Maceira winds, adding beauty to one of the sweetest scenes, surrounded
on all sides by mountains and the sea, from which the village is distant
about three miles. There is a deep ravine that parts the heights, over
which the Lourinha road passes. We were posted on these mountains, and
had a complete view of the valley below. I here, for a time, indulged in
one of the most pleasing reveries I had enjoyed since I left home. I was
seated upon the side of a mountain, admiring the beauties beneath. I
thought of home;--Arthur’s Seat, and the level between it and the sea,
all stole over my imagination. I became lost in contemplation, and was
happy for a time. Soon my day-dream broke and vanished from my sight.
The bustle around was great. There was no trace of a day of rest. Many
were washing their linen in the river, others cleaning their firelocks;
every man was engaged in some employment. In the midst of our
preparation for divine service, the French columns began to make their
appearance on the opposite hills. “To arms, to arms!” was beat at
half-past eight o’clock. Every thing was packed up as soon as possible,
and left on the camp ground. We marched out two miles to meet the enemy,
formed line, and lay under cover of a hill for about an hour, until they
came to us. We gave them one volley, and three cheers--three distinct
cheers. Then all was as still as death. They came upon us, crying and
shouting to the very point of our bayonets. Our awful silence and
determined advance they could not stand. They put about and fled without
much resistance. At this charge we took thirteen guns, and one General.
We advanced into a hollow, and formed again; then returned in file from
the right, in companies, to the rear. The French came down upon us
again. We gave them another specimen of a charge, as effectual as our
first, and pursued them three miles. In our first charge, I felt my mind
waver; a breathless sensation came over me. The silence was appalling. I
looked alongst the line--It was enough to assure me: The steady
determined scowl of my companions assured my heart, and gave me
determination. How unlike the noisy advance of the French! It was in
this second charge, our piper, George Clark, was wounded in the groin.
We remained at our advance until sunset, then retired to our
camp-ground. The ground was so unequal, that I saw little of this
battle, which forced the French to evacuate Portugal.
On my return from the pursuit at Monte Video, the birds of prey were
devouring the slain. Here I beheld a sight, for the first time, even
more horrible; the peasantry prowling about, more ferocious than the
beasts and birds of prey, finishing the work of death, and carrying away
whatever they thought worthy of their grasp. Avarice and revenge were
the causes of these horrors. No fallen Frenchman, that showed the least
signs of life, was spared. They even seemed pleased with mangling the
dead bodies. When light failed them, they kindled a great fire, and
remained around it all night, shouting like as many savages. My
sickened fancy felt the same as if it were witnessing a feast of
cannibals.
Next morning we perceived a column of the enemy upon the sand hills. We
were all in arms to receive them, but it turned out to be a flag of
truce. We returned to our old camp ground, where we remained three days,
during the time the terms of a capitulation were arranging. We then got
orders to march to Lisbon. On our arrival there, the French flag was
flying on all the batteries and forts. We were encamped outside of the
town, and marched in our guards next day, to take possession and relieve
all the French guards. At the same time the French flag was hauled down,
and we hoisted, in its stead, the Portuguese standard. We remained in
camp until the day the French were to embark. We were then marched in
to protect them from the inhabitants. But notwithstanding all we could
do, it was not in our power to hinder some of their sick from being
murdered. The Portuguese were so much enraged at our interference in
behalf of the French, that it was unsafe for two or three soldiers to be
seen alone. The French had given the Portuguese much cause to hate them;
and the latter are not a people who can quickly forgive an injury, or
let slip any means of revenge, however base.
On the 27th October, we quitted Lisbon, and marched to Abrantes, where
we remained fourteen days. Then we marched to Camponia, and remained
there for an order to enter Spain.
The first place we arrived at in Spain was Badajos, where we were very
kindly treated by the inhabitants and Spanish soldiers. We remained
there about a fortnight, when the division commanded by General Sir John
Hope, to which I belonged, received orders to march towards Madrid. We
halted at Escurial, about seven leagues from Madrid, and remained there
five days; but were at length forced to retreat to Salamanca.
