Excesses and sufferings of the French during their retreat—Combats of
Foz d'Aronce and Sabugal—Battle of Fuentes d'Oñoro—Sir E. Pakenham,
Colonel Wallace, and the 88th Regiment.
The retreat of the French army from Portugal commenced on the night of
the 5th of March 1811, and was marked by acts more suited to a horde of
barbarians than a European army. On the fact being ascertained at our
headquarters, we were put in their track, which, when once found, it
would have been a difficult matter to lose, the whole country through
which they passed being a vast extent of burning ruins. Not a town, not
a village, and rarely a cottage escaped the general conflagration. The
beautiful town of Leyria was left a heap of ruins; Pombal shared the
same fate; and the magnificent convent of Alcobaça was burned to the
ground. Two of the finest organs in Europe were destroyed by this wanton
act; and a century will be insufficient to repair the evils which a few
months inflicted on this unfortunate country.
Scenes of the most revolting nature were the natural attendants on such
a barbarous mode of warfare, and scarcely a league was traversed by our
army, in its advance, without our eyes being shocked by some frightful
spectacle. The French army was doubtless much exasperated against the
Portuguese nation, in consequence of the manner in which they destroyed
what would have contributed to the comforts of men who had been
half-starved for six months. And now, after so many privations, having a
long retreat before them, with a scanty allowance of provisions in their
haversacks, it is more to be lamented than wondered at, that the march
of the French troops was accompanied by many circumstances which were
disgraceful to them.
On the 9th of March our advance-guard came up with the rear of the
enemy, commanded by Marshal Ney, in the neighbourhood of Pombal. The
Light Division was warmly engaged, and some charges of cavalry took
place on the high ground near the castle; but the infantry of our
division (the 3rd) arrived too late to support the Light, and no
decisive result was the consequence. Masséna continued his retreat that
night and next day; but on the 11th we found him posted on a rising
ground near the village of Redinha; our army formed in line on the
plain, and an action of some consequence was expected; but the French
marshal was so pressed in front, while his left was vigorously attacked,
that it was not without sustaining a severe loss he effected his passage
across the river Redinha.
On the 15th we surprised their covering division while in the act of
cooking near the village of Foz d'Aronce. They retreated in the greatest
hurry, leaving several camp kettles full of meat behind them. As we
approached the town, the road leading to it was covered with a number of
horses, mules, and asses, all maimed; but the most disgusting sight was
about fifty of the asses floundering in the mud, some with their throats
half cut, while others were barbarously houghed or otherwise injured.
What the object of this proceeding meant I never could guess; the poor
brutes could have been of no use to us, or indeed any one else, as I
believe they were unable to have travelled another league. The meagre
appearance of these creatures, with their backbones and hips protruding
through their hides, and their mangled and bleeding throats, produced a
general feeling of disgust and commiseration.
The village of Foz d'Aronce was warmly contested, and more than once
taken and retaken. Night put a stop to this affair, in which we
sustained a loss of about four hundred men. The enemy lost nearly a
thousand _hors de combat_;[10] and, as usual, taking advantage of the
night, got off, and continued their retreat upon Guarda, having
destroyed the bridge on the river Ceira as they retired.
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Footnote 10:
These figures are very wild. The English lost 4 officers and 60 men,
the French 456 killed and wounded only, according to the official
accounts.
-----
The army did not lose any officer of rank in the affair of Foz d'Aronce,
but the service sustained a loss in Lieutenant Heppenstal—a young man
who, had he lived, would have been an ornament to a profession for which
Nature seemed to have destined him. He was known to be one of the
bravest men in the army, but on this occasion his usual spirits deserted
him. He moved along silent, inattentive, and abstracted—a brisk firing
in our front soon roused all his wonted energy, and he advanced with his
men apparently cheerful as ever; turning to a brother officer he said,
“You will laugh at what I am going to say; you know I am not afraid to
die, but I have a certain feeling that my race is nearly run.”—“You
jest,” said his friend. “No, I don’t,” was his reply; they shook hands,
the light troops advanced, and in a few minutes the brave Heppenstal was
a corpse. His presentiment was too just, and though I had heard of
instances of the kind before, this was the first that came under my
immediate observation. I ran up to the spot where he lay; he was
bleeding profusely; his breast was penetrated by two bullets, and a
third passed through his forehead. His death was singular, and it
appeared as if he was resolved to fulfil the destiny that he had marked
out for himself. Our light troops were gradually retreating on their
reinforcements, and were within a few paces of the columns of infantry;
his men repeatedly called out to him to retire with the rest, but he,
either not hearing, or not attending to what they said, remained, with
his back against a pine-tree, dealing out death at every shot. Pressed
as we were for time, we dug him a deep grave at the foot of the tree
where he so gallantly lost his life, and we laid him in it without form
or ceremony.
