THE STORMING OF BADAJOS (1812)
Rescue of wounded men--A forlorn hope--Fire-balls light up the
scene--A mine explodes--Partial failure of the English--Escalade of
the castle--Pat’s humour and heroism--Saving a General--Wellington
hears the news--The day after the storm.
Badajos is situated on the left bank of the Guadiana, which is about
400 yards broad and washes one-fourth of the enceinte. The defences
along the river are confined to a simple and badly flanked rampart, but
on the other sides there are eight large and well-built fronts with
covered way. The scarp of the bastions is more than 30 feet in height.
In advance of these fronts are two detached works, the Bardeleras and
the Picurina, the latter being a strong redoubt 400 yards from the
town. As the bombardment went on for some days, preparing a breach for
an assault, incidents were few; officers sometimes strolled round to
explore for themselves.
One writes: “One day I saw two men stretched on the ground. One was
dead, a round shot having passed through his body; the other had lost a
leg. His eyes were closed; he seemed to be quite dead. An adventurous
Portuguese--one of our allies--was beginning to disencumber him of his
clothes.
“The poor man opened his eyes and looked in the most imploring manner,
while the villain had him by the belt, lifting him up. I ran forward
and gave the humane Portuguese a sharp blow with my blunt sabre, so
that with a yell he threw himself down by the side of the soldier whom
he was stripping, thinking his last hour had come.
“Soon after I saw a heavy shot hopping along and kicking up the dust.
It struck one of our soldiers on the hip, and down he went, motionless.
“I felt confident that the wounded man was not dead, and I begged
that some of his comrades would carry him off to the rear. They were
retiring under a heavy cannonade. Two soldiers, at the risk of their
lives, rushed back and brought him in, or he would have been starved to
death between our lines and the ramparts of the town. His hip was only
grazed and his clothes untorn; but, of course, he was unable to walk,
and seemed to feel much pain, for he groaned heavily.
“Towards the end of the siege the weather became beautiful. One day I
call to mind the enemy scarcely fired a shot. All our troubles were
forgotten, and two or three of us amused ourselves by reading a novel
in the trenches.”
The garrison of Badajos fired every morning for a few days before the
grand assault a certain number of rounds, as if for practice and to
measure the ground.
On the 6th of April a long order was issued relative to the position
the troops were to occupy. The day was fine, and all the soldiers in
good spirits, cleaning themselves as if for a review.
“About two o’clock I saw poor Harvest. He was sucking an orange and
walking on a rising ground, alone and very thoughtful. It gave me pain,
as I knew he was to lead the forlorn hope. He said, ‘My mind is made
up, old fellow: I am sure to be killed.’”
At half-past eight that night the ranks were formed and the roll
called in an undertone. The division drew up in deep silence behind a
large quarry, 300 yards from the breaches. They had to wait long for
ladders and other things.
At ten a very beautiful fire-ball was thrown up from the town. This
illuminated the ground for many hundred yards. Two or three more
followed, showed a bright light, and remained burning some little time.
The stillness that followed was the prelude to one of the strangest
scenes that could be seen. Soon after ten a little whisper went round
that the forlorn hope were stealing forward, followed by the storming
parties, composed of 300 men.
In two minutes the division followed. One musket shot (no more) was
fired near the breaches by a French soldier who was on the look-out.
Still our men went on, leisurely but silently. There were no obstacles.
The 52nd, 43rd, and 95th closed gradually up to column of quarter
distance. All was hushed; the town lay buried in gloom. The ladders
were placed on the edge of the ditch, when suddenly an awful explosion
took place at the foot of the breaches, and a burst of light disclosed
the whole scene. The very earth seemed to rock and sway under their
feet. What a sight!
The ramparts stood out clear, crowded with the enemy. French soldiers
stood on the parapets, while the short-lived glare from the barrels of
powder and stuff flying into the air gave to friends and foes a look as
if both bodies of troops were laughing! A tremendous fire now opened
upon the English, and for an instant they were stationary; but the
troops were no ways daunted. The ladders were found exactly opposite
the centre breach, and the whole division rushed to the assault with
amazing resolution. The soldiers flew down the ladders into the ditch,
and the cheering from both sides was loud and full of confidence.
