May 5th, 1811.
The day began to dawn, this fine May morning, with a rattling fire of
musketry on the extreme right of our position, which the enemy had
attacked, and to which point our division was rapidly moved.
Our battalion was thrown into a wood, a little to the left and front
of the division engaged, and was instantly warmly opposed to the
French skirmishers; in the course of which I was struck with a
musket-ball on the left breast, which made me stagger a yard or two
backward, and, as I felt no pain, I concluded that I was dangerously
wounded; but it turned out to be owing to my not being hurt. While our
operations here were confined to a tame skirmish, and our view to the
oaks with which we were mingled, we found, by the evidence of our
ears, that the division which we had come to support was involved in a
more serious onset, for _there_ was the successive rattle of
artillery, the wild hurrah of charging squadrons, and the repulsing
volley of musketry; until Lord Wellington, finding his right too much
extended, directed _that_ division to fall back behind the small river
Touronne, and ours to join the main body of the army. The execution of
our movement presented a magnificent military spectacle, as the plain,
between us and the right of the army, was by this time in possession
of the French cavalry, and, while we were retiring through it with the
order and precision of a common field-day, they kept dancing around
us, and every instant threatening a charge, without daring to execute
it.
We took up our new position at a right angle with the then right of
the British line, on which our left rested, and with our right on the
Touronne. The enemy followed our movement with a heavy column of
infantry; but, when they came near enough to exchange shots, they did
not seem to like our looks, as we occupied a low ridge of broken
rocks, against which even a rat could scarcely have hoped to advance
alive; and they again fell back, and opening a tremendous fire of
artillery, which was returned by a battery of our guns. In the course
of a short time, seeing no further demonstration against this part of
the position, our division was withdrawn, and placed in reserve in
rear of the centre.
The battle continued to rage with fury in and about the village,
whilst we were lying by our arms under a burning hot sun, some stray
cannon-shot passing over and about us, whose progress we watched for
want of other employment. One of them bounded along in the direction
of an _amateur_, whom we had for some time been observing securely
placed, as he imagined, behind a piece of rock, which stood about five
feet above the ground, and over which nothing but his head was shown,
sheltered from the sun by an umbrella. The shot in question touched
the ground three or four times between us and him; he saw it
coming--lowered his umbrella, and withdrew his head. Its expiring
bound carried it into the very spot where he had that instant
disappeared. I hope he was not hurt; but the thing looked so
ridiculous that it excited a shout of laughter, and we saw no more of
him.
A little before dusk, in the evening, our battalion was ordered
forward to relieve the troops engaged in the village, part of which
still remained in possession of the enemy, and I saw, by the mixed
nature of the dead, in every part of the streets, that it had been
successively in possession of both sides. The firing ceased with the
daylight, and I was sent, with a section of men, in charge of one of
the streets for the night. There was a wounded Serjeant of highlanders
lying on my post. A ball had passed through the back part of his head,
from which the brain was oozing, and his only sign of life was a
convulsive hiccough every two or three seconds. I sent for a medical
friend to look at him, who told me that he could not survive; I then
got a mattress from the nearest house, placed the poor fellow on it,
and made use of one corner as a pillow for myself, on which, after
the fatigues of the day, and though called occasionally to visit my
sentries, I slept most soundly. The highlander died in the course of
the night.
When we stood to our arms, at daybreak next morning, we found the
enemy busy throwing up a six-gun battery, immediately in front of our
company's post, and we immediately set to work, with our whole hearts
and souls, and placed a wall, about twelve feet thick, between us,
which, no doubt, still remains there in the same garden, as a monument
of what can be effected, in a few minutes, by a hundred modern men,
when their personal safety is concerned; not but that the proprietor,
in the midst of his admiration, would rather see a good bed of garlic
on the spot, manured with the bodies of the architects.
When the sun began to shine on the pacific disposition of the enemy,
we proceeded to consign the dead to their last earthly mansions,
giving every Englishman a grave to himself, and putting as many
Frenchmen into one as it could conveniently accommodate. Whilst in
the superintendence of this melancholy duty, and ruminating on the
words of the poet:--
"There's not a form of all that lie
Thus ghastly, wild and bare,
Tost, bleeding, in the stormy sky,
Black in the burning air,
But to his knee some infant clung,
But on his heart some fond heart hung!"
I was grieved to think that the souls of deceased warriors should be
so selfish as to take to flight in their regimentals, for I never saw
the body of one with a rag on after battle.
The day after one of those negative sort of victories is always one of
intense interest. The movements on each side are most jealously
watched, and each side is diligently occupied in strengthening such
points as the fight of the preceding day had proved to be the most
vulnerable.
Lord Wellington was too deficient in his cavalry force to justify his
following up his victory; and the enemy, on their parts, had been too
roughly handled, in their last attempt, to think of repeating the
experiment; so that, during the next two days, though both armies
continued to hold the same ground, there was scarcely a shot
exchanged.
They had made a few prisoners, chiefly guardsmen and highlanders, whom
they marched past the front of our position, in the most ostentatious
way, on the forenoon of the 6th; and, the day following, a number of
their regiments were paraded in the most imposing manner for review.
They looked uncommonly well, and we were proud to think that we had
beaten such fine-looking fellows so lately!
Our regiment had been so long and so often quartered in Fuentes that
it was like fighting for our fire-sides. The _Padre's_ house stood at
the top of the town. He was an old friend of ours, and an old fool,
for he would not leave his house until it was too late to take
anything with him; but, curious enough, although it had been
repeatedly in the possession of both sides, and plundered, no doubt,
by many expert artists, yet none of them thought of looking so high as
the garret, which happened to be the repository of his money and
provisions. He came to us the day after the battle, weeping over his
supposed loss, like a sensitive Christian, and I accompanied him to
the house, to see whether there was not some consolation remaining for
him; but, when he found his treasure safe, he could scarcely bear its
restoration with becoming gravity. I helped him to carry off his bag
of dollars, and he returned the compliment with a leg of mutton.
The French army retired on the night of the 7th, leaving Almeida to
its fate; but, by an extraordinary piece of luck, the garrison made
their escape the night after, in consequence of some mistake or
miscarriage of an order, which prevented a British regiment from
occupying the post intended for it.
May 8th.--We advanced this morning, and occupied our former post at
Espeja, with some hopes of remaining quiet for a few days; but the
alarm sounding at daylight on the following morning, we took post on
the hill, in front of the village. It turned out to be only a patrole
of French cavalry, who retired on receiving a few shots from our
piquets, and we saw no more of them for a considerable time.