Nothing particular occurred after the action of Foz d'Aronce until our
arrival at Guarda. As usual, we met with groups of murdered peasantry
and of French soldiers. At the entrance of a cave, amidst these rocky
mountains, lay an old man, a woman, and two young men, all dead. This
cave, no doubt, had served them as an asylum the preceding winter, and
appearances warranted the supposition that these poor creatures, in a
vain effort to save their little store of provisions, fell victims to
the ferocity of their murderers. The clothes of the two young peasants
were torn to atoms, and bore ample testimony that they did not lose
their lives without a struggle to preserve them; the hands of one were
dreadfully mangled, as if in a last effort to save his life he had
grasped the sword which ultimately despatched him. Beside him lay his
companion, his brother perhaps, covered with wounds; and a little to the
right was the old man. He lay on his back with his breast bare; two
large gashes were over his heart, and the back part of his head was
beaten to pieces. Near him lay an old rusty bayonet fixed on a pole,
which formerly served as a goad for oxen, and one of his hands grasped a
bunch of hair, torn, no doubt, from the head of the assassin; the old
woman was in all probability strangled, as no wound appeared on her
body.
At some distance from this spot were two French soldiers belonging to
the 4th Léger; their appearance was frightful. They had been wounded by
our advance, and their companions either being too much occupied in
providing for their own safety to think of them, or their situation
being too hopeless to entertain an idea of their surviving, they were
abandoned to the fury of the peasants, who invariably dodged on the
flanks or in the rear of our troops. These poor wretches were surrounded
by half a dozen Portuguese, who, after having plundered them, were
taking that horrible vengeance too common during this contest. On the
approach of our men they dispersed, but, as we passed on, we could
perceive them returning like vultures that have been scared away from
their prey for the moment, but who return to it again with redoubled
voraciousness. Both the Frenchmen were alive, and entreated us to put an
end to their sufferings. I thought it would have been humane to do so,
but Napoleon and Jaffa flashed across me, and I turned away from the
spot.[11]
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Footnote 11:
The reference is to the discredited story that Napoleon poisoned all
his non-transportable wounded at Jaffa, during his retreat to Egypt,
in order to prevent them from being massacred by the Turks.
-----
On the 30th of March General Picton arrived before Guarda. His approach
to that town was not only unperceived, but seemed unexpected, having
advanced to within two gun-shots of the town without meeting a vedette.
Such conduct on the part of the French general was not only culpable in
the extreme, but showed the greatest presumption and confidence,
because, had we a brigade of guns with us, and a few hundred cavalry,
the five thousand men that occupied Guarda would have been forced to lay
down their arms. Fortunately for them, we had neither the one nor the
other; and instead of being in a condition to attack the town, we had
the mortification to witness the French getting out of it, bag and
baggage, as quick as they could. The scene of confusion that the streets
presented was great; infantry, artillery, and baggage, men, women, and
children, all mixed pell-mell together, hurrying to the high road
leading to Sabugal. Our cavalry came up shortly after the enemy had
evacuated the place, but too late to do much good. Some prisoners and
baggage and a few head of cattle were captured, and we took up our
quarters in the town for the night.
