Our march upon Condeixa—Tom Crawley again—Hot and cold—Affair of Casal
Nova—Death of Major Stewart—The French continue retreating—The two
brothers—Night scene—The French continue their havoc—The Caçadore—The
pet goat—Lord Wellington again—Our old Colonel—The promise of the
Staff—The Recruits—British enthusiasm inspired—The two French
prisoners—Particulars of Massena’s retreat and state of his troops—St.
Patrick’s Day—If I had a donkey—The river Caira—Our distressing
privations—O’Brien and the old Patrone—Arrival at Friexedas—Adjutant
Stewart killed—Sabugal—Carrying of the enemy’s position—Encomiums of
our Colonel—Death of Lieut. Arbuthnot—Disagreeable bed-fellow—A light
on the subject—Evacuation of Portugal by the French, Almeida
excepted—The British follow into Spain—Arrival at Gallegos—The enemy
active in Rodrigo—The skulker—Poor Burke—Expedition and disappointment
in search of a convoy.
THE French got under arms before the dawn of the morning, and we as
usual followed, keeping them well on before us.
In the course of the noon we passed through the pretty little town of
Condeixa, which the enemy had fired in several places. The main street
was completely blocked by the flames darting across the road from the
opposite houses. To enable the troops to pass, we were obliged to
“break” a way through some dry walls. This caused a temporary halt,
during which the chief part of the division gallantly employed
themselves extricating the unfortunate inhabitants, from the burning
houses. Tom Crawley (forgetful of the coach) made use of his great
strength to some purpose, and chucked some five or six old people, whom
he had brought forth on his shoulders, over a wall as he supposed, out
of immediate danger. Tom, however, who should have “looked,” before he
made the old ones “leap,” was not aware that close to their descent was
a large well, into which, to their great terror, he had very nearly
dropped the terrified and screeching sufferers.
Having cleared the houses “a way,” we proceeded to Casal Nova, where we
came up with the incendiaries, whom we found perfectly prepared to
receive us. The country all about was greatly intercepted by old walls,
and afforded excellent facilities for skirmishing. In a few seconds some
of our division was observed moving upon our right, and we were ordered
instantly to extend, and at it we went. After several hours’ hard
fighting, kept up with great spirit on both sides, we compelled the
enemy to retire, but not before we had lost an excellent officer in the
person of Major Stewart, who received a shot through the body. He was
led by two buglers to the rear, where he died shortly after. The death
of this officer gave a step to my old Captain O’Hare, who obtained the
majority.
In this skirmish Lieutenant Stroud also received a severe wound. This
officer in action, always carried a rifle, for the skilful use of which
he was celebrated.[9] A man of our company named Pat Mahon, received
three balls on the hip at the same instant, and so close together that a
dollar might have covered the three holes they made.
The enemy still continued the retreat, their skirmishers, at times,
making short stands to keep our rifles in check, and a few of their rear
sections occasionally pouring a running fire into us. We drove them,
however, through the village of Casal Nova. Some of the French for a few
minutes here availed themselves of pieces of dilapidated walls, but as
soon as we commenced outflanking them, they all retreated, with the
exception of one man, who, to our surprise, remained loading and firing
as if he had a whole division to back him. I scarcely know what could
have induced me to fire at this poor fellow alone, and exposed as he was
to at least twenty other shots; but my blood was up, through his having
once aimed at me, his ball whizzing close by as I approached. Be that as
it may, I had got within fifty yards when I fired. In an instant I was
beside him, the shot had entered his head, and he had fallen in the act
of loading, the fusil tightly grasped in his left hand, while his right
clutched the ramrod. A few quick turns of the eye as it rolled its dying
glances on mine, turned my whole blood within me, and I reproached
myself as his destroyer. An indescribable uneasiness came over me, I
felt almost like a criminal. I knelt to give him a little wine from a
small calabash, which hung at my side, and was wiping the foam from his
lips, when a heavy groan drew my attention aside, and turning round my
head I beheld stretched near him and close to the wall, another wounded
Frenchman, a sergeant. “Hélas,” exclaimed the wounded man, the big tears
suddenly gushing down his sun-burnt countenance, as he pointed with his
finger to my victim, “vous avez tué mon pauvre frère,” (you have killed
my poor brother,) and indeed such was the melancholy fact.
