ladders
had poured their living load into the castle, and, step by step,
were its brave defenders forced, fighting, into the street. Here a
reinforcement induced them to pause, and a hard-fought conflict ensued.
But their assistants came too late,--the castle was ours.
[Illustration: STORMING OF BADAJOS AND SCALING OF THE WALLS BY THE
ENGLISH TROOPS.]
While these events were passing at the castle, more terrific, more
maddening, if possible, was the contest at the breaches. Just as the
firing at the castle commenced, two divisions reached the glacis. The
flash of a single musket from the covered way was the signal that the
French were ready, and yet all was still and dark. Hay packs were
thrown hastily into the ditches, and five hundred men sprang down the
ladders, which were placed there, without any opposition. Why was this
ominous stillness? But the assailants had hardly time to ask, when a
bright light shot up from the darkness, and revealed all the horrors of
the scene. The ramparts were crowded with dark figures and glittering
arms, while, below, the red columns of the British were rushing on,
like streams of burning lava. A crash of thunder followed that bright
light, and hundreds of shells and powder-barrels dashed the ill-fated
stormers into a thousand atoms. One instant the light division paused,
and then, as if maddened by that terrific sight, they flew down the
ladders, or leaped into the gulf below. A blaze of musketry poured its
dazzling light into the ditch, as the fourth division came up, and
descended with equal fury. But the enemy had made, at the bottom of the
ditch, a deep cut, which was filled with water. Into this snare the
head of the division fell, and more than a hundred men were drowned.
Those behind checked not an instant, but, turning to the left, came
to an unfinished intrenchment, which they mistook for the breaches.
It was covered in a moment; but, beyond it, still lay a deep and wide
chasm, between them and the ramparts they wished to gain. Confusion
necessarily ensued, for the assailants still crowded on, until the
ditch was full, and even then the press continued. Not for one moment
ceased the roar of the musketry upon those crowded troops, and the loud
shouts of the enemy, mingled with the din of bursting grenades and
shells. The roaring guns were answered back by the iron howitzers from
the battery, while the horrid explosions of the powder-barrels, the
whizzing flight of the blazing splinters, and the loud commands of the
officers, increased the confusion. Through all this the great breach
was at length reached, and the British trusted that the worst was over;
but, deep in those ruins, ponderous beams were set, and, firmly fixed
on their top, glittered a terrible array of sword-blades, sharp-pointed
and keen-edged, while ten feet before even that could be reached, the
ascent was covered with loose planks, studded with sharp iron points,
which penetrated the feet of the foremost, and sent them rolling back
on the troops behind.
Behind these sword-points, the shouting Frenchmen stood rejoicing in
their agony, and poured in their fire with ceaseless rapidity; for
every man had a number of muskets, and each one of these, beside the
ordinary charge, was loaded with a cylinder of wood, full of leaden
slugs, which scattered like hail, when discharged. Hundreds of men
had fallen, and hundreds more were dropping; but still the heroic
officers rushed on, and called for new trials. Yet, there glittered
the sword-blades, firm, immovable; and who might penetrate such a
barrier? Yet, so zealous were the men themselves, that those behind
strove to push the forward ranks on to the blades, that they might
thus themselves ascend on a bridge made of their bodies; but they
frustrated this attempt by dropping down, for none could tell who fell
from choice, and who by the effect of that dreadful fire, and many
who fell unhurt never rose again, crushed by the crowd. For a little
while after the commencement of this terrible attack, military order
was preserved; but the tumult and noise was such, that no command
could be distinctly heard; and the constant falling and struggling
of the wounded, who sought to avoid being trampled upon, broke the
formations, and order was impossible. Yet, officers of all stations
would rush out, and, followed by their men, make a desperate assault
on that glittering steel, and only fall back to swell the pile of dead
and dying. Two hours were spent in these vain efforts, and then the
remaining soldiers turned sadly and slowly away; for they felt that
the breach of the Trinidad was, indeed, impregnable. An opening still
remained in the curtain of the Santa Maria bastion, and to this they
directed their steps; but they found the approach to it impeded by
deep holes and cuts, and their fearfully lessening numbers told how
useless the attempt would be. Gathering in dark groups, they leaned
despairingly on their muskets, and looked with sullen desperation at
the ramparts of the Trinidad, where the enemy were seen, by the light
of the fire-balls which they threw up, aiming their guns with fearful
precision, and tauntingly asking, “Why they did not come into Badajos?”