Two days before our arrival at Salamanca, we were forced to form
ourselves into a square, to repel the attacks of the enemy; and in that
position we remained all night. It was one of the severest nights of
cold I ever endured in my life. At that time we wore long hair, formed
into a club at the back of our heads. Mine was frozen to the ground in
the morning, and when I attempted to rise, my limbs refused to support
me for some time. I felt the most excruciating pains over all my body,
before the blood began to circulate. We marched forty-seven miles this
day, before encamping, and about nine miles to a town next morning,
where the inhabitants were very kind to us. They brought out, into the
market-place, large tubfuls of accadent, (a liquor much used in Spain,)
that we might take our pleasure of it; and every thing they had that we
stood in need of. This day we are under the necessity of burying six
guns, on account of the horses failing, being quite worn down by
fatigue. The head-quarters of the army were at Salamanca. Our division
was quartered three leagues from it, at Alva de Tormes. On the 14th of
December, we advanced to a place called Torro; the roads were bad; the
weather very severe; all around was covered with snow. Our fatigue was
dreadful, and our sufferings almost more than we could endure.
On the 24th of December, our head-quarters were at Sahagun. Every heart
beat with joy. We were all under arms, and formed to attack the enemy.
Every mouth breathed hope: “We will beat them to pieces, and have our
ease, and enjoy ourselves,” said my comrades. I even preferred any short
struggle, however severe, to the dreadful way of life we were at this
time pursuing. With heavy hearts, we received orders to retire to our
quarters: “And won’t we be allowed to fight? sure we’d beat them,” said
an Irish lad near me; “by Saint Patrick, we beat them so easy, the
General means to march us to death, and fight them after!”
Next morning, we fell back upon Majorga, on the road to Benevente.
On the 25th, Christmas day, we commenced our route for the sea-coast,
melancholy and dejected, sinking under extreme cold and fatigue, as if
the very elements had conspired against us: then commenced the first day
of our retreat.
On the 26th, it rained the whole day without intermission. The soil here
is of a deep rich loam, and the roads were knee-deep with clay: to form
a regular march was impossible, yet we kept in regiments; but our
sufferings were so great, that many of our troops lost all their natural
activity and spirits, and became savage in their dispositions. The idea
of running away from an enemy we had beat with so much ease at Vimeira,
without even firing a shot, was too galling to their feelings. Each
spoke to his fellow, even in common conversation, with bitterness; rage
flashing from their eyes, even on the most trifling occasions of
disagreement.
The poor Spaniards had little to expect from such men as these, who
blamed them for their inactivity; every one found at home was looked
upon as a traitor to his country. “The British are here to fight for the
liberty of Spain, and why is not every Spaniard under arms and fighting?
The cause is not ours, and are we to be the only sufferers?” Such was
the common language of the soldiers; and from these feelings pillage and
outrage naturally arose. The conduct of the men, in this respect, called
forth, on the 27th, a severe reprimand from the Commander-in-Chief.
We halted at Benevente for one night. Just as the last division of our
army entered into the town, the drums beat to arms. Every man was on the
alert, and at his post in an instant. The cavalry poured out at the
gates to meet the enemy, but the French did not like the manner and
spirit that appeared amongst us. They retired from the heights, and we
endeavoured to pass the night in the best manner in our power.
28th, the Spaniards now gave us no assistance, save what was enforced.
The Duke of Ossuna has here a castle surpassing any thing I had ever
seen. It was such, on our arrival, as I have read the description of in
books of fairy tales. I blush for our men--I would blame them too--Alas!
how can I, when I think upon their dreadful situation, fatigued and wet,
shivering, perishing with cold?--no fuel to be got, not even straw to
lie upon. Can men in such a situation admire the beauties of art? Alas!
only so far as they relieve his cruel and destroying wants. Every thing
that would burn, was converted into fuel, and even the fires were
placed against the walls, that they might last longer and burn better.
Many of our men slept all night wrapt in rich tapestry, which had been
torn down to make bed-clothes.
Scarce was our rear-guard within the town, ere the alarm was sounded. We
rushed to our posts, pushing the inhabitants out of our way. Women and
children crowded the streets, wringing their hands, and calling upon
their saints for protection. The opposite plain was covered with
fugitives. The French, as usual, liked not the spirit with which we
formed, and the ardour with which our cavalry issued from the gates.
