A PRISONER IN ST. SEBASTIAN (1813)
The _coup de grâce_--The hospital--A cruel order--An attempt at
escape--Removed to the castle--The English at the breach--Many are
wounded--French ladies sleep in the open--A vertical fire--English
gunners shoot too well--A good sabre lightly won.
Colonel Harvey Jones, R.E., has left us an interesting account of the
siege of St. Sebastian by the British forces. The town, situated close
to the French frontier, just south of the Pyrenees and by the sea,
contains 10,000 inhabitants, and is built on a low peninsula running
north and south. The defences of the western side are washed by the
sea, those on the eastern side by the river Urumea, which at high-water
covers 4 feet of the masonry of the scarp. The first assault in July
failed. Colonel Jones was wounded and taken prisoner.
His diary begins: “After witnessing the unsuccessful attempts of
Lieutenant Campbell, 9th Regiment, and his gallant little band to force
their way on to the ramparts, and their retreat from the breach, my
attention was soon aroused by a cry from the soldier who was lying
disabled next to me:
“‘Oh, they are murdering us all!’
“Looking up, I perceived a number of French Grenadiers, under a heavy
fire of grape, sword in hand, stepping over the dead and stabbing the
wounded. My companion was treated in the same manner. The sword,
plucked from his body and reeking with his blood, was raised to give me
the _coup de grâce_, when, fortunately, the uplifted arm was arrested
by a smart little man--a sergeant--who cried out:
“‘Oh, mon Colonel, êtes-vous blessé?’ and he ordered some men to remove
me.”
They raised the Colonel in their arms and carried him up the breach on
to the ramparts. Here they were stopped by a Captain of the Grenadiers,
who asked some questions, then kissed him, and desired the party to
proceed to the hospital.
They met the Governor and his staff on the way, who asked if the
Colonel was badly wounded, and directed that proper care should be
taken of him.
After descending from the rampart into the town, as they were going
along the street leading to the hospital, they were accosted by
an officer who had evidently taken his “drop.” He demanded the
Englishman’s sword, which was still hanging by his side.
The reply came: “You have the power to take it, but certainly have no
right to do so, as I have not been made a prisoner by you.”
This seemed to enrage him, and with great violence of manner and
gesture he unbuckled the belt and carried away the sword.
Upon reaching the hospital, the Surgeon-Major was very kind in his
manner. After he had enlarged the wounds, according to the French
system, and then dressed them, the Colonel was carried across the
street and put into a bed in one of the wards of the great hospital,
which a soldier was ordered to vacate for his use. This man returned
later in the day for his pipe and tobacco, which he had left under the
pillow.
In the course of the morning they were visited by the Governor, who
made inquiries as to their wounds, and whether they had been plundered
of anything; for a great number of English soldiers had been taken,
and were lodged in the town prison. The only persons permitted to
visit them were some staff-officers, a few Spanish ladies, and a
Spanish barber. From the former the Colonel was made acquainted with
all that passed in the British lines--at least, as far as the French
could conjecture. Although boats arrived nightly from Bayonne, the
other side of the frontier, bringing shells, medicine, charpie, or
lint, engineers, etc., the garrison remained in great ignorance of
the movements of the two armies. Soult kept sending word that he
would soon come and raise the siege; thus, by promises of immediate
relief, he kept up the spirits of the garrison. He also rewarded
the gallantry of particular defenders during the assault and in the
sorties by promotion, or by sending them the decoration of the Legion
of Honour. In the French Army there seemed to have been a system of
reward for good and gallant conduct by promotion into the Grenadiers
or Voltigeurs, which had an excellent effect. A French soldier was
extremely proud of his green, yellow, or red epaulettes. They were
badges of distinguished conduct and only those who had shown great
gallantry in action were admitted into their ranks. What with the
success attendant upon the sorties and the numerous decorations which
had been distributed among the officers and privates, such a spirit of
daring had been created that the idea of a surrender was scouted by all.
