ALMEIDA.
On the morning of the 7th we perceived, from a movement in the French camp,
that the wounded were being sent to the rear, and shortly afterwards the
main body of their army commenced its retreat. They moved with slow, and as
it were, reluctant steps; and Bessiéres, who commanded the Imperial Guard,
turned his eyes more than once to that position which all the bravery of
his troops was unavailing to capture. Although our cavalry lay in force to
the front of our line, no attempt was made to molest the retreating French;
and Massena, having retired beyond the Aguada, left a strong force to watch
the ford, while the remainder of the army fell back upon Cuidad Rodrigo.
During this time we had succeeded in fortifying our position at Fuentes
d’Onoro so strongly as to resist any new attack, and Lord Wellington now
turned his whole attention to the blockade of Almeida, which, by Massena’s
retreat, was abandoned to its fate.
On the morning of the 10th I accompanied General Crawfurd in a
reconnoissance of the fortress, which, from the intelligence we had lately
received, could not much longer hold out against our blockade. The fire
from the enemy’s artillery was, however, hotly maintained; and as night
fell, some squadrons of the Fourteenth, who were picketed near, were unable
to light their watch-fires, being within reach of their shot. As the
darkness increased so did the cannonade, and the bright flashes from the
walls and the deep booming of the artillery became incessant.
A hundred conjectures were afloat to account for the circumstance; some
asserting that what we heard were mere signals to Massena’s army; and
others, that Brennier was destroying and mutilating the fortress before he
evacuated it to the allies.
It was little past midnight when, tired from the fatigues of the day, I had
fallen asleep beneath a tree, an explosion, louder than any which preceded
it, burst suddenly forth, and as I awoke and looked about me, I perceived
the whole heavens illuminated by one bright glare, while the crashing
noise of falling stones and crumbling masonry told me that a mine had been
sprung; the moment after, all was calm and still and motionless; a thick
black smoke increasing the sombre darkness of the night shut out every star
from view, and some drops of heavy rain began to fall.
The silence, ten times more appalling than the din which preceded it,
weighed heavily upon my senses, and a dread of some unknown danger crept
over me; the exhaustion, however, was greater than my fear, and again I
sank into slumber.
Scarcely had I been half an hour asleep, when the blast of a trumpet again
awoke me, and I found, amidst the confusion and excitement about, that
something of importance had occurred. Questions were eagerly asked on all
sides, but no one could explain what had happened. Towards the town all was
as still as death, but a dropping, irregular fire of musketry issued from
the valley beside the Aguada. “What can this mean; what can it be?” we
asked of each other. “A sortie from the garrison,” said one; “A night
attack by Massena’s troops,” cried another; and while thus we disputed and
argued, a horseman was heard advancing along the road at the top of his
speed.
“Where are the cavalry?” cried a voice I recognized as one of my brother
aides-de-camp. “Where are the Fourteenth?”
A cheer from our party answered this question, and the next moment,
breathless and agitated, he rode in among us.
“What is it? Are we attacked?”
“Would to Heaven that were all! But come along, lads, follow me.”
“What can it be, then?” said I again; while my anxiety knew no bounds.
“Brennier has escaped; burst his way through Pack’s Division, and has
already reached Valde Mula.”
“The French have escaped!” was repeated from mouth to mouth; while,
pressing spurs to our horses, we broke into a gallop, and dashed forward in
the direction of the musketry. We soon came up with the 36th Infantry, who,
having thrown away their knapsacks, were rapidly pressing the pursuit. The
maledictions which burst from every side proved how severely the misfortune
was felt by all, while the eager advance of the men bespoke how ardently
they longed to repair the mishap.
Dark as was the night, we passed them in a gallop, when suddenly the
officer who commanded the leading squadron called out to halt.
“Take care there, lads!” cried he; “I hear the infantry before us; we shall
be down upon our own people.”
The words were hardly spoken, when a bright flash blazed out before us, and
a smashing volley was poured into the squadron.
“The French! the French, by Jove!” said Hampden. “Forward, boys! charge
them!”
Breaking into open order, to avoid our wounded comrades, several of whom
had fallen by the fire, we rode down among them. In a moment their order
was broken, their ranks pierced, and fresh squadrons coming up at the
instant, they were sabred to a man.
After this the French pursued their march in silence, and even when
assembling in force we rode down upon their squares, they never halted nor
fired a shot. At Barba del Puerco, the ground being unfit for cavalry, the
Thirty-sixth took our place, and pressed them hotly home. Several of
the French were killed, and above three hundred made prisoners, but our
fellows, following up the pursuit too rashly, came upon an advanced body of
Massena’s force, drawn up to await and cover Brennier’s retreat; the result
was the loss of above thirty men in killed and wounded.
Thus were the great efforts of the three preceding days rendered fruitless
and nugatory. To maintain this blockade, Lord Wellington, with an inferior
force, and a position by no means strong, had ventured to give the enemy
battle; and now by the unskilfulness of some, and the negligence of others,
were all his combinations thwarted, and the French general enabled to march
his force through the midst of the blockading columns almost unmolested and
uninjured.
Lord Wellington’s indignation was great, as well it might be; the prize for
which he had contested was torn from his grasp at the very moment he had
won it, and although the gallantry of the troops in the pursuit might,
under other circumstances, have called forth eulogium, his only observation
on the matter was a half-sarcastic allusion to the inconclusive effects of
undisciplined bravery. “Notwithstanding,” says the general order of the
day, “what has been printed in gazettes and newspapers, we have never seen
small bodies, unsupported, successfully opposed to large; nor has the
experience of any officer realized the stories which all have read, of
whole armies being driven by a handful of light infantry and dragoons.”