And now, unwilling to be finally conquered, Captains Nicholas and Shaw,
with fifty men, collected from all regiments, made one more desperate
attempt to reach the Santa Maria breach. Already had they passed the
deep cuts, and toiled over two-thirds of the dangerous ground, when a
discharge of musketry levelled every man, except Shaw, to the earth.
Nicholas, and a large proportion of the rest, were mortally wounded.
After this, no further attempt was made; and yet the soldiers would not
retire, but remained passive and unflinching, under the fire of the
enemy. It was now midnight. Already two thousand brave men had fallen,
when Wellington, who was watching the progress of the attack from a
height close to the quarries, sent orders that the troops should retire
and re-form for a second assault. But so great was the confusion, that
many of the officers did not receive the orders, and so endeavored to
prevent the soldiers from leaving, which occasioned many deaths.
But the gallant defenders of Badajos, although successful at the
breaches, found that there was no time to look idly on. The whole city
was girdled by fire. The third division still maintained its ground
at the castle; the fifth were engaged at the Pardaleres, and on the
right of the Guadiana, while General Walker’s brigade was escalading
the bastion of San Vincente. This brigade had stolen silently along
the banks of the river, the noise of its ripple having drowned the
sound of their footsteps until they reached the barrier gate. Just
then the explosion took place at the breaches; and by its light the
French sentinels discovered their assailants. In an instant, a sharp
musketry was opened upon them. The Portuguese troops, panic-struck,
threw down the scaling-ladders which had been intrusted to them; but
the British snatched them up, and reared them against the walls, which,
in this place, were thirty feet high. Unfortunately, the ladders were
too short, and this placed them in a most perilous and uncomfortable
position. A small mine was sprung beneath their feet, adding its quota
to the fearful number of the dead; beams of wood and shells, fraught
with living fire, were rolled upon their heads, while showers of grape
from the flanks swept the ditch, dealing death-blows thick and fast
on every side. But, fortunately for our troops, the reinforcement
to assist in the defence of the castle was just at this time called
for, and a part of the walls lower than the rest was left unmanned.
Three ladders were hastily placed here, but they were still too
short. But British valor and ingenuity soon overcame this difficulty.
A soldier, raised in the arms of his comrades, sprang to the top;
another followed. These drew their comrades after them, and soon, in
spite of the constant fire which the French kept up, they ascended
in such numbers, that they could not be driven back. Dividing, on
their entrance, one-half entered the town, while the other, following
the ramparts, attacked and won three bastions. Just as the last was
yielding, General Walker fell, covered with wounds. A soldier, who
stood near him, cried out, “A mine! a mine!” At that word, those
troops which had crossed the strong barrier, whom neither the deepness
of the ditch nor the height of the wall could appal, who flinched not
a moment at the deadly fire of the enemy, shrank back at a chimera of
their own raising. Their opponents saw their advantage, and, making a
firm and deadly charge, drove them from the ramparts. But, before the
French had time to rejoice in their victory, a reserve, under Colonel
Nugent, made its appearance, and the fleeing soldiers returned, and
soon gained the field.
The party who had entered the town at the first attack on San Vincente
pursued their way through the streets. They met with no opposition,
however. All was still and silent as the grave, and yet the streets
were flooded with light, and every house illuminated. Sounding their
bugles, they advanced to the great square of the town, but still met
no enemy. All was bright and still, except that low murmurs were heard
from behind the lattices, and occasionally a shot was fired at them
from under the doors. Hence, leaving the square, they repaired to the
breaches, and attempted to surprise the garrison, by attacking them in
their rear. But they found them on the alert, and were soon obliged
to return to the streets. But the English were now pouring in on
every side, and the brave defenders of the ramparts and the breaches
turned to defend their homes. A short and desultory fight followed.
Generals Viellande and Phillipon, brave and determined to the last,
were both wounded; and, gradually falling back, they retreated, with
a few hundred soldiers, to San Christoval, where they surrendered to
Lord Fitzroy Somerset. Then loud shouts of victory! victory! resounded
through the streets, and found its joyful echo in many hearts.
