CAMPAIGN OF 1811.
I found the army in hourly expectation to move, and the Captain of my
Company—Leach—was gone sick to the rear, so I said to my Colonel, “I
must be no longer A.D.C., sir. However grateful I am, my Company wants
me.” “Ah, now you can walk a little, you leave me! Go and be d——d to
you; but I love you for the desire.” Off I started, and the very next
day we marched [6 Mar. 1811], Massena retreating out of Portugal, and
many is the skirmish we had. My leg was so painful, the wound open, and
I was so lame. When others could lie down I was on horseback, on a dear
little Spanish horse given me by James Stewart, afterwards an animal of
still greater renown.
At Pombala I had with my Company a very heavy skirmish [11 Mar.]. At
Redinha my Company was in the advance [12 Mar.], supported by Captain
O’Hare’s. A wood on our front and right was _full_ of Frenchmen. The
Light Companies of the 3rd Division came up. I asked, “Are you going
to attack that wood?” A Captain of the 88th Light Company, whom I
knew, quite laughed at my question. I said very quietly, “You will be
beat back, and when you are, I will move on the edge of the wood and
help you.” How he laughed! My prediction was very soon verified: he
was wounded, and picked up by my Company, which I moved on the right
flank of the French and stopped them immediately. I sent to my support,
O’Hare, to move up to me. The obstinate old Turk would not, and so I
was obliged to come back, and had most unnecessarily five or six men
wounded.
The Plain of Redinha is a fine field for military display, and our
lines formed to attack Ney’s rearguard were magnificent. The enemy had
many guns in the field, with prolonged lines, an excellent mode for
retreat on such ground, and no rearguard was ever drawn off in more
masterly style, while I thought our attack in lines was heavy, slow,
and not half so destructive as a rush of many contiguous columns would
have been. The enemy had to retire over a bridge through the village
of Redinha, and we Riflemen sorely pressed them on their left. A line
of French infantry, concealed behind an _atalaya_ (or tower) on a
hill good for the purpose, were lying down as my Company and the one
commanded by that wonderful Rifleman, Willie Johnstone, got within
twenty yards of them. To our astonishment, up jumped the line, fired a
volley (they did not hit a man), and went about. At them we all went
like devils, a regular foot race, except for me and my little horse
Tiny, from which I could not dismount. In the pursuit he carried me
down a rock twelve feet high, and Johnstone and I got to the bridge
and cut off half a Battalion of French. So many Legions of Honour I
scarcely ever saw in a group, but the eagle was off! We _never_ told
what we had done, though we enjoyed the fun, but it is an anecdote
worthy of record in Napier’s _History_.
We were engaged with the enemy every day. The next turn up was at
Condesia [Condeixa]; the next at Casal Nova [14 Mar.], where we had as
heavy a skirmishing fight as ever occurred. We Light Division gentlemen
had our full complement of fighting, for the French were obliged to
hold a village to give their column time to retire, and if the Duke’s
orders had been obeyed, our Division ought not to have attacked until
the 3rd and 4th Divisions were well up on the Frenchmen’s left. I lost
several men that day, as did all our Companies, and particularly the
52nd. Poor Major Jack Stewart,[20] a dear little fellow, a friend of
mine, was shot through the lungs and died in three days, (Beckwith’s
Brigade-Major, Lieut. James Stewart, was in three days [28 Mar., near
Freixadas] killed off the very same little English horse, called Tom);
Strode, a Lieutenant, received his death-wound while talking to me,
etc. That night I was on picquet. The enemy were retiring all night,
but their sentries and ours were in sight. At daylight a thick fog came
on. Beckwith’s Brigade, with him at its head, moved up to where I was
posted. He said, “Come, Harry, get your Company together, and fall in
at the head of the column.” At this moment two of the 16th Dragoons
rode back, and Beckwith said, “Where do you come from?” “We have
patrolled a league and a half in the front, and seen naught.” “A league
and a half, my friend,” says old Sydney, “in a thick fog is a d——d long
way. Why, Harry, you said the vedettes were close to you.” “So they
are,” I said, “and you will be fired at the moment you advance.” We had
not gone fifty yards when “Pop! pop!” Oh, how old Sydney laughed! “A
league and a half!” But the fog was so thick we could not move, and the
enemy, hearing our column on their rear, being clear, moved off.