After the stones had been extracted which had been blown into his
leg and thighs by the bursting of shells and grenades, the Colonel
was enabled to move about and get into the gallery running round the
courtyard of the hospital, and into which all the doors and windows of
the rooms respectively opened. It was the only place where they were
allowed to breathe the fresh air.
One day, whilst sitting in the gallery, he observed a table placed in
the balcony below him, on the other side of the courtyard. Soon he saw
an unfortunate French gunner laid upon the table. They amputated both
his arms, his hands having been blown off by an accident in one of the
batteries. In the course of the morning, whilst conversing with the
surgeon who had performed the operation, he told the Colonel that he
had acted contrary to his instructions, which were never to amputate,
but to cure if possible. When he was asked for the reason of such
an inhuman order having been issued, his reply was that the Emperor
Napoleon did not wish numbers of mutilated men to be sent back to
France, as it would make a bad impression upon the people.
“You must be a bold man to act in opposition to this order.”
He replied: “Affairs are beginning to change, and, moreover, it is now
necessary that the soldiers should know they will be taken proper care
of in the event of being wounded, and not left to die like dogs. We
send as many as we can at night to Bayonne by the boats; thus we clear
out the hospitals a little.”
In conversations with many of the officers they detailed acts committed
by their soldiers in Spain so revolting to human nature that one
refuses to commit them to paper. A _chef de bataillon_ once asked him
how the English managed with their soldiers when they wanted them to
advance and attack an enemy.
The reply was simply, “Forward!”
“Ah! that way will not do with us. We are obliged to excite our men
with spirits, or to work upon their feelings by some animating address;
and very often, when I have fancied I had brought them up to the
fighting pitch, some old hand would make a remark which in an instant
spoilt all I had said, and I had to begin my speech all over again.”
The Colonel asked how they managed to provision their men when they
went out on expeditions that lasted ten or twenty days.
The answer was: “Our biscuits are made with a hole in the centre. Each
biscuit is the ration for a day. Sometimes twenty are delivered to each
soldier, who is given to understand that he has no further claim on the
commisariat for those days.”
“But it is impossible for the soldier to carry twenty.”
“We know that very well, but he has no claim; and how he lives in the
meanwhile we do not ask. Perhaps he lives on the country.” In other
words, he steals!
In the hospital he was attended by a Spanish barber. As he could speak
Spanish fluently, they had a good deal of talk. The barber used to tell
all he heard and saw of what was passing both inside and outside the
fortress. When he learnt that the Colonel was an engineer, he offered
to bring him a plan of all the underground drains and of the aqueduct.
The attendant, although a good-natured man, kept a sharp eye on the
barber; so it was a difficult matter for him to give anything without
being detected.
At last, one morning when preparing to shave him, he succeeded in
shoving a plan under the bedclothes. The Colonel seized the earliest
opportunity of examining it, and from the knowledge he had before
acquired of the place he soon mastered the directions of the drains,
etc. From that moment his whole attention was fixed on the means of
making his escape.
He knew that the hospital was situated in the principal street, the
ends of which terminated upon the fortifications bounding the harbour.
If once he could gain the street he had only to turn to the right or
left to gain the ramparts, and so make his escape from the town in the
best manner he could.
One evening just at dusk, when the medical men took leave of them for
the night, one of them left his cocked hat on the bed. As soon as the
Colonel noticed this he put it on his head, hurried downstairs, and
made direct for the great door; but he found it so completely blocked
up by the guard that, unless by pushing them aside, it was not possible
to pass undiscovered. He therefore retreated upstairs in despair, and
threw the hat down on the bed. Scarcely had he done so when in rushed
the doctor, asking for his _chapeau_.
They were more than once visited by the crews of the boats which
arrived nightly from France. The sight of the prisoners seemed to
afford the Frenchmen great gratification, but there was nothing in
their manner which could in any way offend.