On the 3rd of April we again, and for the last time in Portugal,
encountered the enemy at Sabugal. The Light Division had a gallant
affair with the corps of General Reynier, and though greatly
outnumbered, they not only succeeded in forcing the position, but
captured a howitzer and several prisoners. The 3rd Division soon after
reached the ground, and its leading battalions, especially the 5th
Regiment, had deployed, and having thrown in a heavy fire, were
advancing with the bayonet, when a violent hail-storm came on and
completely hid the two armies from each other. Reynier hurried his
divisions off the field; and this unlooked-for event snatched a
brilliant exploit from us, as the total overthrow of this corps would
have been in all probability the result.
The French suffered severely, but they never fought better; so rapidly
did they fire that, instead of returning their ramrods, they stuck them
in the ground for expedition, and continued to fight until overpowered
by our men, who are certainly better at close fighting than long shot.
The enemy fought their howitzer well, and almost all the gunners lay
dead about it. A young artillery officer was the first I took notice
of—his uniform was still on him, an unusual thing; he wore a blue
frock-coat; across his shoulder hung his cartouche-box; and the middle
of his forehead was pierced by a musket ball. His features, which were
beautiful, showed, nevertheless, a painful distortion, and it was
evident that the shock which deprived him of life, though momentary, was
one of excruciating agony. Beside him lay one of the gunners, whose
appearance was altogether different from that of his officer. A round
shot had taken off his thigh a few inches below the groin, and his
death, though not as instantaneous, seemed to be void of pain. The bare
stump exhibited a shocking sight—the muscles, arteries, and flesh, all
hanging in frightful confusion, presented the eye with a horrid sample
of the effects of those means made use of by man for his own
destruction; the ramrod of the gun was near him; his back rested against
one of the wheels; and there was that placid look in his countenance
which would lead you to think he had sat himself down to rest.
The wounded having been all removed, and the enemy continuing their
retreat, we bivouacked on the ground they had occupied at the
commencement of the action, and the next day we went into cantonments.
The French recrossed the Agueda, and Portugal was, with the exception of
Almeida, freed from their presence, after they had occupied it for
nearly eight months, and had inflicted on the inhabitants every misery
it is possible to conceive.
Four weeks had scarcely elapsed when we were again called into action.
On the 2nd of May Marshal Masséna passed the river Agueda at Rodrigo,
and moved upon Almeida in order to supply it with provisions. He had
left a garrison of three thousand men in that fortress, commanded by
General Brennier, in whom he placed much confidence. The French Marshal
stationed his army on the river Azava, in the neighbourhood of Carpio,
Espeja, and Gallegos; and next day (the 3rd) made a movement on Almeida.
Lord Wellington made a corresponding movement, and our army occupied a
fine line of battle—its right at Nava d'Aver, the centre at Fuentes
d'Oñoro, and the left resting on the ruins of the Fort de la Conception;
in our front ran the little stream of Oñoro. General Pack’s brigade of
Portuguese invested Almeida.
Without waiting to ascertain the strength or weakness of the position,
Marshal Masséna, with that impetuosity which had formerly characterised
him, ordered the village of Fuentes d'Oñoro to be carried; and to make
his success certain the entire of the sixth corps was employed in the
attack. The town was at this time occupied by some of our 1st Division,
consisting of the Highland regiments, supported by others of the line,
and the light companies of the 1st and 3rd Divisions, commanded by Major
Dick of the 42nd Highlanders, and Colonel Williams of the 60th. The
village was taken and retaken several times, and night found both armies
occupying a part each.
Masséna, perceiving that the obstacles opposed to his carrying this
point, which he considered the key of our position, were too great for
him to surmount, employed himself during the 4th of May in reconnoitring
our line, and in making preparations for the battle which was to take
place the following day. On our side we were not inactive: the avenues
leading to Pozobello and Fuentes were barricaded in the best manner the
moment would allow; temporary defences were constructed at the heads of
the different streets, and trenches dug here and there as a protection
against the impetuous attacks expected from the cavalry of General
Montbrun. We lay down to rest perfectly assured that every necessary
precaution had been taken by our General; and as to the result of the
battle, we looked upon that as certain, a series of engagements with the
enemy having taught us to estimate our own prowess; and being a good
deal overcome with the heat of the weather, we lay down to rest and
slept soundly.