[Sidenote: SACK OF THE CITY.]
During this siege, five thousand men and officers had fallen;
thirty-five hundred having lost their lives the night of the
assault,--twenty-four hundred at the breaches alone. If any one would
picture to himself the terrible scenes that occured at this spot, let
him imagine a lot of less than a hundred square yards, which, in the
short space of little more than two hours, was deluged by the blood
of twenty-four hundred men. Nor did all these fall by sudden death.
Some perished by steel, some by shot, some were drowned, some crushed
and mangled by heavy weights, others trampled down by the crowd,
and hundreds dashed to pieces by the fiery explosions; and all this
occurred where the only light was the intense glare of the explosions,
and the lurid flame of the burning dead, which came to mingle its
horrible stench with the sickening odors of the gunpowder, and the
nauseous smells of the exploding shells. Here, too, the groans of the
wounded were echoed back by the shrieks of the dying; and, ever and
anon, between the roar of the artillery and the thunder of the bursting
shells, were heard the bitter taunts of the enemy. Let any one imagine
all this, I say, and they may have some faint ideas of the horrors
of war. Yet, dreadful as this is, could the veil but drop here, the
soldier’s heart might still throb with pride, as he recounted the
hard-fought battle, where valor stood preëminent, and none yielded, but
to death, until the victory was won. But there is still another dark
and revolting page, which, in a history like this, designed to paint
the horrors as well as the glories of war, it were not well to omit.
I refer to the scenes which followed the victory, when Badajos lay at
the mercy of its conquering foe. If there is one feature of war more
repulsive than another, one from which every good feeling of the heart
shrinks back appalled, it is from the scene which invariably follows,
when permission is given to sack and plunder a conquered city. All
restraint is laid aside. Men’s passions, wound up almost to frenzy by
the exciting and maddening scenes through which they have passed, will
have a vent; and no sorrow is too holy, no place too sacred, to shield
its occupant from the storm. Our men scattered themselves through the
city, all with liberty to do what they pleased, to take what they
wanted. Houses were broken open, and robbed. If any resistance was
made, death was the certain penalty; and often death in such a form
that a soldier’s fate would have been mercy. All, it is true, were
not alike. In such an army there are always brave men, who, even in
such an hour, would scorn to commit a dishonorable action, and these
seconded the attempts of our officers to preserve at least a semblance
of order; but they were too few to accomplish much. All the dreadful
passions of human nature were excited, and they would have way. Many
lost their lives in vain attempts to check the cruelty and lust and
drunkenness of their own soldiers. For two days and nights Badajos
resounded with the shrieks and piteous lamentations of her defenceless
victims, with groans and shouts and imprecations, varied by the hissing
of fires from houses first plundered, then destroyed, the crashing of
doors and windows, and the almost ceaseless report of muskets used in
violence. It was not until the third day that the soldiers, exhausted
by their own excesses, could be collected in sufficient numbers to bury
the dead of their own regiments, while many of the wounded perished
solely from want of necessary care. I had imagined that the miseries
of intemperance were no unfamiliar sight to me; yet never before, or
since, has it been my lot to meet the madness which characterized the
eager search for liquor, on every side. An instance that occurred in
our own regiment, I will relate. Several of our men, and among them
some that I had known in Ireland, and should never have suspected of
such conduct, broke into a cellar where was stored a large quantity
of wine. There were many casks, and some of them contained wine that
bore the brand of scores of years. They tore down the doors for tables,
and commenced their mad feast. Bottles half emptied were thrown across
the cellar, and what would have sufficed a regiment for months, was
recklessly poured upon the floor. Unconscious, or not caring what they
did, they stopped not to draw the wine, but, knocking in the head
of the casks, proceeded to try their various qualities. At length,
overcome by intoxication, they sank upon the floor, and paid the
penalty of their rashness with their lives; for, when a diligent search
was made for absentees, they were discovered actually drowned in the
wine. Many were burned to death in houses which they themselves had
fired.
[Sidenote: A DISCOVERY.]
For my own part, I had been fortunate enough to pass through all the
horrors of the siege, and the bloody scenes of the assault, unhurt.
