The French had assaulted with great vigor the fortified positions
of the Torrero. Ten thousand men defended them, commanded by Don
Philip Saint March and by O'Neill, both generals of great merit. The
volunteers of Bourbon, Castile, Campo Segorbino, of Alicante, and
of Soria, the sharp-shooters of Fernando VII, the Murcia regiment,
and other bodies that I do not remember, answered the fire. From the
redoubt of Los Martires we saw the beginning of the action, and the
French columns which extended the length of the canal and flanked the
Torrero. The fire of the fusileers continued for some time, but the
struggle could not be prolonged very long, for that point could not
be held without the occupation and fortification of others close by,
like Buena Vista, Casa Blanca, and the reservoir of the canal. But
none the less our troops did not retire except slowly and in the best
order, retreating by the Puente de America, and carrying with them all
the pieces of artillery except one, which had been dismantled by the
enemy's fire. Amidst it all we heard a great noise which resounded at
a great distance, and as the fire had almost ceased, we supposed that
there was another battle outside the town.
"There is the Brigadier Don José Manso," said Augustine to me, "with
the Swiss regiment of Aragon, which Don Mariano Walker commands, the
volunteers of Huesca, of whom Don Pedro Villacampa is leader, the
volunteers of Catalonia, and other valiant corps. And here are we, hand
in hand! Along this side it appears to be about finished. The French
will content themselves to-day with the conquest of Torrero."
"Either I am greatly deceived," I replied, "or they are now going to
attack San José."
We all looked at the spot indicated, an edifice of huge dimensions
which arose at our left, separated from the Puerta Quemada by the
valley of the Huerva.
"There is Renovales," said Augustine,--"the brave Don Mariano
Renovales, who distinguished himself so highly in the other siege, who
now commands the troops of Orihuela and of Valencia."
In our position we were all prepared for an energetic defence. In the
redoubt del Pilar, in the battery of Los Martires, in the tower of
Del Pino, the same as in the Trinitarios, the artillery stood guard
with burning matches, and the infantry waited behind the parapets
in positions that seemed to us quite secure, ready to fire if any
columns should attempt to assault us. It was cold, and most of us were
shivering. One might almost have believed that it was from fear; but
no, it was cold, and anybody who had said the contrary would have lied.
The movement which I had foreseen was not slow in taking place, and
the convent of San José was attacked by a strong column of French
infantry. It was an attempt at an attack, or, rather, a surprise. To
all appearances, the enemy had a poor memory, and in three months they
had forgotten that surprises were impossible in Saragossa. None the
less they arrived within gunshot, and doubtless the graceless whelps
believed that merely at sight of them our warriors would fall dead
with fear. The poor men had just arrived from Silesia, and did not
know what manner of warfare there was in Spain. And, furthermore, as
they had gained the Torrero with so little difficulty, they believed
themselves in train to swallow the world. They were advancing thus, as
I have said, and San José was not making any demonstration. When they
were nearly within gunshot of the loopholes and embrasures of that
edifice, all at once these began vomiting such a terrible fire that
my brave Frenchmen took to their heels with the utmost precipitation.
Having had enough doubtless, they remained stretched out at full
length; and upon seeing the outcome of their valor, those of us who
were watching the onset from the battery of Los Martires broke out into
exclamations, applause, cries, and huzzas. In this ferocious manner the
soldier celebrates in battle the death of his fellow-creatures. He who
instinctively feels compassion at the slaying of a rabbit on a hunt
jumps for joy on seeing hundreds of robust men fall,--young, happy men
who have never done harm to anybody.
Such was the attack upon San José, a futile attempt quickly punished.
By that time, the French should have understood that if Torrero was
abandoned, it was by calculation and not on account of weakness. Alone,
embarrassed, deserted, without external defences, without forces
or forts, Saragossa renewed again her earthworks, her defences of
bricks, her bastions of mud heaped up the evening before to be again
defended against the first soldiers, the first artillery, and the first
engineers of the world. Pomp and show of a nation, formidable machines,
enormous quantities of power, scientific preparation of materials,
force, and intelligence in their greatest splendor, the invaders bring
to attack the fortified place which appears to be guarded by boys.
It is indeed almost like this: all succumb, all is reduced to powder
in front of those walls which might be kicked over. But behind this
movable defensive material is the well-tempered steel of Aragon souls,
which cannot be broken or bent, nor cast into moulds, nor crushed, nor
robbed of breath, and which surrounds the whole region like a barrier,
indestructible by human means.
The whole district about the Torre Nueva was resounding with clamors
and alarms. When to this district comes such mournful sounds, the city
is in danger and needs all her sons. What is it? What is passing? What
will happen?
"Matters must be going badly back of the town," said Augustine.
Meanwhile they attacked us yonder to occupy the attention of the crowd
on this side of the river. The same thing was done in the first siege.