Day had scarcely dawned when the roar of artillery and musketry
announced the attack of Fuentes d'Oñoro and Pozobello. Five thousand men
filled the latter village, and after a desperate conflict carried it
with the bayonet. General Montbrun, at the head of the French cavalry,
vigorously attacked the right of our army; but he was received with much
steadiness by our 7th Division, which, though it fought in line,
repulsed the efforts made to break it, and drove back the cavalry in
confusion. The light troops, immediately in front of the 1st and 3rd
Divisions, were in like manner charged by bodies of the enemy’s horse,
but by manœuvres well executed, in proper time, these attacks were
rendered as fruitless as the main one against the right of our army. The
officer who commanded this advance,[12] either too much elated with his
success, or holding the efforts of the enemy in too light a point of
view, unfortunately extended his men once more to the distance at which
light troops usually fight; the consequence was fatal. The enemy, though
defeated in his principal attack, was still powerful as a minor
antagonist; and seeing the impossibility of success against the main
body, redoubled his efforts against those which were detached;
accordingly he charged with impetuosity the troops most exposed, amongst
whom were those I have been describing. The bugle sounded to close, but
whether to the centre, right, or left, I know not; certain it is,
however, that the men attempted to close to the right, when to the
centre would have been more desirable, and before they could complete
their movement the French cavalry were _mixed with them_.
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Footnote 12:
Colonel Hill of the Guards: he was taken prisoner.
-----
Our division was posted on the high ground just above this plain; a
small rugged ravine separated us from our comrades; but although the
distance between us was short, we were, in effect, as far from them as
if we were placed upon the Rock of Lisbon. We felt much for their
situation, but could not afford them the least assistance, and we saw
them rode down and cut to pieces without being able to rescue them, or
even discharge one musket in their defence.
Our heavy horse and the 16th Light Dragoons executed some brilliant
charges, in each of which they overthrew the French cavalry. An officer
of our staff, who led on one of those attacks, unhorsed and made
prisoner Colonel La Motte of the 15th French Chasseurs; but Don Julian
Sanchez, the Guerilla chief, impelled more by valour than prudence,
attacked with his Guerillas a first-rate French regiment; the
consequence was the total overthrow of the Spanish hero; and as I
believe this was the first attempt this species of troops ever made at a
regular charge against a French regiment, so I hope, for their own
sakes, it was their last.
All the avenues leading to the town of Fuentes d'Oñoro were in a moment
filled with French troops; it was occupied by our 71st and 79th
Highlanders, the 83rd, the light companies of the 1st and 3rd Divisions,
and some German and Portuguese battalions, supported by the 24th, 45th,
74th, and 88th British Regiments, and the 9th and 21st Portuguese.
The sixth corps, which formed the centre of the French army, advanced
with the characteristic impetuosity of their nation, and forcing down
the barriers, which we had hastily constructed as a temporary defence,
came rushing on, and, torrent-like, threatened to overwhelm all that
opposed them. Every street, and every angle of a street, were the
different theatres for the combatants; inch by inch was gained and lost
in turn. Whenever the enemy were forced back, fresh troops, and fresh
energy on the part of their officers, impelled them on again, and
towards mid-day the town presented a shocking sight; our Highlanders lay
dead in heaps, while the other regiments, though less remarkable in
dress, were scarcely so in the numbers of their slain. The French
Grenadiers, with their immense caps and gaudy plumes, in piles of twenty
and thirty together—some dead, others wounded, with barely strength
sufficient to move; their exhausted state, and the weight of their
cumbrous appointments, making it impossible for them to crawl out of the
range of the dreadful fire of grape and round shot which the enemy
poured into the town. Great numbers perished in this way, and many were
pressed to death in the streets.