In a few days, as we had got well up to the French rear-guard and were
about to attack, a General Order was received, to my astonishment,
appointing me Brigade Major[21] to the 2nd Light Brigade, not dear
old Sydney’s. _He_ expected it, since he and Colonel Pakenham (dear
Sir Edward!) were trying to do something for me on account of my lame
leg. Beckwith says, “Now give your Company over to Layton, and set off
immediately to Colonel Drummond,” who commanded the Brigade. Hardly
had I reached it, when such a cannonade commenced, knocking the 52nd
about in a way I never saw before and hardly since. We were soon all
engaged, and drove the French, with very hard fighting, into and over
the river, with a severe loss in killed, prisoners, and drowned. A very
heavy fight it was, ending just before dark. I said to my Brigadier,
“Have you any orders for the picquets, sir?” He was an old Guardsman,
the kindest though oddest fellow possible. “Pray, Mr. Smith, are you my
Brigade Major?” “I believe so, sir.” “Then let me tell you, it is your
duty to post the picquets, and mine to have a d—d good dinner for you
every day.” We soon understood each other. He cooked the dinner often
himself, and I _commanded_ the Brigade.
Our next great fight was a bitter one, Sabugal [3 April]. I shall
never forget the German 1st Hussars, my old friends, moving on that
day; their singing was melodious. Sir W. Erskine commanded the cavalry
and Light Division, a near-sighted old ass, and we got _meléed_ with
Reynier’s _corps d’armée_ strongly posted on heights above Sabugal, and
attacked when the Duke intended we should have moved round their left
to Quadraseyes, as the 5th, 4th, and 3rd Divisions were to attack their
front in the centre of their position. However, we began, and never
was more gallantry mutually displayed by friend and foe than on this
occasion, particularly by dear old Beckwith and his 1st Brigade. Some
guns were taken and retaken several times. A French officer on a grey
horse was most gallant. Old Beckwith, in a voice like thunder, roared
out to the Riflemen, “Shoot that fellow, will you?” In a moment he and
his horse were knocked over, and Sydney exclaimed, “Alas! you were a
_noble fellow_.”
My Brigadier, as I soon discovered, left the command to me, so I led
away, and we came in for a pretty good share in preventing Reynier’s
turning the left of Beckwith’s Brigade. Fortunately, the 5th Division
got into action just in time, for the French at the moment were
squeezing us awfully. The Light Division, under the shout of old
Beckwith, rushed on with an impetuosity nothing could resist, for,
so checked had we been, our bloods were really up, and we paid off
the enemy most awfully. Such a scene of slaughter as there was on one
hill would appal a modern soldier. The night came on most awfully wet,
and the 5th and Light Division were sent back to Sabugal for shelter.
Most dilapidated the place was, but the roofs were on, and Sir W.
Gomm, A.Q.M.G. of the 5th, and I divided the town between us, our poor
wounded lying out in the rain and cold all night. The next morning
was fine, and as the sun rose we marched over the field of battle.
Our soldiers’ blood was then cool, and it was beautiful to hear the
remarks of sympathy for the distress of the numerous dying and wounded
all around us. Oh, you kings and usurpers should view these scenes and
moderate ambition!
This evening [4 April] we had a long march into Quadraseyes, but
did not see a vestige of the enemy all day, nor of our commissariat
either. We were literally starving. That old rogue Picton had seized
the supplies of the Light Division for his 3rd. If he be now in the
Purgatory that we condemned him to, he is to be pitied.