The sergeant, a stout heavy man, had fallen, his thigh broken by a shot.
The younger brother, unable to carry him off the field, had remained,
apparently with the intention of perishing by his side.
We halted for the night on an adjacent hill, about a mile in advance.
The French also took up their position opposite us. The picquets of both
armies occupied a beautiful ravine, that sloped between us. I took
advantage of the few moments’ leisure our position afforded to return to
the French sergeant. But I found him and his brother both as naked as
they were born, perforated with innumerable wounds, no doubt
administered by the Portuguese. I turned back to the camp, but in a very
poor humour with myself, though I could not well close my eyes to the
magnificent scene around me. The sun had set, its light had been
supplanted by burning villages, and fires that on vale and mountain
correctly pointed out where the hostile divisions were extended.
The following morning, the French continued their march of havoc, and we
closed after them, village after village giving flaming proofs of their
continued atrocities. Passing through one which had been fired, by
reason, as we were informed, of its having been the quarters of Marshal
Ney and staff,—an appalling instance of vengeance here occurred. The
parents of one of our Caçadores had lived in this village, and
immediately we entered, he rushed to the house where they resided. On
reaching the doorway, the soldier hesitated a few seconds, but the door
was open, and stretched across the threshold he beheld the mangled
bodies of his father and mother, the blood still warm and reeking
through the bayonet stabs, while an only sister lay breathing her last,
and exhibiting dreadful proofs of the brutality with which she had been
violated. The unhappy man staggered, frenzied with grief, and stared
wildly around him; till suddenly burying all other feelings in the
maddening passion of revenge, he rushed forth from what had probably
been once a happy home. His first act was to dash at some French
prisoners that unfortunately were near the spot, guarded by some of our
dragoons. These he attacked with the fury of a madman. One he shot and
another he wounded, and he would have sacrificed a third, had not the
guard made him prisoner. On the circumstances being made known to the
General, he was liberated.
Outside the village, and on a gentle slope, we came to the enemy’s camp
ground, which they had been obliged to quit so precipitately as to have
left their fires lighted. We noticed a goat, which, by its frisking and
jumping about, I supposed to have been a pet of some French officer.
Whenever we went near, it would step aside, until some of the men
levelled their rifles and shot it; swords were out in a moment, and the
little animal, skin and all, dissected. I was just apportioning the hind
quarter, when who should ride near, but Lord Wellington and staff; for a
while I felt as if the noose were already round my neck, until the
Colonel coming up, re-established my serenity, and congratulated us on
our lucky chance; for this kindness we shared our booty with him that
same night.
We had suffered dreadfully throughout the previous week; many of our men
from weakness, and through want of rations, having been unable to keep
up with their regiments, Colonel Beckwith, in the hearing of many of us,
took this opportunity of making it known to the Commander-in-chief, who
immediately promised we should have the first rations that came up. We
then marched to some high ground, from whence we could distinctly see
the French camp at a place called Foz d’Aouce, their fires lighted
preparatory to passing the night there. It was determined, however, that
they should not enjoy it so easily. Our battalion was instantly ordered
to the attack, before proceeding to which, I will introduce to my
readers a squad of “gentlemen,” who joined us a few evenings preceding.
We had been reinforced by a fresh batch of recruits from England, a
number of whom had been drafted into our company. These fellows’ rosy
cheeks and plump appearance, with their new dresses, formed a bright
relief and amusing contrast to our fierce embrowned visages, covered
with whisker and mustachio, as we then were, and our clothing patched
and of all colours. As these new-comers were now about to go through the
ordeal of fire, for the first time in their lives, Major O’Hare thought
proper to say a few words by way of advice to them, on so momentous an
occasion; accordingly, he gave the command, “Recruits to the front.”