It was now half-past twelve o’clock, and although the French troops
which formed this attack had been several times reinforced, ours never
had; nevertheless the town was still in dispute. Masséna, aware of its
importance, and mortified at the pertinacity with which it was defended,
ordered a fresh column of the ninth corps to reinforce those already
engaged. Such a series of attacks, constantly supported by fresh troops,
required exertions more than human to withstand; every effort was made
to sustain the post, but efforts, no matter how great, must have their
limits. Our soldiers had been engaged in this unequal contest for
upwards of eight hours; the heat was moreover excessive, and their
ammunition was nearly expended. The Highlanders were driven to the
churchyard at the top of the village, and were fighting with the French
Grenadiers across the tomb-stones and graves; while the ninth French
Light Infantry had penetrated as far as the chapel, distant but a few
yards from our line, and were preparing to _debouche_ upon our centre.
Wallace with his regiment, the 88th, was in reserve on the high ground
which overlooked the churchyard, and he was attentively looking on at
the combat which raged below, when Sir Edward Pakenham galloped up to
him, and said, “Do you see that, Wallace?”—“I do,” replied the Colonel,
“and I would rather drive the French out of the town than cover a
retreat across the Coa.”—“Perhaps,” said Sir Edward, “his lordship don’t
think it tenable.” Wallace answering said, “I shall take it with my
regiment, and keep it too.”—“Will you?” was the reply; “I’ll go and tell
Lord Wellington so; see, here he comes.” In a moment or two Pakenham
returned at a gallop, and, waving his hat, called out, “He says you may
go—come along, Wallace.”
At this moment General Mackinnon came up, and placing himself beside
Wallace and Pakenham, led the attack of the 88th Regiment, which soon
changed the state of affairs. This battalion advanced with fixed
bayonets in column of sections, left in front, in double quick time,
their firelocks at the trail. As it passed down the road leading to the
chapel, it was warmly cheered by the troops that lay at each side of the
wall, but the soldiers made no reply to this greeting. They were placed
in a situation of great distinction, and they felt it; they were going
to fight, not only under the eye of their own army and general, but also
in the view of every soldier in the French army; but although their
feelings were wrought up to the highest pitch of enthusiasm, not one
hurrah responded to the shouts that welcomed their advance. There was no
noise or talking in the ranks; the men stepped together at a smart trot,
as if on a parade, headed by their brave colonel.
It so happened that the command of the company which led this attack
devolved upon me. When we came within sight of the French 9th Regiment,
which were drawn up at the corner of the chapel, waiting for us, I
turned round to look at the men of my company; they gave me a cheer that
a lapse of many years has not made me forget, and I thought that that
moment was the proudest of my life. The soldiers did not look as men
usually do going into close fight—pale; the trot down the road had
heightened their complexions, and they were the picture of everything
that a chosen body of troops ought to be.
The enemy were not idle spectators of this movement; they witnessed its
commencement, and the regularity with which the advance was conducted
made them fearful of the result. A battery of eight-pounders advanced at
a gallop to an olive-grove on the opposite bank of the river, hoping by
the effects of its fire to annihilate the 88th Regiment, or, at all
events, embarrass its movements as much as possible; but this battalion
continued to press on, joined by its exhausted comrades, and the battery
did little execution.
On reaching the head of the village, the 88th Regiment was vigorously
opposed by the French 9th Regiment, supported by some hundred of the
Imperial Guard, but it soon closed in with them, and, aided by the brave
fellows that had so gallantly fought in the town all the morning, drove
the enemy through the different streets at the point of the bayonet, and
at length forced them into the river that separated the two armies.
Several of our men fell on the French side of the water. About one
hundred and fifty of the grenadiers of the Guard, in their flight, ran
down a street that had been barricaded by us the day before, and which
was one of the few that escaped the fury of the morning’s assault; but
their disappointment was great, upon arriving at the bottom, to find
themselves shut in. Mistakes of this kind will sometimes occur, and when
they do, the result is easily imagined; troops advancing to assault a
town, uncertain of success, or flushed with victory, have no great time
to deliberate as to what they will do; the thing is generally done in
half the time the deliberation would occupy. In the present instance,
every man was put to death; but our soldiers, as soon as they had
leisure, paid the enemy that respect which is due to brave men. This
part of the attack was led by Lieutenant George Johnston, of the 88th
Regiment.