We closely pursued the French over the frontier, but never had a real
slap at them. Almeida, which was garrisoned by their troops, was
invested by the 5th Division, while the Light Division moved into its
old lines, Gallegos, Marialva, Carpio, and Espeja. From the French
garrison of Ciudad Rodrigo the enemy frequently came out. The Duke had
gone into the Alemtejo, and Sir Brent Spencer commanded—a regular old
woman, who allowed the French to commit all sorts of extravagances
under our noses, when a rapid move on their rear from Espeja would have
punished them. Sir W. Erskine commanded the advance Cavalry and Light
Division.
I was at breakfast one morning with Sir William Erskine, who, early in
the morning, with his staff had taken out a small party to reconnoitre
Ciudad Rodrigo. The enemy immediately sent over a detachment of cavalry
to check the advance, and a great argument occurred between Sir
William and his A.A.G., Macdonald, whether the enemy crossed one or
two squadrons. During the discussion in came Sir William’s orderly, a
clever old dragoon of the 1st German Hussars. “Ah!” says Sir William,
“here is my old orderly; he can tell us. Hussar, how many squadrons of
the enemy crossed the Agueda this morning?” With a body as stiff and
erect as a statue, and a salute with an arm braced as if in the act of
cutting down his enemy, “Just forty-nine mans, no more; I count him.”
The laugh was against both disputants.
Now occurred the dreadful disaster of the escape of the French garrison
of Almeida. I shall never forget the mortification of our soldiers or
the admiration of our officers of the brilliancy of such an attempt,
the odds being a hundred to one against success. My long friend
Ironmonger, then of the Queen’s, into whose face George Simmons threw
the bucket of water when marching, as before described, from Belem,[22]
was grievously to blame.
Massena’s army were rapidly recovering. They had received
reinforcements, and were preparing to throw into Ciudad Rodrigo a large
convoy of provisions. For this, it was necessary for them to put us
back, and the present moment seemed a favourable one, as it was the
intention ultimately to withdraw the French army to Salamanca and the
neighbouring large towns, so that no demand might be made on the ample
supplies required for Ciudad Rodrigo. At this moment Soult was making a
formidable demonstration in the Alemtejo and Estremadura, our attempt
on Badajoz had failed, and a large portion of our army had moved
towards the south; it was therefore a fair opening for Massena to drive
us over the Coa.
However, the dear Duke of Wellington took a braver view of the
situation, and concentrated his army behind Fuentes D’Oñoro, and there
fought that celebrated battle which lasted a day and a half [5 May].
General Craufurd joined us here on the day of the general action. The
soldiers received him with every demonstration of joy. The officers
at that time execrated him. I did not; he had appointed me his
A.D.C., though I would not go to him, and he was always most kind and
hospitable to me.
On the morning of this day old Sydney again distinguished himself, for
the enemy from Poza Velha turned our right flank and licked our cavalry
(14th Light Dragoons and Royals) awfully, bringing 4000 fresh fellows
against them. There never was a more heavy fight than for several hours
in the village of Fuentes. Here I saw the 79th Regiment, in an attack
on the head of a French column coming up the road, bayonet eight or
nine French officers and upwards of 100 men, the only real bayonet
conflict I ever witnessed. After the battle of Fuentes d’Oñoro, the
French retired unmolested, for we were glad to get rid of them. As
they had such a formidable body of cavalry, on that open country we
literally could not molest them.
At this time almost all our army moved into the Alemtejo _viâ_
Arronchas, where, on Sir John Moore’s advance to Salamanca, I had a
nice quarter which I occupied four different times during the war. The
poor family were always delighted to see me. On our advance into the
Alemtejo we heard of the bloody battle of Albuera [16 May], and many of
us rode on to see the field, which was well demonstrated by the lines
of dead bodies, a most sanguinary conflict, and beautifully and truly
described by Napier.
I must here record a most ridiculous night alarm the Light Division
had, although leagues from any enemy, on their march into the Alemtejo.
