A soon as the bustle of encamping was over, and my time absolutely at
my own disposal, I took advantage of an offered passport, and proceeded
into Bayonne. It will be readily believed that I entered this city with
feelings very different from those of a common traveller. Having lain
before it as a besieger for upwards of two months, its shops, its
trade, its public buildings and places of amusement were to me objects
of, comparatively speaking, little interest or curiosity. Its
fortifications and means of defence were, in truth, what I was
principally anxious to examine. Hitherto I could judge of them only
from outward appearances and vague reports; and now that an opportunity
offered of so doing with greater accuracy, I confess that my
inclination prompted me to embrace that opportunity, rather than to
hunt for pictures which I could not value, or fatigue my imagination by
endeavouring to discover fine specimens of architecture amidst heavy
and ill-built churches.
It is not my intention to attempt any scientific or technical review of
the works which a very natural curiosity tempted me to examine; partly
because I confess myself little competent to the task and partly
because, were the contrary the case, I am inclined to believe that such
a review would not prove very interesting to the public in general.
Enough is done if I endeavour to impress my reader with as many of the
feelings which I then experienced, as may be done by detailing them;
and, at the same time, enable him to form some general idea of a place
before whose walls no trifling quantity of British blood has been
spilt.
The city of Bayonne stands, as everybody knows, upon the Adour, about
six or eight miles from the point where that river falls into the sea.
On the southern or Spanish bank, where the whole of the city, properly
so called, is built, the country, to the distance of two or three miles
from the walls, is perfectly flat and the soil sandy, and apparently
not very productive. On the bank the ground rises rather abruptly from
the brink of the stream, sloping upwards likewise from the sea, till
you arrive at the pinnacle upon which the citadel is erected, and which
hangs immediately over the town. Thus, though the Adour in fact
separates the city from the suburbs and citadel, yet as the ramparts of
the former extend to the water’s edge on both sides, and as those of
the latter continue the sweep from points immediately opposite, the
general appearance presented is that of one considerable town, with a
broad river flowing through the middle of it.
It will be seen, even from this short and imperfect sketch, that its
situation gives to Bayonne, considered as a military post, a
superiority over most cities; inasmuch as it affords peculiar
facilities towards rendering it a place of great strength. On one side
there is a plain, always accounted by engineers the most convenient for
the construction of fortifications; on the other an eminence, lofty
enough to command the surrounding country, and at the same time
sufficiently level at the summit to receive the walls of a fortress,
powerful at once from its position and regularity. But the great
strength of Bayonne arose at this juncture not so much from its
original defences as from the numerous outworks which had been lately
added to it. It was along the course of the Adour, as the reader will
probably recollect, or rather between the Adour and the Nieve, that
Soult formed his famous intrenched camp. The right of this chain of
stupendous works rested upon the city, the importance of which was
consequently much increased; and as the capture of it would have
occasioned not only the loss of a town, but the turning of the whole
position, no pains were spared in rendering it as nearly impregnable as
possible. That I may convey some notion to the minds of others of the
nature of these works, I will describe the aspect which they presented
to myself, as I rode from Anglet towards the city.
When I had proceeded about a mile and a half beyond our advanced posts,
I found myself in front of the first line of defence. This consisted of
a battery mounting three eighteen-pounders, upon the road, flanked by
other batteries, one on each side; all so placed as that whichsoever of
them should be attacked, it might be defended by a cross-fire from the
rest. These were of course additionally strengthened by ditches and
felled trees; but they were open in the rear; and though very
formidable to an assailing party, yet, when taken, could have been of
small service to the conquerors, being themselves exposed to the fire
of the second line. The situation of the second line, again, was
similar in every respect to that of the first, being, like it, open in
the rear, and placed under the guns of the town. Thus, after having
forced two powerful lines of defence, the besiegers would find
themselves almost as far as ever from the attainment of their object,
being then only arrived at the point where the labours of a siege could
commence.
But the maintenance of Bayonne must at all times depend upon keeping
possession of the citadel. The city lying upon a plain, and the castle
standing upon an eminence immediately above it, it is clear that, were
the latter taken, the former must either surrender or be speedily
reduced to ruins. It is true that, by destroying the bridge which
connects them, all communication between the two places would be cut
off; but the distance from the one to the other being not more than
half-musket shot, and the guns of the fort pointing directly down upon
the streets and of the city, any attempt to hold out could cause only
the destruction of the town, and the unavenged slaughter of its
garrison. Of the truth of this the French were as much aware as their
enemies, nor did they neglect any means which an accurate knowledge of
engineering could point out, for the defence of what they justly
considered as the key of the entire position. In addition to its own
very regular and well-constructed fortifications, two strong redoubts
were thrown up, on two sides of the fort, upon the only spots of ground
calculated for the purpose; both of which, I was informed by my guide,
were undermined and loaded with gunpowder, ready to be sprung as soon
as they should fill into our hands. They had judged, and judged
correctly, that if ever the place should be invested, it would be that
the trenches would be opened and the breaching batteries erected; and
they made every preparation to meet the danger which great prudence and
military skill could suggest.