Excitement had rendered me reckless of danger, and I hurried on, scarce
knowing where I was or what I did. Now that this had passed, I felt
exhausted and weary, and very thirsty. My comrade and myself resolved
that our first search should be for something to drink. We hurried on,
until we reached a large store, where we thought we should find some
liquor. The fastenings of the outer door soon yielded to our efforts,
but the door to the cellar we found it impossible to open or break
down. Just at this moment, a band of pioneers happened to be passing,
who always carry with them huge hatchets. We called to them, and, with
their assistance, soon made our way to the cellar. But here a great
disappointment awaited us. We found no liquor, but only two tiers of
firkins, used for holding butter. One of our men, in anger, struck his
hatchet into one of them, when, to our great surprise, out rolled
whole handfuls of doubloons. We then struck the heads of the firkins
with the butt-ends of our muskets, but could not break them. The
hatchets, however, soon completed the work. When the heads were knocked
out, the money was so firmly pressed together that it came out in one
solid mass. Each one of us then took what we pleased. I placed three
handsful in my comrade’s knapsack, and he did the same by me. I then
filled my haversack, and even my stockings, with the precious treasure.
Part of our company remained as guard, while the rest went to report to
our commander the discovery we had made. I soon found that I had stored
more money than I was able to carry, so I threw a part of it in an old
well. Our commander immediately sent a detachment of men to empty the
cellar, and they brought away no less than eight mules’ burden of gold.
I cannot now recall its exact amount, but such was its value that our
officers determined to send it to Brussels, when the army should leave
Badajos.
[Sidenote: ATROCIOUS CONDUCT OF THE VICTORS.]
We take the following description of the scenes to which we have above
referred from an eye-witness. He says: “It has been the practice of
modern historians to describe, in the glowing language of exaggerated
eulogy, every act done by the British and their allies, while their
pens have been equally busy in vilifying and defaming all who were
opposed to them. Perhaps there is no circumstance to which this applies
with more force than the description usually given of the conduct of
the British armies and their allies after the taking of Badajos. While
their gallantry is praised to the utmost, their evil deeds are left to
find the light as they may; but ‘foul deeds will rise, though all the
earth overwhelm them.’” Before six o’clock on the morning of the 7th
of April, all organization among the assaulting columns had ceased,
and a scene of plunder and cruelty that it would be difficult to find
a parallel for took place. The army, so orderly the preceding day,--so
effective in its organizations,--seemed all at once transformed into a
vast band of brigands. The horde of Spaniards, as well as Portuguese
women and men, that now eagerly sought for admission to plunder,
augmented the number of this band to what the army had been before
the battle; and twenty thousand persons, armed with all power to act
as they thought fit, and almost all armed with weapons which could be
used at the pleasure of the bearers, for the purpose of enforcing any
wish they might seek to gratify, were let loose upon this devoted city.
Subject to no power of control from others, intoxication caused them
to lose all restraint on themselves. If the reader can for a moment
fancy a fine city, containing an immense population, among which may be
reckoned a proportion of the finest women Spain, or perhaps the world,
can boast of,--if he could fancy that population and these women left
to the mercy of twenty thousand infuriated and licentious soldiers,
for two days and two nights, he can well imagine the horrors enacted
in Badajos. Wine and spirit stores were first forced open, and casks
of the choicest wines and brandy dragged into the streets; and, when
the men had drank as much as they fancied, the heads of the vessels
were stove in, or the casks broken, so that the liquor ran about in
streams. In the town were large numbers of animals,--sheep, oxen, and
horses,--belonging to the garrison. These were among the first things
taken possession of; and the wealthy occupier of many a house was
glad to be allowed the employment of conducting them to our camp, as,
by so doing, he got away from a place where his life was not worth a
minute’s purchase. Terrible as was this scene, it was not possible to
avoid occasionally laughing; for the _conducteur_ was generally not
only compelled to drive a herd of cattle, but also obliged to carry
the bales of plunder taken by his employer perhaps from his own house.