Some ten or twelve immediately stepped forward, wondering, no doubt,
what they were wanted for. “Do you see those men on that plain?” asked
the Major, as he pointed to the French camp. On several of the men
answering “Ees, Zur!” Major O’Hare, with a dry laugh, continued, “Well
then, those are the French, and our enemies. You must kill those
fellows, and not allow them to kill you. You must learn and do as these
old birds here do,” pointing to us, “and get cover where you can.
Recollect, recruits, you come here to kill, and not be killed. Bear this
in mind: if you don’t kill the French they’ll kill you.”—“Ees, Zur!”
said they again.
The Major’s logic, although it elicited roars of laughter from the old
soldiers, I believe had more effect with the recruits than if
Demosthenes had risen for the purpose. Immediately after this out went
our muzzle stoppers, and sallying down the slope on which we had been
drawn up, at the enemy we went. Our battalion was soon hotly engaged,
assisted by some light companies of the guards, belonging to the first
division. The night was fast setting in, but we soon succeeded in
beating the enemy out of their camp ground, and we dashed at them as
they retired crowding with precipitation over a bridge which crossed the
river in their rear. Before two-thirds of their force had accomplished
this, the bridge, by some irregularity, was blown up, and great numbers
also were drowned in attempting to ford the stream.
At their camp ground many of our men came in for a bit of a wind-fall,
as the French, in their hurry to place the river between us and them,
had left their meat and pots on the fires. This afforded a happy regale
to some of our unfortunate hungry stomachs, the more especially as the
food thus come by, was eaten with a sense of having been fairly earned.
During the foregoing skirmish and while very closely engaged, I
perceived a horse, gaily bedizened with French trappings, galloping
about, as though looking for an owner, and I managed to catch it by the
bridle. A minute afterwards my prize received a shot, probably intended
for myself, but which stretched the poor animal dead beside me.
The night was passed on the French camp ground. At the fire round which
we thronged, were two wounded Frenchmen; it was a satisfaction to mark
the care and attention which they received at the hands of our men. One
of the prisoners, whom I found to be a very intelligent fellow, gave me
interesting accounts of the state and proceedings of Massena’s troops,
which, as it much amused us at the period, possibly may prove equally
entertaining to the reader.
“At the time that Massena and his troops,” said he, “lay at Santarem, we
had encouraged hopes of driving the English into Lisbon, or the sea; but
finding these unavailing, it was given up in despair, and the army
prepared, at about the beginning of the spring of 1811, to retire back
through the country into Spain.
“The batteries and other works which for several months our men had been
erecting, were destroyed, and leaving behind us a great number of our
sick, whom we had no means of conveying away, we shared the last of our
provisions, amounting to about ten biscuits each man amongst us, and we
prepared to retreat.
“The troops were in a most distressed state, reduced to half their
numbers almost naked and without provisions, for most of them consumed
in a few days the whole of their scanty allowance. They could not expect
aid from any of their comrades, for all were without, and the country
around us devastated by both parties; our wants, however, urged us to
plunder, and we wandered in strong parties from the regiment, and
meeting with every species of resistance, gave blow for blow.
“The guerillas followed us everywhere; they fled in the front and
harassed us on our flanks, so that not an hour passed but we were
obliged to be on the alert to save our lives; out of this arose every
cruelty which ensued, and made our retreat almost unparalleled for
devastation and bloodshed. Meanwhile the British troops came on in our
rear, their light divisions harassing us night and day, and completing
the wreck that never will be forgotten while Portugal retains its name.”
We continued to occupy the same spot the whole of the following day,
waiting very anxiously for the promised supply of rations; one day’s
rations, however, to our exceeding joy, made their appearance in the
evening of the 16th. The following being the morning of St. Patrick’s
Day, the whole of our battalion, English and Irish, duly celebrated the
event by a proper attention to greens, and not having shamrocks, leaves,
grass and boughs of trees were substituted: thus ornamented we commenced
our march.
Just before we arrived at the river Caira, the waters of which flowed
over the body of many an unfortunate French soldier, we came upon a
sight which was enough to make the “Humane Society,” declare eternal war
against the men of the wooden shoes.