Bayonne, though a populous place, does not cover so much ground as a
stranger would be led to suppose. Like most walled towns, its streets,
with the exception of one or two, are in general narrow, and the houses
lofty: but it is compact, and, on the whole, clean, and neatly built.
The number of inhabitants I should be inclined to estimate at somewhere
about thirty thousand, exclusive of the garrison, which at this time
amounted to fourteen or fifteen thousand men; but as most of the
families appear to live in the style of those in the old town of
Edinburgh, that is to say, several under the same roof, though each in
a separate story or flat, it is not difficult to conceive how they
contrive to find sufficient room, within a compass apparently so
narrow. Of its commerce and manufactures I can say little, except that
I should not imagine either to be extensive. I am led to form this
opinion, partly from having seen no shipping at the wharfs, and partly
because the Adour, though here both wide and deep, is rendered
unnavigable to vessels of any size, by a shallow or bar at its mouth.
There was, indeed, a sloop of war close to the town, but how it got
there I am at a loss to conceive, unless it were built upon the river,
and kept as an additional protection against a surprise from the water.
The shops are, however, good, particularly those where jewellery is
sold; an article in the setting and adorning of which the French, if
they do not excel us in really substantial value, undoubtedly surpass
us in elegance.
When I had taken as complete a survey of the town as I felt disposed to
take, I crossed the bridge with the intention of inspecting the
interior of the citadel. Here, however, I was disappointed, no
strangers being admitted within its gates; but as there was no
objection made to my reconnoitring it from without, I proceeded towards
the point where our trenches had been dug, and where it had been
designed to breach and storm the place. To this I was urged by two
motives, partly from the desire of obtaining the best view possible of
the fort, and partly that I might examine the ground upon which the
desperate affair of the 14th of April took place. The reader cannot
have forgotten, that some hours before daylight on the morning of that
day, a vigorous and well-arranged sortie was made by the garrison, and
that it was not without hard fighting and a severe loss on both sides
that the attack was finally repulsed.
Mounting the heights, I soon arrived at St. Etienne, a little village
nearly on a level with the citadel, and not more than a quarter of a
mile from its walls. From this point I could satisfy my curiosity to
the full, and as the account may not, perhaps, be uninteresting, I
shall describe, as well as I am able, the scene which here met my eyes.
St. Etienne
The ridge of little hills upon which the fort and village are built,
though it rises by gentle gradation from the sea, towards the spot
where I now stood, is nevertheless intersected and broken here and
there by deep glens or ravines. Two of these glens, one to the right,
the other to the left, chance to occur immediately under the ramparts
of the fortress, supplying, in some measure, the purposes of a ditch,
and leaving a sort of table or elevated neck of land between them, the
extremity of which is occupied by the village. On this neck of land the
besieged had constructed one of the redoubts to which I alluded as
having been lately thrown up; whilst on another table, at the opposite
side of the left ravine, which winds round in the direction of the
wall, as nearly as if it were the work of art, stands the other
redoubt. Beyond this, again, there is a perpendicular precipice, the
hills there abruptly ending; so that on two sides the walls of the fort
skirt the extremity of a bare rock. It was along the outer ridges of
these ravines, and through the churchyard of St. Etienne, that our
trenches were drawn, the village itself being the most advanced British
post; and it was along these ridges, and in the street of this village,
that the action of the 14th of April was fought.
It is not my business, neither indeed is it my intention, to relate
here the particulars of that affair. The French, having contrived, in a
dark night, to elude the vigilance of our sentinels, came upon the
piquets unperceived, and took them completely by surprise. The battle
was maintained on both sides with great determination, and had it not
been for the unfortunate capture of Sir John Hope and the fall of
General Hay, the assailants would have had little cause to rejoice at
the result: for though the loss of the English was certainly great,
that of the French was at least not inferior. Yet the business was an
unfortunate one to both parties, since, before it took place,
Buonaparte had already abdicated, and the preliminaries of peace were
already signed between the two nations.