"Al arrabal, al arrabal!" was our cry. "To the suburb!"
And while we were saying this, the French sent us some balls to show
us that we must stay where we were. Fortunately Saragossa had enough
people within her walls, and could readily assist and support all parts.
My battalion abandoned the wall near Santa Engracia, and began to march
towards the Coso. We did not know where we were being conducted, but it
is probable that they were taking us to the suburb. The streets were
full of people. Old men and women came out, impelled by curiosity,
wishing to see at close quarters and near at hand the points of danger,
since it was impossible for them to be placed in the same peril. The
streets of San Gil, San Pedro, and La Cuchilleria, which lead to the
bridge, were almost impassable. A great multitude of women were passing
through them, all walking in the direction of the Pilar and La Seo.
The booming of the cannon excited rather than saddened the fervent
people, and all were jostling one another to get nearest the front. In
the Plaza de la Seo, I saw the cavalry which, with all these people,
obstructed the bridge and obliged my battalion to look for an easier
way to the other side. While we were passing before the porch of this
sanctuary, we heard the sound of the prayers wherewith all the women of
the city were imploring their holy patroness. The few men who wished to
come into the temple were expelled by them.
We went to the bank of the river near San Juan de los Panetas, and
took up our place on a mound, awaiting orders. In front and on the
other side of the river, the field of battle was divided. We saw at
the end nearest us the grove of Macanaz, over there and close to the
bridge the little monastery of Altabas, yonder that of San Lazarus, and
further on the Monastery of Jesus. Behind this scene, reflected in the
waters of the great river, could be seen a horrible fire. There was
an interminable turmoil, a hoarse clamor of the voices of cannon and
of human yells. Dense clouds of smoke, renewed unceasingly, mounted
confusedly to the heavens. All the breastworks of this position, which
were constructed with bricks from neighboring brickyards, formed with
the earth of the kilns a reddish mass. One might have believed that
the ground had been mixed together with blood.
The French held their front towards the Barcelona road and the
Juslibol, where more kilns and gardens lie at the left of the second
of those two ways. Thence the Twelfth had furiously attacked our
intrenchments, making their way by the Barcelona road, and challenging
with impetuous intrepidity the cross-fires of San Lazarus and that of
the place called El Marcelo. Their courage lay in striking audacious
blows upon the batteries, and their tenacity produced a veritable
hecatomb. They fell in great numbers; the ranks were broken, and,
being instantly filled by others, they repeated the attack. At times
they almost reached the parapets, and a thousand individual contests
increased the horror of the scene. They went in advance of their
leaders, brandishing their cutlasses, like desperate men who had made
it a question of honor to die before a heap of bricks, and in that
frightful destruction which wrenched the life from hundreds of men
every minute, they disappeared, flung down upon mother earth, soldiers
and sergeants, ensigns, captains, and colonels. It was a veritable
struggle between two peoples; and while the fires of the first siege
were burning in our hearts, the French came on thirsting for vengeance
with all the passion of offended manhood, worse even than the passion
of the warrior.
It was this untimely bloodthirstiness that lost them the day. They
should have begun by demolishing our works with their artillery,
observing the serenity which a siege demands, and not have engaged in
those hand to hand combats before positions defended by a people like
the one that they had met on the fifteenth of July, and the fourth of
August. They ought to have repressed their feeling of contempt or scorn
of the forces of the enemy,--a feeling that has always been the bad
star of the French. It was the same in the war with Spain, as in the
recent conflict with Prussia. They ought to have put into execution a
calmly considered plan which would have produced in the besieged less
of disgust than exaltation.
It is certain that if they carried with them the thought of their
immortal general who always conquered as much by his admirable logic as
by his cannons, they would have employed in the siege of Saragossa a
little of the knowledge of the human heart, without which the pursuit
of war, brutal war--it seems a lie!--is no more than cruel carnage.
Napoleon, with his extraordinary penetration, would have comprehended
the Saragossan character, and would have abstained from attacking the
unprotected columns, whose boast was of individual personal valor. This
is a quality at all times difficult and dangerous to encounter, but
above all in the presence of nations who fight for an ideal and not for
an idol.
I will not go into further details of the dreadful battle of the
twenty-first of December, the most glorious of the second siege of
Aragon. As I did not see it at close quarters, and can only give the
story of what was told me, I am moved not to be prolix, because there
are so many and such interesting adventures which I must narrate.
This makes a certain restraint necessary in the description of these
sanguinary encounters. It is enough now to know that the French
believed when night came that it was time to desist from their purpose,
and they retired, leaving the plain covered with bodies of the dead.
It was a good moment to follow them with cavalry; but after a short
discussion the generals, I am told, decided not to put themselves in
peril in a sally which could only be dangerous.