This was some two or three hundred donkeys and mules, which the enemy,
unable to drive off, had maimed and hamstrung. The poor animals looked
up to us as if for vengeance, and every mute appeal was sternly
fulfilled, for they struck home to the feelings of us all.
We continued our march for about two leagues, when the battalion halted
upon a hill covered with pine-trees. At the bottom of this and near our
advanced posts, flowed the river Alva, on the opposite side of which the
retreating army lay encamped. We had halted, and refreshed ourselves,
with the notion that we should spend the night there quietly, but we
were doomed to be miserably undeceived, as a fresh order was given for
us to fall in, the artillery coming up, and commenced playing on the
enemy’s masses, and our division was ordered to cross the river. Lord
Wellington certainly was determined to allow the French no rest if
possible, and indeed, if truth be added, ourselves as little. A pontoon
was thrown over the river for the division to cross, while others forded
the stream a little higher up on our right. The enemy retired in
excellent order, and we pursued until both halted for the night. The
place we occupied was a little village called Melo, where we remained
during the following day, having had one ration only for the last four
days. Never let it be said that John Bull cannot fight upon an empty
stomach. If ever one division of our army proved this more than another,
I certainly think it was the light one. _Light_ enough we were at this
and at other periods, Heaven knows. While thus impelled by hunger,
myself and Wilkie searching about for something to devour, proceeded
down a lane, where we came upon the body of an elderly woman. She was
lying in the middle of the road, dressed in white, and, from the hands
being bound together in a praying attitude, and the general appearance
of the corpse, it was evident that she had been taken out for the
purpose of burial, as it is the custom in that country to inter them in
full dress, and without a coffin: the arrival of the French no doubt had
obliged her attendants to abandon her.
The reader is expecting perhaps, that we set to work and nibbled the old
woman, but let me assure him we did nothing of the kind, though we
thought many and many a time, and growled sadly that we had not provided
ourselves with a bit from the donkeys.
The corpse had round its neck a set of beads with a gold cross at the
end, which Wilkie very “piously” put into his pocket.
We still, however, continued our prowling, and stumbled at last on a
small cottage, into which we entered, in full hopes of having made a
substantial discovery.
An old emaciated half-starved looking hag, sat squatted by some
extinguished embers, like the last survivor of a universal wreck. She
was indeed the only living inhabitant we had seen in the village, and
remained squatted by the embers, as if permitted that privilege only to
recount her tale. The old soul continued a fixture, until Wilkie
suspecting something, pressed her to move. “Non hai nada!” screamed the
old lady, “Non hai nada!” (there is nothing.)
“Oh but there is,” replied my comrade; until growing furious, he upset
the old woman from her position, and out rolled a loaf of bread from
under her, as natural as if it had been an egg from under a hen. Wilkie
pounced at it instantly, and the miserable old creature burst into
tears, and screamed herself almost into fits. Her cries in a few seconds
brought in her daughter, who unable to keep herself concealed at this
agonizing appeal of her parent, rushed forward to her assistance. Never
before did I see such a pitiful pair, both were almost cadaverous with
want, and begged hard for the loaf. But we were all of us half starved,
and at last, Wilkie and myself, unable to contain ourselves any longer,
willingly shared it with them.
We were engaged daily with the enemy until we came to Friexedas, on the
28th of March, on which day we lost our gallant adjutant, Lieutenant
Stewart, who fell by a musket shot.
On the 1st of April we again came up with the enemy, who held possession
of the town of Sabugal, where they seemed inclined to make a final
stand.
The town is situated partly upon a hill, with some woodland interspersed
about, while the rapid river Coa winds between it and the Lisbon side of
the country.
On the day of the 3rd an attack upon the enemy was commenced, by our
battalions, when through some mistake, we were left almost unsupported;
after crossing the river, we advanced up the hill, on the other side,
and under a fleecy shower of rain, soon became hotly engaged with the
French. They were at least four or five times our number, and compelled
us to retire twice before their overwhelming masses. Led on, however, by
our gallant Colonel, we fixed swords, and came to the charge and drove
them up the hills before us. There a strong reserve was prepared for our
reception. A third time we were obliged to give ground, until our second
brigade coming to our aid, we again dashed at them, carried the
position, and after a hard contest, obliged the enemy to retreat with
the utmost precipitation, leaving behind them a howitzer, which had been
twice taken and retaken.
