CHAPTER II.

I have seldom witnessed a more beautiful summer's day than that on

which our ships cast loose from their moorings and put to sea. It was

past noon before the tide rose, consequently the whole town of Dover

was afoot to watch our departure. Crowds of well-dressed people stood

upon the pier, bidding us farewell with hearty cheers, and waving of

their hats and handkerchiefs--salutes which we cordially answered, by

shouting and waving ours in return. But the wind was fair, and the

tide in our favour. Objects on shore became gradually more and more

indistinct; the shouts grew fainter and fainter, and at length were

heard no more. All the sail was set which our frail masts were capable

of carrying; and, long before dark, nothing could be distinguished of

Dover or its magnificent cliffs except a faint and vapoury outline.

The favourable breeze which carried us rapidly beyond the Straits

of Dover, did not, however, last long. We had just caught sight of

the low-lying point of Dungeness, when it suddenly chopped round,

and blew a perfect hurricane in our teeth. It was, indeed, with the

utmost difficulty that we succeeded in getting so near the headland

as to obtain some shelter from the rolling sea which came up Channel;

and here we had the misery to remain, consuming our sea-stock to no

purpose, and growling over the inconstancy of the windy element for

a space of time considerably exceeding a week. I have spent many

disagreeable weeks--that is, many weeks which might have been more

profitably and more pleasantly spent; but one more utterly insipid

than this, more galling to the spirits, or more trying to the temper,

I cannot recollect. Even now, at the distance of more than half a

century, I remember it, and the very name of Dungeness is abomination

in mine ears.

At last the gale moderated, and we once more put to sea; but only

to be driven hither and thither by the most provokingly adverse

weather to which men thirsting for military glory were ever exposed.

Brighton, Worthing, Hastings, Eastbourne, all made their appearance in

succession, and all remained so long in sight that we cordially wished

them engulfed in the ocean. At the same tedious rate we moved onwards

till Plymouth harbour lay before us; into which we were necessitated to

put, for the purpose of renewing our fresh provisions and water.

In this place nearly another precious week was wasted; consequently

July was far advanced ere we could be said to have commenced our voyage

in earnest; nor was it till the 13th day of August that the bold

outline of the Spanish coast became discernible. In crossing the Bay of

Biscay we had been baffled by continual calms, and tossed about by the

swell which usually prevails there. Our sails were, for the most part,

useless, flapping indolently upon the masts; and though we did our best

to keep up a good heart, we were all, both officers and men, beginning

to wish ourselves anywhere rather than cooped up in a transport, when a

cry of "land" from the masthead attracted our attention.

We had kept our direct course so well, notwithstanding frequent calms

and adverse breezes, that the only coast we made, after losing sight

of the Scilly Isles, was that of Biscay. The province of Biscay is in

general rugged and mountainous, the Pyrenees extending in some places

to the water's edge; and hence the voyager who beholds that coast

for the first time is apt to imagine himself near the conclusion of

his voyage long before the situation of the vessel authorises him so

to do. Such was precisely the case with us on the present occasion.

Turning our eyes in the direction to which the look-out seaman pointed,

and beholding a line of coast so bold that almost all its features

were clearly distinguishable, we fondly flattered ourselves that this

evening, or the next morning at latest, would see us on shore. But hour

after hour passed by without bringing us in any sensible degree nearer

to the object of our gaze; and though the wind, which had hitherto

blown against us, was now in our favour, daylight departed, leaving us

almost as much at a loss as ever, to say whether we had gained upon the

land or otherwise.

Next morning, when I ascended the deck, I was delighted to perceive

that we were not more than three or four miles from shore, and that

we were moving steadily along at the rate of five miles and a half in

the hour. By-and-by a merchant vessel hailed and informed us of the

battles of the Pyrenees and their results, and of the investiture of

St Sebastian; and as the day wore on we had the farther gratification

of seeing the gun-brig, under whose convoy we sailed, make prize of a

tight-built American privateer schooner. But nothing as yet could be

discovered of the harbour of Passages, towards which we were bound; and

this day, accordingly, passed as others had done, under the galling

pressure of hope deferred.