I found the village, in which the fighting had been most obstinately
maintained, in the condition of most villages where such dramas have
been acted. The street had been barricaded, but the barricade was
almost entirely torn down; the houses, trees, and church, like those we
had passed upon the march, were covered with the marks of cannon and
musket balls, whilst quantities of round and grape shot, of musket and
pistol bullets, broken bayonets, swords, &c. &c., lay scattered about
in every direction. Nor were these the only evidences of strife
discernible. In many places—on the pavement of the street, in the
churchyard, but above all, on the floor of the church itself, —the
traces of blood were still distinctly visible. Beside the remains of
the barricade there stood a solitary six-pounder, which had been taken
and re-taken nine times during the struggle; and a sprinkling of what
looked like a mixture of blood and brains still adhering to its
carriage and breech, showed that it had never been given up without the
most desperate resistance. The mounds, too, under which the dead were
buried, presented a peculiarly striking appearance; for the field of
action having been narrow, those that fell, fell in heaps together, and
being buried in the same way, one was led to form an idea of greater
slaughter than if double the number of graves had been distinguishable
in a more extended space.
Having now accomplished my wishes as far as I could, and beginning to
feel somewhat fatigued with strolling about, I adjourned to an hotel in
the city, from whence, in the evening, I went to the play. The house
was poor and the performance miserable, consequently there was no great
inducement to sit out the whole of the piece. After witnessing an act
or two, therefore, I returned to the inn, where I slept, and at an
early hour next morning rejoined my regiment, already under arms and
making preparations for the continuance of the march.
MARCH THROUGH BAYONNE—TO ONDRES
As it would have been considerably out of our way to go round by the
floating bridge[1], permission was applied for and granted, to pass
directly through Bayonne. With bayonets fixed, band playing, and
colours flying, we accordingly marched along the streets of that city;
a large proportion of the garrison being drawn up to receive us, and
the windows crowded with spectators, male and female, eager to behold
the troops from whom not long ago they had probably expected a visit of
a very different nature. The scene was certainly remarkable enough, and
the transition from animosity to good-will as singular as it was
sudden; nor do I imagine that it would be easy to define the sensations
of either party, on being thus strangely brought n contact with the
other. The females, indeed, waved their handkerchiefs, whilst we bowed
and kissed our hands; but I thought I could discover something like a
suppressed scowl upon the countenances of the military. Certain it is,
that in whatever light the new state of affairs might be regarded by
the great bulk of the nation, with the army it was by no means popular;
and at this period they appeared to consider the passage of British
troops through their lines as the triumphal entrance of a victorious
enemy.
[1] The bridge here alluded to was thrown across the Adour by the Duke
of Wellington at the commencement of the siege. It was composed of a
number of small fishing vessels fastened together with cords, and
planked from one to another, the whole firmly moored about three miles
below Bayonne. Whether the daringness of the attempt, or the
difficulties surmounted in its completion, be considered, the
construction of this bridge may be looked upon as one of the most
extraordinary actions of that extraordinary man.
As soon as we had cleared the entrenchments of Bayonne, and got beyond
the limits of the allied camps, we found ours in a country more
peaceful and more picturesque than any we had yet traversed. There were
here no signs of war or marks of violence. The cottages were covered
with honeysuckle and roses, the gardens were blooming in the most
perfect order; the corn was growing in great plenty and richness, and
the vines were clustering round their poles like the hops in the
gardens of Kent. It is impossible to describe the feeling of absolute
refreshment which such a sight stirred up in men who, for so long a
time, had looked upon nothing but ruin and devastation. It is true that
with respect to grandeur, or even beauty, the scenery through which we
now travelled was not to be compared with the sublime passes of the
Pyrenees, or with many spots which we had beheld; but in truth, a
hamlet uninjured and tenanted by its own rude peasantry, a field of
Indian corn exhibiting no wasteful track of foragers, nay, a single
cottage with its flowers and evergreens budding around it, was at this
a more welcome object to our eyes than the wildest mountains or most
romantic valleys displaying no habitations except white tents and no
inhabitants except soldiers. For my own part I felt as if I had once
more returned into the bosom of civilized and domestic life, after
having been for many months a wanderer and a savage.
The road along which we proceeded had been made by Napoleon, and was
remarkably good. It was sheltered, on each side, from the rays of the
sun, by groves of cork-trees mingled with fir; by which means, though
the day was overpoweringly hot, we did not suffer so much as we should
otherwise have done. Our march was, therefore, exceedingly agreeable,
and we came in, about noon, very little fatigued, to the village of
Ondres, where the tents were pitched, and we remained till the morrow.