No one that day could have observed our Colonel during the heat of the
action, and not have admired his cool and soldier-like bearing. “Steady,
lads—show no hurry,” was his cheering exhortation, accompanied by a
smile when we were obliged to retreat, the blood, at the same time,
flowing copiously from a wound he had received across his forehead.
Never, perhaps, in any action, did the Rifles display more consummate
tact and resolution than in this. Lord Wellington was too just to pass
over their services on this occasion, and in general orders passed a
high encomium upon the gallantry of Colonel Beckwith, and the brigade
under his command. We lost a fine young fellow, an officer, Lieutenant
the Honourable —— Arbuthnot, whose head was smashed by a round-shot.
At the conclusion of the battle the rain poured down in torrents, and
obliged us to take such shelter as the walls and trees around afforded.
The enemy, meanwhile, were in rapid retreat, and we should, in all
probability, have continued in pursuit, but for the exhausted state of
the men.
While endeavouring to obtain shelter, Lord Wellington rode up, and
knowing the chief business of the day had fallen upon our brigade, he
ordered us into the town. We arrived just in time to prevent the fifth
division from supplanting us, and they consequently were obliged to
retrace their steps, which they did with much grumbling and discontent.
It was dark before we got into the house appropriated to us. Myself and
one or two others turned into a small square room, the floor of which
was covered with straw. Though wetted through to the skin I soon fell
into a sound sleep, but was, however, quickly awakened by a hurried
exclamation from a man who had just entered the room with a light. On
looking around for the cause of his surprise, I beheld a stiff and naked
corpse placed upright against the walls of the room, brutally defaced;
at the same moment, and in the act of turning, I placed my hand on the
clammy features of another body, partly concealed under the straw, and
across which I had actually been sleeping; we found four bodies
altogether, evidently Portuguese, and all of them bearing the usual
proofs of French retaliation.
The next day Massena evacuated Portugal, with the exception of Almeida,
and in a short time we ourselves crossed the frontiers and took up our
old quarters at Gallegos; here we found many of our acquaintances of the
preceding year, and the enemy having retired upon Ciudad Rodrigo, we
were suffered for a while to recruit our strength.
Some weeks after our arrival at Gallegos, the battalion had orders to
prepare for marching at an hour’s notice, and to leave their knapsacks
behind. This was announced by Colonel Beckwith on the afternoon parade,
who, at the same time, desiring those who were sick or weakly to fall
out, as a forced march was to be undertaken to prevent the French
throwing supplies into Rodrigo. On hearing this several skulkers in the
regiment fell out of the ranks, but were obliged to fall in again.
Passing down the regiment, Colonel Beckwith, attracted by the evident
looks of ill-health of a man named Burke, noted for his daring courage,
very humanely advised him to remain behind, “For you look very ill,
Burke,” said the Colonel. “No, Sir,” replied Burke, casting a look of
contempt on the skulkers, “I certainly am not well, but I still have the
heart of a man, and will keep up with my comrades as long as my legs
will carry me.” The Colonel evinced a melancholy, but evident
satisfaction, at this manly reply. “I am sorry,” said he, “that the
sneaking propensities of others should compel a brave man to act against
himself.” This brave fellow Burke was afterwards one of the forlorn hope
at Ciudad Rodrigo, Badajoz, and St. Sebastian, through the successive
horrors of which he lived to fall mortally wounded at Quatre Bras, just
previous to the battle of Waterloo.
Our expeditionary party marched early in the morning. We took the
direction of Rodrigo, fording the river Agueda in our way. We were
doomed to have only our march for our trouble—the expected convoy of the
enemy had escaped us; so that, harassed to death, we had the pleasure of
retracing our steps not a wit wiser than we went. In recrossing the
river, a poor fellow of our company, spent with fatigue, was carried off
his legs and drowned. Another would have shared the same fate, but for
Brigade-Major Mellish, who, by swimming his horse to his assistance,
saved the man.