On the 17th of August, the first decisive indication of our approach to

the seat of war was given in the sound of a cannonade, heard at first

indistinctly, but becoming every hour more and more audible. This, we

had little doubt, proceeded from the town of St Sebastian, and from

the batteries of its besiegers; but it was in vain that we turned our

glasses in the direction of the sound, with the hope of ascertaining

whether or no the supposition was correct. Though we strained our eyes

with the utmost anxiety as long as daylight lasted, nothing could be

descried which repaid the exertion; and we were once more compelled to

contemplate with resignation the prospect of spending another night

in the extreme confinement of a cabin. The dawn of the following day,

however, excited new and livelier emotions, when we found ourselves

within a few hours' sail of the landing-place, and in a situation

perhaps as interesting as can well be imagined to a soldier about for

the first time to confront war.

On ascending the deck at six o'clock in the morning of the 18th, I

perceived that we were lying under the influence of a dead calm,

within range of the guns of the Castle of St Sebastian, and at the

distance of perhaps a mile and a half from shore. This fortress is

built upon the summit of a perpendicular rock, of some two or three

hundred feet high, the base of which is washed on three sides by the

sea; and when viewed, as we then saw it, from the water, presents a

very formidable appearance. Its works, owing to their great height,

are placed completely beyond the reach of molestation from a hostile

squadron; while powerful batteries, rising tier above tier, wherever a

platform in the rock has permitted one to be established, threaten with

destruction any vessel which may rashly venture within reach of their

fire.

On the right of the castle is a small bay, which forms an extremely

commodious harbour, and which is sheltered from the weather by a

little island or mole, so placed as that only one ship at a time can

pass between it and the fort. On the left of the town the river Urumea

passes close under the walls, and joins the sea; and at the distance

of perhaps a mile and a half, or two miles, several high hills enclose

the place on every side, between which and the ramparts the country is

flat, and the soil sandy and unfruitful.

The reader has not, I daresay, forgotten that, after the battle of

Vittoria, Sir Thomas Graham, at the head of the fifth division of the

British army, achieved a succession of petty victories over detached

bodies of the enemy, and finally sat down before St Sebastian. On the

17th of July, the convent of St Bartholome, which is built upon one of

the heights just alluded to, and which the French had fortified with

great diligence and care, was taken; and, on the same night, ground

for the trenches was broken. As the troops worked for their lives,

blue-lights being thrown out from the city, and a smart fire kept

up upon them, they succeeded in establishing for themselves pretty

safe cover before morning; and the sandy soil of the place being

favourable to such operations, the first parallel was drawn within

a moderate space of time. The trenches, indeed, were completed, and

breaching-batteries erected, by the 21st, on the morning of which day

upwards of forty pieces of ordnance opened their fire upon the place;

and so incessant and so effectual was their practice, that on the

evening of the 24th a breach was effected.

The breach appearing to be practicable, and Sir Thomas being aware that

the advance of the army was delayed only till this important place

should fall, he determined to lose no time in bringing matters to the

issue of a storm; and orders were accordingly given that the troops

should form in the trenches after dark, and be ready to commence the

assault as soon as the state of the tide would permit the river to be

forded. This occurred about two o'clock in the morning of the 25th,

when the storming-party advanced with great gallantry to the attack.

But whether it was that the breach was not sufficiently assailable,

or that some panic seized the leading divisions, the attack failed.

A sudden cry of "Retreat, retreat!" arose just as the first company

had gained the summit of the rampart. It spread with extraordinary

rapidity through the column; and some houses which were close to the

town wall taking fire, all became confusion and dismay. Those who were

already on the breach turned round and rushed against their comrades

behind them; of these many missed their footing, and fell; and the

enemy keeping up a tremendous fire of grape, musketry, and grenades all

the while, the whole column lost its order and tractability. A retreat,

or rather a flight, began in real earnest; and happy was he who first

made his way once more across the Urumea, and found himself sheltered

from destruction in the trenches. The loss in this affair amounted,

on our part, to several hundred men, of whom many, who had been only

wounded, and had fallen within high-water mark, were carried off by the

returning tide, and drowned.