They were content to look upon us from the neighbouring heights. The
bridges were ordered to be destroyed, which was done before day. That
over the Ezla had been destroyed to little purpose, as a ford was found
only 300 yards farther down the river. The picquets hastened thither,
and were skirmishing with four squadrons of the Imperial Guards, who had
already formed on the bank. The 10th Hussars were sent for. On their
arrival, General Stewart, with them and the picquets, charged and drove
the Imperial Guard into the river. They crossed in the utmost confusion,
but formed on the opposite bank. Some pieces of artillery that had been
placed at the bridge, soon dispersed them. General Lefebvre, commander
of the Imperial Guards, and seventy prisoners, were the fruits of this
action. We were told, by the Spaniards, that Buonaparte saw this affair
from the heights.
On the 30th, we reached Astorga, which we were led to believe was to be
our resting-place, and the end of our fatigues. Here we found the army
of General Romana. I can convey no description of it in words. It had
more the appearance of a large body of peasants, driven from their
homes, famished and in want of every thing, than a regular army.
Sickness was making dreadful havoc amongst them. It was whispered we
were to make a stand here. This was what we all wished, though none
believed. We had been told so at Benevente; but our movements had not
the smallest appearance of a retreat, in which we were to face about and
make a stand; they were more like a shameful flight.
From Astorga to Villa Franca de Bierzo, is about sixty miles. From
Salamanca to Astorga may be called the first and easiest part of this
tragedy, in which we endured many privations and I much fatigue; from
Astorga to Villa Franca, the second, and by far the more severe part.
Here we suffered misery without a glimpse of comfort. At Astorga, there
were a great many pairs of shoes destroyed. Though a fourth of the army
were in want of them, and I among the rest, yet they were consumed
alongst with the other stores in the magazines. The first sixteen miles,
the road lay wholly up the mountain, to the summit of Foncebadon; and
the country was open. At this time it was a barren waste of snow. At the
top of the mountain is a pass, which is one of the strongest, they say,
in Europe. It is about eight or nine miles long. All the way through
this pass, the silence was only interrupted by the groans of the men,
who, unable to proceed farther, laid themselves down in despair to
perish in the snow; or where the report of a pistol told the death of a
horse, which had fallen down, unable to proceed. I felt an unusual
listlessness steal over me. Many times have I said, “These men who have
resigned themselves to their fate, are happier than I. What have I to
struggle for? Welcome death! happy deliverer!” These thoughts passed in
my mind involuntarily. Often have I been awakened out of this state of
torpor, by my constant friend Donald, when falling out of the line of
march to lie down in despair. The rain poured in torrents; the melted
snow was half knee-deep in many places, and stained by the blood that
flowed from our wounded and bruised feet. To add to our misery, we were
forced by turns to drag the baggage. This was more than human nature
could sustain. Many waggons were abandoned, and much ammunition
destroyed. Our arrival at Villa Franca closed the second act of our
tragedy.
From Villa Franca we set out on the 2d January, 1809. What a New-year’s
day had we passed! Drenched with rain, famished with cold and hunger,
ignorant when our misery was to cease. This was the most dreadful period
of my life. How differently did we pass our _hogmonay_[5] from the
manner our friends were passing their’s at home. Not a voice said, “I
wish you a happy new-year;” each seemed to look upon his neighbour as an
abridgment to his own comforts. His looks seemed to say, “One or other
of the articles you wear would be of great use to me; your shoes are
better than those I possess; if you were dead they would be mine.”
Before we set out, there were more magazines destroyed. Great numbers
would not leave the town, but concealed themselves in the wine cellars,
which they had broken open, and were left there; others, after we were
gone, followed us. Many came up to the army dreadfully cut and wounded
by the French cavalry, who rode through the long lines of these lame
defenceless wretches, slashing among them as a school-boy does amongst
thistles. Some of them, faint and bleeding, were forced to pass alongst
the line as a warning to others.--Cruel warning! Could the urgency of
the occasion justify it? There was something in the appearance of these
poor, emaciated, lacerated wretches, that sickened me to look upon. Many
around me said, “Our commanders are worse than the French: will they
not even let us die in peace, if they cannot help us?” Surely this was
one way to tantalize the men, and render them familiar to scenes of
cruelty.
Dreadful as our former march had been, it was from Villa Franca that the
march of death may be said to have begun. On the day after we left that
place, we were attacked by the French, but drove them back, and renewed
our forlorn march.