Very unexpectedly one evening the Governor’s aide-de-camp came to the
prison and told the officers to prepare immediately to go to France.
A Portuguese Captain, one of the party of prisoners, was dreadfully
in fear of being sent there, and with great warmth of manner told the
aide-de-camp that Lord Wellington would soon be in possession of the
place, and if the prisoners were not forthcoming he would hold the
Governor answerable in person.
It is supposed that the aide went and reported this conversation to the
Governor, as he did not return for some time, and then told them it was
too late to embark that night, as the boats had sailed. They were never
afterwards threatened to be sent away.
About the middle of August the garrison began to flatter themselves
that the siege was turned into a regular blockade, and that they would
be relieved by the successes of Marshal Soult. Their spirits ran high,
their hopes were elated.
The 15th of August, the birthday of Napoleon, was observed as a day of
rejoicing among the garrison, and at nightfall the letter “N” of a very
large size was brilliantly lighted up on the face of the donjon.
When the operations of the second siege began a Captain who visited the
Colonel kept him _au fait_ of all that was going on. One day a Spanish
Captain who had sided with the French came into the hospital--it was
on the evening of the assault. He was wringing his hands, tearing his
hair, and swearing he had heard the shrieks of his wife and daughters,
and had seen his house in flames. The French officers took the poor
man’s outcries with great merriment, and the Spaniard must have
bitterly regretted the day when he deserted the English. The French
officers did not fail to taunt him with having done so, and ridiculed
his frantic actions.
In the course of the next day Colonel Jones was asked if he would like
to speak with a corporal of sappers who had been made prisoner during
the sortie.
To his surprise, a fine, tall youngster, a stranger to him, walked into
the ward, dressed in a red jacket. Now, blue was the colour when the
Colonel was taken prisoner.
“When did you join the army, corporal?” he asked.
“Yesterday morning, Colonel. I was put on duty in the trenches last
night, and in a few minutes I was brought into the town by the enemy.”
“I could not help laughing, though he wore a rueful expression,” says
the Colonel.
One morning a Captain of artillery, whom he had never before seen, came
into the ward and commenced conversing about the siege. He observed
that the whole second parallel of the British trenches was one entire
battery, and if there were as many guns as there were embrasures, he
said, “we shall be _joliment fouettés_.”
The Colonel’s reply was: “Most assuredly you will. Depend upon it,
there are as many guns as embrasures. It is not our fashion to make
batteries and stick logs of wood into the embrasures in the hope of
frightening the enemy.”
He made a grimace, and with a shrug of the shoulders left the ward.
Next morning the surgeon came, as usual, to dress the wounds. This was
about half-past seven. All was still, and he joyously exclaimed, as he
entered:
“So, gentlemen, we have another day’s reprieve!”
In about half an hour afterwards, whilst Colonel Jones was under his
hands, the first salvo from the breaching batteries was fired. Several
shot rattled through the hospital and disturbed the tranquillity of
the inmates. The instrument dropped from the surgeon’s hands, and he
exclaimed, “Le jeu sera bientôt fini!” Then very composedly the good
doctor went on with his work.
The opening of the batteries made a great stir amongst all hands. A
hint was given the prisoners to prepare to be removed into the castle.
A private hint was given to the Colonel to be _sage_ on the way up, as
the Captain of the escort was _méchant_, and that it would be better to
be quiet and orderly.
This, perhaps, was intended to deter any of them from attempting to
escape. The wounded prisoners were moved in one body up the face of the
hill to the entrance of the castle. Under the Mirador battery they were
exposed to a sharp musketry fire. Some of the party were wounded, the
Portuguese Captain severely.
A building on the sea-side, which had been constructed for a powder
magazine, was now converted into their hospital, the interior being
fitted up with wooden beds. In the area surrounding the building were
placed the unwounded prisoners. As the number of wounded from the
ramparts increased, the hospital filled rapidly, and to prevent the
fire from the English batteries being directed upon them some of the
prisoners were desired to hoist a black flag on the roof. While they
were doing so the Colonel told the French officer that it was labour
in vain, as the British had learnt that this building was their great
depot for powder, and so hoisting a flag would be regarded as a ruse to
preserve their ammunition. Little benefit did they get from the ensign.