Fire-balls were rising, lighting up the scene. The ditch was very wide,
and when they arrived at the foot of the centre breach eighty or ninety
men were clustered together. One called out, “Who will lead?”
Death and the most dreadful sounds and cries encompassed all. It was a
volcano! Up they went: some killed, others impaled on the bayonets of
their own comrades, or hurled headlong amongst the crowd.
The chevaux-de-frise atop looked like innumerable bayonets.
“When I was within a yard of the top I felt half strangled, and fell
from a blow that deprived me of all sensation. I only recollect
feeling a soldier pulling me out of the water, where so many men
were drowned. I lost my cap, but still held my sword. On recovering,
I looked towards the breach. It was shining and empty! Fire-balls
were in plenty, and the French troops, standing upon the walls, were
taunting us and inviting our men to come up and try it again. What a
crisis! what a military misery! Some of the finest troops in the world
prostrate--humbled to the dust.”
Colonel McLeod was killed while trying to force the left corner of the
large breach. He received his mortal wound when within three yards of
the enemy. A few moments before he fell he had been wounded in the
back by a bayonet of one of our men who had slipped. It was found
out afterwards that the woodwork of the cheval-de-frise was heavy,
bristling with short, stout sword-blades and chained together. It was
an obstacle not to be removed, and the French soldiers stood close to
it, killing every man who drew near. To get past such obstacles by
living bodies pushing against it up a steep breach, sinking to the
knees every step in rubbish, while a firm and obstinate enemy stood
behind--it was impossible.
Round shot alone could have destroyed these defences, which were all
chained together and vastly strong. Had it not been for this, the
divisions would have entered like a swarm of bees. It was fortunate
that Lord Wellington had made arrangements for assaulting the town at
other points.
“Next morning I was searching for my friend Madden. At last I found him
lying in a tent, with his trousers on and his shirt off, covered with
blood, and bandaged across the body to support his broken shoulder,
laid on his back and unable to move. He asked for his brother.
“‘Why does he not come to see me?’
“I turned my head away, for his gallant young brother was amongst the
slain. Captain Merry, of the 52nd, was sitting on the ground, sucking
an orange.
“He said: ‘How are you? You see that I am dying: a mortification has
set in.’
“A grape-shot had shattered his knee. He had told the doctor that he
preferred death rather than permit such a good leg to be amputated.”
ESCALADE OF THE CASTLE.
General Picton with the Third Division was ordered to attack the castle
by escalade. The castle was an old building on the summit of a hill
about 100 feet high, on the north-east of the town.
At about ten o’clock on the night of the 6th of April, 1812, the Third
Division advanced in that profound silence that rendered the coming
storm more terrific. Our men were not perceived until they arrived at
a little river not very distant from the works, when they distinctly
heard the entire line of the French sentries give the alarm, and all
the guns of the garrison opened at once.
[Illustration: THE ESCALADE OF THE CASTLE
Many of the ladders were too short. In one case a brawny Irish private
of herculean strength pulled up first his captain, “clever and clane,”
as he said, and then five others.]
Volley after volley of grape-shot was fired upon our troops as they
advanced; fire-balls rose, and showed the enemy where they were. They
quickened pace and got so close under the wall that the guns could not
bear upon them, but the fire-balls burned so vividly that they were
enabled to direct their musketry upon the assailants, and hurl with
fatal precision every kind of missile.
The ladders were placed, the troops cheered and swarmed up, and nothing
was heard but mingled cries of despair and shouts of victory. Several
ladders broke down under the weight, and men were precipitated on the
heads of their comrades below.
“The ladder I mounted was, like many others, too short, and I found
that no exertion I could make would enable me to reach the embrasure or
descend. In this desperate state, expecting immediate death from the
hands of a ferocious Frenchman in the embrasure, I heard a voice above
call out:
“‘Mr. ----, is that you?’
“‘Yes!’ I shouted.
“The same voice cried out: ‘Oh, murther! murther! What will we do to
get you up at all, at all, with that scrawdeen of a ladtherr? But here
goes! Hould my leg, Pat!’ and, throwing himself flat on his face in the
embrasure, he extended his brawny arm down the wall, seized me by the
collar with the force of Hercules, and landed me, as he said himself,
‘clever and clane,’ on the ramparts.