From the period of this failure till some days after our arrival in

the country, no farther attempts were made upon St Sebastian; and the

besieged were consequently enabled to repair, in a great degree, the

devastation which had been committed upon their fortifications. The

causes of this inactivity on the part of the besiegers were, first,

the want of ammunition, of which a supply had been long expected from

England, but which adverse winds had detained; and, secondly, sundry

demonstrations, on the part of the French army, as if with a view to

resume offensive operations, and raise the siege. Whilst these were in

progress, it was deemed unwise to land any fresh stores; indeed, most

of those already in position were removed; and hence, when we passed

under the walls of the fort, the tri-coloured flag floated proudly from

the battlements.

On the high grounds which begirt the town, the white tents of the

besiegers were, however, discernible, and to the left the Portuguese

standard waved in the wind. But all was quietness there. The trenches

seemed to be empty, except of their ordinary guards; the batteries

were unprovided with artillery, and some even in ruins; the only

token of hostility, indeed, which was exhibited on either side, came

from the town, from which an occasional shot was fired, as the allied

pickets or sentinels relieved one another, or a group of officers, more

curious than wise, exposed themselves unnecessarily to observation.

Nevertheless, the whole presented a spectacle in the highest degree

interesting and grand, especially to eyes as yet unaccustomed to war

and its "sublimities."

I was gazing with much earnestness upon the scene before me, when a

shot from the castle drew my attention to ourselves, and I found that

the enemy were determined not to lose the opportunity which the calm

afforded, of doing as much damage as possible to the ships which lay

nearest to them. The ball passed over our deck, and fell harmless into

the water. The next, however, struck only a few feet from our bow; and

the third would have been perhaps still better directed, had not a

light breeze fortunately sprung up, and carried us on our course. It

soon wafted us beyond the range of cannon; and the enemy perceiving

that his balls fell short, ceased to waste them.

By this time we had approached within a short distance of Passages;

and, at eight o'clock, that wished-for harbour came in view. Perhaps

there are few ports in the world more striking, in every respect, than

Passages. As you draw near to it, you run along a bold rocky shore, in

which no opening can be discerned; nor is it till he has reached the

very mouth of the creek that a stranger is inclined to suspect that

a harbour is there. The creek itself cannot be more than fifty yards

wide: it runs directly up between overhanging cliffs, and presents

altogether the appearance rather of an artificial cut than of an

aperture of nature's formation. From the bare faces of these cliffs

various kinds of dwarf trees and shrubs grow out in rich luxuriance,

and their summits are crowned with groves of lime and cork trees.

Passing through the creek, we arrived in a spacious basin or harbour,

on the left of which is built a little straggling town. Here the scene

became highly picturesque and beautiful. The houses, though none of

the whitest or most clean in external appearance, were striking from

the peculiarity of their structure; with balconies projecting from the

upper stories, and wooden staircases leading to them from without. The

absence of glass, too, from most of the windows, which were furnished

only with wooden lattices, powerfully impressed upon my mind that I was

no longer in happy England. Nor did the general dress and appearance

of both men and women fail to interest one who beheld them for the

first time. The men, with their broad hats, swarthy visages, mustachoed

lips; red, blue, or yellow sleeved waistcoats; their brown breeches,

stockings, and shoes with coloured ties; their scarlet sashes fastened

round the waist, and brown jacket slung over one shoulder, formed a

remarkable contrast to the smock-frocked peasantry whom I had left

behind. With the dress of the women I was not so much struck, because

I had seen garments not dissimilar in Scotland. They wear, for the

most part, brown or scarlet petticoats, with a handkerchief tied round

the neck and bosom, so as to form a sort of stomacher. Their waists

are long, and the head and feet bare; their hair being permitted to

hang over their backs in ringlets, if it be not gathered up into a

knot. But the expressive countenances of these creatures--their fine

dark laughing eyes, their white teeth, and brunette complexion--are

extremely pleasing.