From Villa Franca to Castro is one continued toil up Monte del Cebiero.
It was one of the sweetest scenes I ever beheld, could our eyes have
enjoyed any thing that did not minister to our wants. There was nothing
to sustain our famished bodies, or shelter them from the rain or snow.
We were either drenched with rain or crackling with ice. Fuel we could
find none. The sick and wounded that we had been still enabled to drag
with us in the waggons, were now left to perish in the snow. The road
was one line of bloody foot-marks, from the sore feet of the men; and on
its sides lay the dead and the dying. Human nature could do no more.
Donald M‘Donald, the hardy Highlander, began to fail. He, as well as
myself, had long been bare-footed and lame; he, that had encouraged me
to proceed, now himself lay down to die. For two days he had been almost
blind, and unable, from a severe cold, to hold up his head. We sat down
together--not a word escaped our lips. We looked around--then at each
other, and closed our eyes. We felt there was no hope. We would have
given in charge a farewell to our friends; but who was to carry it?
There were, not far from us, here and there, above thirty in the same
situation with ourselves. There was nothing but groans, mingled with
execrations, to be heard, between the pauses of the wind. I attempted to
pray, and recommend myself to God; but my mind was so confused, I could
not arrange my ideas. I almost think I was deranged. We had not sat half
an hour; sleep was stealing upon me; when I perceived a bustle around
me. It was an advanced party of the French: unconscious of the action, I
started upon my feet, levelled my musket, which I had still retained,
fired, and formed with the other stragglers. The French faced about and
left us. There were more of them than of us. The action, and the
approach of danger in a shape which we had it in our power to repel,
roused our dormant feelings, and we joined at Castro.
From Castro to Lugo is about forty-eight miles, where we were promised
two days’ rest. Why should I continue longer this melancholy narrative?
Donald fell out again from sickness; and I from lameness and fatigue.
When the French arrived, we formed with the others as before, and they
fell back. I heard them, more than once, say, as they turned from the
points of our bayonets, that they would rather face a hundred fresh
Germans, than ten dying English. So great was the alarm we caused in
them. How mortifying to think, at these moments, that we were suffering
all our misery, flying from an enemy who dared not fight us, and fled
from us, poor wretches as we were! How unaccountable was our situation!
None could be more galling to our feelings. While we ran, they
pursued;--the moment we faced about, they halted: If we advanced, they
retired. Never had we fought but with success; never were we attacked,
but we forced them to retire. “Let us all unite, whether our officers
will or not, and annihilate these French cowards, and shew our country
it is not our fault that we run thus; let us secure our country from
disgrace, and take a sweet revenge.” This was the language of the more
spirited men, and in it the others joined, from a hope of relieving
their miseries.
With feelings such as these, with a gradual increase of sufferings, we
struggled onwards. Towards the close of this journey, my mind became
unfit for any minute observation. I only marked what I myself was forced
to encounter. How I was sustained, I am unable to conceive. My life was
misery. Hunger, cold, and fatigue, had deprived death of all its
horrors. My present sufferings I felt; what death was I could only
guess. “I will endure every thing in the hope of living to smooth the
closing years of my mother’s life, and atone for my unkindness. Merciful
God! support me.” These ejaculations were always the close of my
melancholy musing, after which I felt a new invigoration, though many
times my reflections were broken short by scenes of horror that came in
my way. One, in particular, I found, after I came home, had been much
talked of. After we had gained the summit of Monte del Castro, and were
descending, I was roused by a crowd of soldiers. My curiosity prompted
me to go to it; I knew it must be no common occurrence that could
attract _their_ sympathy. Judge of the feelings which I want words to
express. In the centre lay a woman, young and lovely, though cold in
death, and a child, apparently about six or seven months old, attempting
to draw support from the breast of its dead mother. Tears filled every
eye, but no one had the power to aid; while we stood around, gazing on
the interesting object, then on each other,--none offered to speak, each
heart was so full. At length one of General Moore’s staff-officers came
up, and desired the infant to be given to him. He rolled it in his
cloak, amidst the blessings of every spectator. Never shall I efface the
benevolence of his look from my heart, when he said, “Unfortunate
infant, you will be my future care.” From the few remaining waggons we
had been able to bring with us, women and children, who had hitherto
sustained, without perishing, all our aggravated sufferings, were every
now and then laid out upon the snow frozen to death. An old tattered
blanket, or some other piece of garment, was all the burial that was
given them; the soldiers who perished lay uncovered, until the next fall
of snow, or heavy drift, concealed their bodies.