“In the same manner five more were landed. Thus did this chivalrous
soldier, with noble generosity, prefer saving the lives of six of his
comrades at the risk of his own to the rich plunder which everywhere
surrounded him. And this was Tully O’Malley, a private in my company,
one of the ‘ragged rascals.’ Well, I found myself standing amongst
several French soldiers, who were crowding round the gun in the
embrasure. One of them still held the match lighted in his hand, the
blue flame of which gave the bronzed and sullen countenances of these
warriors an expression not easily forgotten.
“A Grenadier leaned on the gun and bled profusely from the head;
another, who had fallen on his knees when wounded, remained fixed in
astonishment and terror. Others, whose muskets lay scattered on the
ground, folded their arms in deep despair. The appearance of the whole
group, with their huge, bushy moustaches and mouths all blackened with
biting the cartridges, presented to the eye of a young soldier a very
strange and formidable appearance.
“‘Don’t mind them boys, sorr,’ said Tully. ‘They were all settled
jist afore you came up: and, by my soul, good boys they were for
a start--fought like raal divils, they did, till Mr. S---- and
the Grenadiers came powdering down on them with the war-whoop.
Och, my darlint! they were made smiddreens of in a crack, barring
that big fellow you see there, with the great black whiskers--see
yonder--bleeding in the side, he is, and resting his head on the
gun-carriage. Ah! he was the bouldest of them all. He made bloody
battle with Jim Reilly; but ’tis short he stood afore our Jim, for he
gave him a raal Waterford puck that tumbled him like a ninepin in a
minute; and, by my own sowl, a puck of the butt-end of Jim’s piece is
no joke, I tell you! He tried it on more heads than one on the hill of
Busaco.’
“Away then flew Tully to join his company, forming in double-quick time
to oppose the enemy, who were gathering in force at one of the gates of
the citadel.”
They had already opened a most galling fire of musketry from this dark
gateway, which was warmly returned by our men, who, under Lieutenant
Davern, charged up to the massive gate. This, however, the French
closed, so little impression was made. At last a number of the light
infantry of the 74th and 85th helped each other to climb up on the
archway over the gate, and thence they fired down so unexpectedly that
a general panic seized the enemy, and they fled in confusion, followed
by many of our men, who now dashed through the gateway.
Here Captain C---- came upon Major Murphy, of the 88th, quite exhausted
and unable to move from loss of blood, as he had not been able to
bind up his wound. This he did for him, and they moved on. One more
bayonet struggle in the castle, and the French again fled, leaving
the place literally covered with dead and wounded, several of them
being officers, whose long narrow-bladed sabres with brass scabbards
instantly changed masters.
One officer who was wounded made several thrusts at the sturdy Ranger
who was trying to disarm him, but had awkwardly caught the sharp
sword-blade in his hand, and was so angry at being cut that he was
preparing to rush upon his antagonist. However, the Frenchman unbuckled
his waist-belt and threw away his sword.
But Pat was angry, and was not now satisfied with the sword only,
for, perceiving a handsome silver-mounted calabash, or flask, by the
officer’s side, he coolly transferred it to his own shoulders, after
first taking a copious swill. Then, gravely addressing the wounded man,
said, while reloading his piece:
“Now, my tight fellow, ye see what ye lost by your contrariness.”
“Ah! monsieur, je suis grievement blessé: rendez-moi mon calabash, je
vous prie.”
“Grieving for your calabash! Is that what you mane?” said Pat. “Why,
then, I’ll tell you what, my boy: no man shall say that Pat Donovan
ever deprived either friend or foe of his little dhrop of dhrink--so
there ’tis for you!”
“Grand merci! grand merci!” murmured the officer.
“Oh, don’t bother about axing mercy from me,” said Pat; “but take my
advice and keep roaring out ‘Mercy! mercy!’ to all our fellows as they
come up to ye, and, by Gor! they’ll not take the least notice of you.”
“Ah! merci! merci! Mais c’est fait de moi! c’est fait de moi!” repeated
the poor wounded young French officer.
Fatal presentiment! One hour afterwards the Irishman returned and found
him lying on the same spot; but the gallant fellow was at rest, “where
the wicked cease from troubling.”