To complete the picture, the background behind Passages is on all

hands beautifully romantic. Hills rise one above another to a very

considerable height, all of them covered with rich herbage and ample

foliage; while far away in the distance are seen the tops of those

stupendous mountains which form a barrier, and no imaginary one,

between France and Spain.

Though we entered the harbour as early as nine o'clock in the morning,

and were ready for disembarkation in ten minutes afterwards, that

event, so ardently desired and so long deferred, did not occur till a

late hour in the evening. Soldiers are, as every person knows, mere

machines; they cannot think for themselves, or act for themselves on

any point of duty; and as no orders had been left here respecting us,

no movement could be made till intelligence of our arrival had been

sent to the General commanding the nearest division. This having been

done at last, we were directed to come on shore; and all the boats in

the harbour, as well those belonging to the vessels lying there, as to

the native fishermen, were put in requisition to transport us. In spite

of every exertion, however, darkness had set in ere the last division

reached the land; and hence we were unable to do more than march to a

little wooded eminence about a couple of miles from the town, where we

bivouacked.

This was the first night of my life which I had ever spent in so

warlike a fashion; and I perfectly recollect, to this hour, the

impression which it made upon me. It was one of the most exquisite

delight. The season chanced to be uncommonly mild; not a breath of air

was stirring; everything around me smelt sweet and refreshing, after a

long imprisonment on board of ship; above all, I felt that soldiering

was no longer an amusement. Not that there was any peril attending

our situation, for we were at least ten miles from the garrison of St

Sebastian, and perhaps twenty from the army of Marshal Soult; but the

circumstance of being called upon to sleep under the canopy of heaven,

the wrapping myself up in my cloak, with my sabre hanging on the branch

of a tree over my head, and my dog couching down at my heels, these

things alone were sufficient to assure me that my military career had

begun in earnest.

When I looked round me again, I saw arms piled up, and glittering

in the light of twenty fires, which were speedily kindled, and cast

a bright glare through the overhanging foliage. I saw men enveloped

in their greatcoats, stretched or sitting round these fires in wild

groups; I heard their merry chat, their hearty and careless laugh,

with now and then a song or a catch chanted by one or two: all these

things, I recollect, were delightfully exciting. I leant my head

against a tree, and putting my pipe in my mouth, I puffed away in a

state of feeling which any monarch might envy, and which, in truth, I

have never experienced since.

When regiments are employed upon active service, everything like a

general mess is laid aside. The officers divide themselves into small

coteries of two, three, or four, according as they happen to form

mutual friendships, or find the arrangement attended with convenience.

I was fortunate enough to have contracted an intimacy with one of

my comrades, whose memory I have never ceased to cherish with the

fondest affection, and whose good qualities deserve that his memory

should be cherished with affection as long as the power of thinking

and reflecting remains by me. He is now at peace, and lies, beside two

others of his companions in arms, at the bottom of a garden. But let

that pass for the present. My friend was an old campaigner. He had

served during the greater part of the Peninsular war, and was therefore

perfectly acquainted with the course which soldiers ought to pursue, if

they desire to keep their health, and to do their duty effectually. At

his suggestion I had brought with me a fowling-piece; he, too, brought

his; between us we mustered a couple of greyhounds, a pointer, and a

spaniel; and were indifferently furnished with fishing-rods and tackle.

By the help of these we calculated on being able, at times, to add

something to the fare allowed us in the way of rations; and the event

proved that our calculations had not been formed upon mistaken grounds.

With him I spent the greater part of this night--chatting, sometimes of

days gone by, and sometimes of the probabilities of the future. Though

several years older than myself, Grey had lost none of the enthusiasm

of the boy, and he was a perfect enthusiast in his profession. He

described to me other scenes in which he had taken part, other bivouacs

in which he had shared; and effectually hindered me from losing any

portion of that military excitement with which I first sat down. But at

length our eyelids began to grow heavy, in spite of all the whispers

of romance, and every one around us was fast asleep. We accordingly

trimmed our fire to keep it burning till after daybreak, and having

drunk our allowance of grog to the health of our friends and relatives

at home, we wrapped our cloaks about us and lay down. In ten minutes I

was in the land of forgetfulness.

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