After the capture of the island Santa Clara, hardly could anyone move
about that part of the castle opposite to the island without the risk
of being hit. Grape and shrapnel swept the whole of the face, and it
was only at night that fresh water could be fetched from the tank.
The garrison had a fixed idea that the assault would take place at
night, so each morning they rose with happy faces--another twenty-four
hours’ reprieve!
On the 31st of August, when the first rattle of musketry was heard in
the castle, an inquiring look pervaded each countenance; but no one
spoke. As the firing continued and the rattle grew and grew, little
doubt remained as to the cause. Every soldier seized his musket and
hurried with haste to his post. The Colonel was then ordered not to
speak or hold converse with the unwounded prisoners outside. One French
officer asked him if he thought that the English prisoners would remain
quiet if an assault of the breach should take place, adding, “If they
were to make any attempt they would all be shot.”
Colonel Jones replied: “Do not fancy you have a flock of sheep penned
within these walls. Happen what may, shoot us or not, you will be
required to give a satisfactory account of us when the castle is taken.”
From the commencement of the assault until the rush into the castle
upon the capture of the town, not the slightest information could
they obtain as to the state of affairs at the breach. The period that
intervened was to the prisoners one of the most anxious and painful
suspense. At last the tale was told by the awful spectacle of the
interior of the hospital.
In an instant the ward was crowded with the maimed and wounded. The
amputation-table was in full play, and until nearly daylight the
following morning the surgeons were unceasingly at work.
To have such a scene passing at the foot of one’s bed was painful
enough. Added to this the agonizing shrieks and groans and the
appearance of the sappers and Grenadiers who had been blown up by
the explosion in the breach, their uniforms nearly burnt off, and
their skins blackened and scorched by gunpowder--all this was truly
appalling. The appearance of these men resembled anything but human
beings. Death soon put an end to their sufferings, and relieved all
from these most distressing sights. Of all wounds, whether of fractured
limbs or otherwise, those caused by burns from gunpowder seemed to
produce the most excruciating pain.
In the rear of the donjon was a small building, in which was stored
much gunpowder. Shells were falling fast and thick around it, so a
detachment of soldiers was sent to withdraw the ammunition. This
dangerous service they were performing in a most gallant manner,
and had nearly completed their work, when some shells fell into the
building, exploded the barrels that remained, and blew the building,
with some of the soldiers, into the air, not leaving a vestige to show
that such an edifice had stood there.
There were three French ladies in the garrison. They were on their way
to France when the investment took place. These ladies were permitted
to enter the hospital, and were allowed a small space at one end of
the wooden bedsteads. There they were for several days and nights. The
only water they could obtain to wash in was sea-water. As the number
of the wounded increased, some of the officers who were lying upon the
floor were loud in their complaints that madame and her daughters were
occupying the space which properly belonged to them. They succeeded
in getting the ladies turned out, to find shelter from shot and shell
where best they could!
The day the castle capitulated Colonel Jones went in search of his
fair companions, and found them, nearly smoke-dried, under a small
projecting rock.
One of the young ladies was extremely pretty. Shortly after the siege
she was married to the English Commissary appointed to attend upon the
garrison until sent to England. The change from the hospital to the
naked rock relieved them from witnessing many a painful scene, as the
amputating-table was placed near their end of the ward.
After the capture of the town a heavy bombardment of the castle took
place, by salvos of shells from more than sixty pieces of artillery.