As we were occupied in disarming and securing the prisoners Captain
C---- happened to capture and save the life of the Colonel commanding
the artillery in the citadel at the very moment our men were pursuing
him at the point of the bayonet.
He threw himself upon the Captain, and finding he understood French,
entreated he would save him from our infuriated soldiers; but this
he found it extremely difficult to do, as each successive group, on
perceiving his large gold epaulettes and orders, evinced a strong
anxiety to make further acquaintance with him. Upon one occasion the
Captain was obliged to use his sword to protect him from a few of the
60th, who advanced upon him in rather a suspicious and business-like
manner.
The poor Colonel was in a state of violent agitation, and kept a firm
hold of his protector’s arm through all the changes of the fight, until
they met a field-officer of the British artillery, to whom he gave him
in charge.
The Frenchman wanted to bring C---- to the bomb-proof, where his
baggage was secured, to give him some tokens of his gratitude, and
overwhelmed him with thanks; but duty called, and he left him with the
field-officer, who, he heard afterwards, reaped a rich reward for his
small service.
The first rays of a beautiful morning showed the incredible strength
of Badajos, and how dearly the capture of it had cost us. The gallant
hearts that beat with devoted bravery the night before now lay in the
cold grasp of death. Silence had succeeded to the dreadful din of arms,
and rendered more awful the contemplation of this fearful scene of
death and suffering and desolation.
A vast number of the enemy lay dead in a heap close by the spot where
our men were forming, and while they gazed on these unhappy victims of
a fierce and deadly fight, they were not a little astonished to observe
a very young French officer who lay amongst them, and whom they thought
to be dead also, slowly and cautiously raise himself up; then, after
looking about him with a wild stare, he coolly walked over to the other
side where the prisoners were standing and delivered himself up!
This wily hero had not been wounded, nor had he received the slightest
scratch, but, being more frightened than hurt, he lay concealed in this
manner until all fear of danger, as he thought, was over and gone.
It excited a good deal of merriment amongst our men, but the French
curled their moustaches, gave him a hearty “Sacre!” and their deep
contempt.
ANOTHER ACCOUNT.
“I was on a hill with the medical staff during the night of the assault
of Badajos. For two hours we watched the fire, the bursting of shells
and hand-grenades. Then the wounded began to arrive, and we were busy.
“Lord Wellington rode up with his staff, and soon after a staff-officer
came up at a gallop, shouting, ‘Where is Lord Wellington?’
“‘There, sir.’
“‘My lord, I am come from the breaches. The troops after repeated
attempts, have failed to enter them. So many officers have fallen that
the men, dispersed in the ditch, are without leaders. If your lordship
does not at once send a strong reinforcement they must abandon the
enterprise. Colonel McLeod, of the 43rd, has been killed in the breach.’
“A light was called for and instantly brought, and Lord Wellington
noted the report with a steady hand. His face was pale and expressed
great anxiety. In his manner and language he preserved perfect coolness
and self-possession. General Hay’s brigade was ordered to advance to
the breaches.
“You may think that it was nervous work hearing this.
“Our General had wisely planned two extreme attacks by escalade on the
castle by the Third Division and on the south side of the town by the
Fifth Division, and on Fort Pardoleros by the Portuguese. It was known
that Soult was within a few leagues. Marmont had pushed his advanced
Dragoons as far as the bridge of boats at Villa Velha; the river
Guadiana was in our rear.
“It was a crisis, and we wondered what thoughts were passing through
the mind of our gallant chief as he sat motionless on his horse.
“Presently another staff-officer galloped up, out of breath.
“‘General Picton--has--got possession of--the castle, sir.’
“‘Who brings that intelligence?’ exclaimed Lord Wellington.
“The officer saluted and gave his name.
“‘Are you certain, sir--are you positively certain?’
“‘I entered the castle with the troops. I have only just left it.
General Picton in possession. He sent me.’
“‘Picton in possession! With how many men?’
“‘His division.’
“It is impossible to describe to you the change this news produced in
the feelings of all around. A great sigh of relief could almost be
heard.
“‘Return, sir, and desire General Picton to maintain his position at
all hazards.’
“Having dispatched this messenger, Lord Wellington directed a second
officer to proceed to the castle to repeat his orders to General Picton.