Amidst scenes like these, we arrived at Lugo. Here we were to have
obtained two days’ rest, but fate was not yet weary of enjoying our
miseries. On our arrival, I tried all in my power to find a place for
Donald: The best I could find was a bake-house. He lay down in one of
the baking-troughs: I put a sack over him. In two minutes the steam
began to rise out of the trough in a continued cloud; he fell asleep,
and I went in search of some refreshment. I was not half an hour away
when I returned with a little bread; he was still asleep, and as dry as
a bone: I was wet as mire. I felt inclined more than once to wake him; I
did not, but lay down on a sack, and fell asleep. I awoke before him,
quite dry. There were three or four more lying down on the floor beside
me, asleep. My haversack had been rifled while I slept, and my little
store of bread was gone. It was vain to complain--I had no resource;
cautiously I examined those around me asleep, but found nothing. Again I
sallied forth; and, to my great joy, I saw a soldier lying unable to
rise, he was so drunk. His haversack seemed pretty full: I went to him,
and found in it a large piece of beef, and some bread. I scrupled not to
appropriate them to myself. I hastened back to Donald, and we had a good
meal together. I felt stronger, and Donald was in better spirits. The
bridges between Villa Franca and Lugo had been imperfectly destroyed.
The French made their appearance on the 5th of January, and took up a
position opposite to our rear guard; a small valley only dividing them
from it. This night we remained standing in the fields until day broke,
our arms piled. The sky was one continued expanse of stars; not a cloud
to be seen, and the frost was most intense. Words fail me to express
what we suffered from the most dreadful cold. We alternately went to the
calm side of each other, to be sheltered from the wind. In this manner,
when day at length broke upon us, we had retrograded over two fields
from the spot where we had piled our arms. Many had lain down through
the night overcome by sleep, from which the last trumpet, only, will
awaken them.
On the 6th, the enemy attacked our out-posts; but were received by our
fatigued and famished soldiers with as much bravery as if they had
passed the night in comfortable barracks: they repulsed the French in
every assault. The sound of the battle roused our drooping
hearts--“Revenge or death,” said my comrades, a savage joy glistening in
their eyes. But the day closed without any attack farther on either
side. On the 7th they came upon us again, and were more quickly repulsed
than on the day before. From the first moment of the attack, and as long
as the French were before us, discipline was restored, and the officers
were as punctually obeyed as if we had been on parade at home. We felt
not our sufferings; so anxious were we to end them by a victory which we
were certain of obtaining. But Soult seemed to know our spirits better
than our own commanders; and, after these two last samples, kept a
respectful distance. We stood to our arms until the evening, the enemy
in front, amidst snow, rain, and storms. Fires were then lighted, and
we commenced our retreat after dark.
Before our reserve left Lugo, general orders were issued, warning and
exhorting us to keep order, and march together; but, alas! how could men
observe order amidst such sufferings? or men, whose feet were naked and
sore, keep up with men, who, being more fortunate, had better shoes and
stronger constitutions? The officers, in many points, suffered as much
as the men. I have seen officers of the guards, and others, worth
thousands, with pieces of old blankets wrapt round their feet and legs,
the men pointing at them with a malicious satisfaction, saying, “There
goes three thousand a-year;” or, “There goes the prodigal son on his
return to his father, cured of his wanderings.” Even in the midst of all
our sorrows, there was a bitterness of spirit, a savageness of wit,
that made a jest of its own miseries. The great fault of our soldiers,
at this time, was an inordinate desire for spirits of any kind. They
sacrificed their life and safety for drink, in many ways; for they lay
down intoxicated upon the snow, and slept the sleep of death; or,
staggering behind, were overtaken and cut down by the merciless French
soldiers: the most favourable event was to be taken prisoners. So great
was their propensity to drown their misery in liquor, that we were often
exposed to cold and rain for a whole night, in order that we might be
kept from the wine stores of a neighbouring town. Why should I detain
the reader longer on our march?--every day of which was like the day
that was past, save in our inability to contend with our hardships.