There were only a few seconds between the noise made by the discharge
of the mortars and the descent of the shells. Those of the mutilated
who were fortunate enough to snatch a little sleep and so forget their
sufferings were awakened by the crash of ten or a dozen shells falling
upon or in the building, whose fuses threw a lurid light through the
gloom. The silence within, unbroken save by the hissing of the burning
composition, the agonized feelings of the wounded during those few
moments of suspense, are not to be described. Many an unlucky soldier
was brought to the table to undergo a second operation. The wretched
surgeons were engaged nearly the entire night. Rest was impossible.
You could not choose but hear. The legs and arms were thrown out as
soon as amputated, and fell on the rooks.
It was not an agreeable sight. Those who vote for war do not realize
these little details in the programme. War, they say, breeds heroes.
It is but justice to the French medical officers to state that their
conduct during the whole period of their harassing and laborious duties
was marked by the greatest feeling and kindness of manner, as well as
by skilful attention to the relief of all who came under their hands.
The unfortunate prisoners who were not wounded had been placed in the
area round the hospital, and being without cover, suffered at every
discharge.
The Colonel exerted himself to obtain a few pickaxes and shovels to
throw up some sort of splinter-proof, but it was in vain he pleaded,
and in the end fifty were killed or wounded out of 150.
From the surgeons and hospital attendants they experienced great
kindness. Their diet was the same as that of the French wounded
soldiers. Their greatest luxury was three stewed prunes!
The effects of the vertical fire on the interior of the castle were so
destructive that, had it been continued six hours longer, the garrison
would have doubtless surrendered at discretion. They had lost all hope
that Soult could relieve them.
Everybody now sought shelter where best he could among the rocks.
Still, no nook or corner appeared to be a protection from the shrapnel
shells.
A sergeant of the Royals, standing at the foot of a bedstead, was
struck by a ball from a shrapnel shell, and fell dead while talking.
An Italian soldier, while trying to prepare some broth for dinner, was
blown into the air--soup, bowl, and all!
The excellence of the British artillery is well known. Nothing could
surpass the precision with which the shells were thrown or the accuracy
with which the fuses were cut. During the siege our men in the British
trenches little heeded the lazy French shells which were thrown into
our batteries. From the length of the fuses sufficient time was often
allowed before they burst to put themselves under cover; and when they
did burst, the splinters flew lazily around. But when the sound of an
English shell was heard in the castle, or when the men stationed in the
donjon cried, “Garde la bombe!” everybody was on the alert. Touching
the ground and bursting were almost simultaneous, and the havoc from
the splinters was terrible. It appeared to be of little avail where a
man hid himself: no place was secure from them.
A French officer of Engineers, who was very badly wounded, kindly lent
the Colonel some of the professional books which were supplied to him.
Many were works which he had never been able to procure. Much pleasure
and instruction did he derive from their perusal. He found out that the
French Engineers were supplied with them by the Government, and their
Generals also with the best maps of the country.
One day the Colonel was called to the door of the ward by a French
officer, who exclaimed, as he pointed to a large convoy of English
transports coming in under full sail: “Voilà les fiacres qui viennent
nous chercher!” (“There are the cabs coming to fetch us.”) It was a
most cheering and beautiful sight--the cabs that were sent to fetch us
home!
When Colonel Jones was told, shortly after, that he was no longer a
prisoner, he began to look round for the best sword in the castle to
replace the one which that rude French Captain had taken from him.
He discovered a handsome sabre belonging to a wounded staff-officer,
so he sent and desired that it might be taken down from the place where
it was hanging, as he wanted such a weapon.
“I have it still by me. It was the only sword I wore until the end of
the war, and often, when at the outposts with a flag of truce, have I
seen the French officers regard the eagles on the belt with anything
but a gratified look.
“In 1815 I was quartered at Paris, being engineer in charge of the
fortifications on Mont-Martre. There I frequently saw several of the
St. Sebastian officers, and from my old friend the Chirurgien-Major I
received many visits.
“We both agreed that, though the tables were turned, our present
position was far more agreeable than when our acquaintance began in St.
Sebastian.”
From Muswell’s “Peninsular Sketches.” Henry Colburn, publisher.