“Next morning at dawn I set out to visit the breaches. I was just
thinking of two friends, Major Singer and Captain Cholwick, of the
Royal Fusiliers, both of whom had been with me two evenings before.
I was wondering how they had fared in the assault when I met some
Fusiliers and asked for Major Singer.
“‘We are throwing the last shovels of earth upon his grave, sir.’
“‘Is Captain Cholwick safe?’ I inquired.
“‘In the act of climbing over that palisade he was wounded, fell into
the water, and we have seen nothing of him since.’
“That did not make me disposed to be very cheerful.
“I found the great breach covered with dead from its base to its
summit. Many were stripped. Amongst them I recognized the faces of
many well known to me. In climbing up the breach my feet receded at
every step in the débris, so as to make my progress slow and difficult.
Behind the chevaux-de-frise a broad and deep trench had been cut,
into which our men must have been precipitated had they succeeded in
surmounting this huge barrier. Above was a battery of 12-pounders
completely enfilading the great and the small breach, near to each
other. No wonder we failed there to enter.
“I next visited the castle, at the bottom of whose walls, nearly 40
feet high, were lying shattered ladders, broken muskets, exploded
shells, and the dead bodies of many of our brave men. Amongst the dead
I recognized the body of the gallant Major Ridge, of the 5th Regiment,
lying near the gate that leads to the town, in forcing which he had
fallen, riddled with balls.
“I met a soldier of the Connaught Rangers, overpowered by excitement
and brandy. The fellow looked at me suspiciously, and appeared disposed
to dispute my passage. He held his loaded musket at half present, and I
was prepared to close with him; but fortunately flattery succeeded. He
allowed me to pass.
“Soon after entering the town a girl about nine years of age implored
my protection, ‘por el amor de Dios,’ for her mother.
“A number of soldiers of a distinguished regiment were in the house,
armed, and under the influence of every evil passion. Alas! I was
powerless. I met a man of the 88th dragging a peasant by the neck, with
the intention of putting him to death--so he declared--in atonement for
his not having any money in his pockets! I appealed to the gallantry of
his corps, and saved the life of his victim.”
The town had now become a scene of plunder and devastation. Our
soldiers and our women, in a state of intoxication, had lost all
control over themselves. These, together with numbers of Spaniards and
Portuguese, who had come into the city in search of plunder, filled
every street. Many were dispossessed of their booty by others, and
these interchanges of plunder in many cases were not effected without
bloodshed. Our soldiers had taken possession of the shops, stationed
themselves behind the counters, and were selling the goods contained in
them. These were, again, displaced by more numerous parties, who became
shopkeepers in their turn, and thus continual scuffling and bloodshed
was going on.
In addition to the incessant firing through the keyholes of the front
doors of houses as the readiest way of forcing the locks, a desultory
and wanton discharge of musketry was kept up in the streets, placing
all who passed literally between cross-fires. Many of our own people
were thus killed or wounded by their own comrades.
An attempt was made next day to collect our soldiers. The troops,
however, that were sent into the town for that purpose joined in the
work of plunder.
We may feel shocked at the excesses which our soldiers committed after
the storming of such towns as Ciudad Rodrigo and Badajos. Folk sitting
by their quiet firesides may wonder how sane men can be so dead to the
higher and better feelings of humanity; but when the fever of war is
followed by the poison of drink, it is no wonder if the minds of rude
men are thrown off their balance. War is a most awful thing to witness,
and many officers have declared to the writer that, had they known
what war meant in all its dreadful reality, they would not have been
so eager in their youth to join the army. All the more reason is there
that every youth in our islands should be compelled by law to learn
the use of the rifle, that when the time comes--as come it will--when
an invader shall set foot upon our shore, we may not be helpless and
unarmed. Perhaps it is necessary that we should sometimes hear the
horrid truth about war; we may thus be stimulated to use a little
self-denial for our country’s security, when we realize that life is
not made up of games and money-making, and when we can see what our
fatherland would be to us, devastated by a savage enemy, with farms and
barns blazing, women and children starved to death, towns sacked and
plundered, and the honour of old England trodden beneath the foot of a
foreign invader. The story of these sieges has many lessons--military,
ethical, and economic. Let us at least learn one--the duty that is
incumbent upon all of us, men and boys, to defend mother and wife and
child.