And the stately gravity with which the Spaniard went through his
work, dressed in short breeches, frilled shirt, and a hat and plumes,
followed by our ragamuffin soldiers with fixed bayonets, presented a
scene that Cruikshank himself would have been puzzled to delineate
justly. The plunder so captured was deposited under a guard composed
principally of soldiers’ wives. A few hours were sufficient to despoil
the shops of their property. Night then closed in, and then a scene
took place that pen would fail to describe. Insult and infamy, fiendish
acts of violence and open-handed cruelty, everywhere prevailed. Age, as
well as youth, was alike unrespected, and perhaps not one house, and
scarcely a person, in this vast town, escaped injury. War is a terrible
engine, and when once set in motion, it is not possible to calculate
when or where it will stop.
[Sidenote: TERRIBLE DISORDER.]
“The 8th of April was a fearful day for the inhabitants. The soldiers
had become so reckless that no person’s life, of whatever sex, rank, or
station, was safe. If they entered a house that had not been despoiled
of its furniture and wines, they were at once destroyed. If it was
empty, they fired at the windows, or at the inmates, or often at each
other. Then they would sally into the streets, and amuse themselves by
firing at the church bells in the steeples, or at any one who might
be passing. Many of the soldiers were killed, while carrying away
their plunder, by the hands of those who, a few hours before, would
have risked their own lives to protect them. Hundreds of these fellows
took possession of the best warehouses, and acted as merchants; these
were ejected by a stronger party, who, after a fearful strife, would
displace them, only themselves to give place to others, with terrible
loss of life. To put a stop to such a frightful scene, it was necessary
to use some forbearance, as well as severity; for, to have punished
all who were guilty would have been to decimate the army. In the first
instance, parties from those regiments that had least participated
in the combat were ordered into the town to collect the hordes of
stragglers, that filled the streets with crimes too horrible to detail;
and, when this measure was found inadequate, a brigade of troops were
marched into the city, and were directed to stand by their arms, while
any marauders remained. Gibbets and triangles were erected, and many
of the men were flogged. A few hours so employed were sufficient to
purge the town of the robbers that still lurked in the streets, many of
whom were Spaniards and Portuguese, not connected with the army, and
infinitely worse than our troops. Towards evening tranquillity began
to return; but it was a fearful quiet, and might be likened to a ship
at sea, which, after having been plundered and dismasted by pirates,
should be left floating on the ocean, without a morsel of food to
supply the wants of its crew, or a stitch of canvas to cover its naked
masts. By degrees, however, the inhabitants returned, and families left
alive again became reünited; yet there was scarce a family that did not
mourn its dead.”
The same writer says: “Early on the morning of the 9th of April, a
great concourse of Spaniards, from the neighboring villages, thronged
our lines. They came to purchase the booty captured by our men; and
each succeeding hour increased the supply of their wants, numerous
and varied as they were, and our camp had the appearance of a vast
market. Some of the soldiers realized upwards of one thousand dollars
from the sale, and almost all gained handsomely by an enterprise in
which they had displayed so much devotion and bravery; and it is only
to be lamented that they tarnished laurels so nobly won, by traits of
barbarity which, for the sake of human nature, we hope have not often
found a parallel.”
It was not until order was in some measure restored that the wounded
and dead could be attended to; but now graves were dug, and the mangled
remains, so lately full of life and activity, burning with high hopes
and fond anticipations, were laid away, adding their numbers to the
vast pile of victims sacrificed to that Moloch--war. It is said that
when Wellington learned the number of the fallen, and the extent of his
loss in the death of those brave men, a passionate burst of tears told
how much he was affected by it.
[Sidenote: WELLINGTON STILL AT BADAJOS.]
For a few days Wellington lingered near Badajos, hoping that Soult,
to whom Phillipon had sent the fatal news even in the confusion of
his surrender, would be tempted from his intrenchments to risk a
battle with the allies, while the troops were flushed with victory.
But this general, although feeling deeply the loss of one of his most
impregnable fortresses, found himself too much occupied with the other
division of the allied army to venture on such a course.
It was Wellington’s intention, in case this battle did not take place,
to proceed immediately to Andalusia; but, learning that the Spanish
general had failed to garrison the fortresses already taken in a
suitable manner, he was obliged to alter his own course of action, in
order to secure former conquests. While he remained here, his time was
busily occupied in repairing the breaches, in levelling the trenches,
and restoring the injured fortifications. This being done, he placed
here, as a garrison, two regiments of Portuguese, and marched himself,
with the main body of his troops, upon Beira.