A drove of bullocks galloped over our men asleep in the bivouac, and
for some time the officers could hardly persuade our best soldiers they
were not French cavalry. My Brigadier, Drummond, was sleeping under a
tree on his little portable iron bedstead. The light of a fire showed
him, to my amusement, in his shirt (not a very long one), endeavouring
to climb into the tree. I fell in his guard, and manfully charged
_nothing_ up a road leading to our camp, while General Craufurd lay on
his back laughing to hysterics, poor fellow. Drummond soon after died
at Guinaldo, in my arms, of a putrid sore throat, and Craufurd was
killed in the storm of Ciudad Rodrigo.
During all this summer our army was assembled watching Soult, who
neither attacked us nor we him. Never did we spend a more inactive
summer. The enemy from Ciudad Rodrigo moved on Castello Branco, and
threatened thereby our left flank and line of communication over the
Tagus. When Soult could no longer feed his assembled army, he retired,
and our Light Division were rapidly moved on Castello Branco, the
remainder of the army of the north following.
Our army this autumn was cantoned, as near as it could be fed, on
the frontiers to watch Ciudad Rodrigo, which the Duke contemplated
besieging. After the death of General Drummond, Major-General Vandeleur
was appointed to my Brigade, a fine, gentleman-like old Irish hero. We
were quartered at Martiago, and our Division, some at El Bodon, others
at Zamora, Guinaldo, etc. It was a very hot autumn, but towards the end
of the year, when the rains commenced, there was capital coursing.
General Craufurd this year, in one of his mad freaks, reported that
the Light Division was in want of clothing, etc., and it must go to
the rear. The Duke ordered us to march one cold night over the Agueda
to Larade, not far from Guinaldo, for his inspection. A great scene
occurred. Craufurd had not arrived before the Duke rode down the line,
and the Duke laughed and said, “Craufurd, you are late.” “No, my Lord;
you are before your time. _My watch_ is to be depended on.” (I was
riding a brown mare which I gave £120 for to Charlie Rowan, who had
been thrown by her, after buying her from General Craufurd because _he_
could not ride her. The mare charged the Duke, I on her back. “Hallo,
Smith,” says the Duke, “your horse masters you.”) The Duke, to _our_
delight, says to General Craufurd, “I never saw the Light Division look
better or more ready for service. March back to your quarters; I shall
soon require you in the field.” About this time Marmont moved up to
Ciudad Rodrigo with an enormous convoy of provisions, and he compelled
the Duke to assemble, and the brilliant affair of cavalry and squares
of infantry behind El Bodon took place [24 Sept.].
About this time we had some heavy and laborious manœuvring, night
marches, etc. During these movements we marched a dark night’s march
from Guinaldo, and, as the road was wet and far from good, we had
several checks in the column, when I heard a conversation between
a 16th Light Dragoon and one of the German 1st Hussars, neither of
whom had abstained from the ingredient which formed the subject. 16th
Dragoon: “I say, Hussar, I likes it strong and hot and sweet, and
plenty of ——. How do you like it?” Hussar: “I likes him raw.”
Marmont, having accomplished his object, fell back, and we returned
to our old cantonments. The Duke of Wellington’s dispatch dated
“Quadrasies, Sept. 29,” so fully details all these operations and shows
the beauty of the manœuvres so distinctly, I may confine myself to what
occurred the evening General Pakenham’s brigade had such a formidable
brush at Aldea de Ponte.
The 4th Division was to return at dusk, as was the Light. I was lying
in bivouac, talking to General Craufurd and John Bell, when a dragoon
rode up with a note from General Cole, requesting Craufurd to send
an officer as a guide to lead his division to the heights of Rendo at
dusk. I said, “Oh, John Bell will go, of course.” “No,” says John;
“Harry Smith knows the road best.” So I was ordered to go. Before I
reached Cole it was dark. I found his Division moving: they were all
right. I reported myself to him—the first time I had ever spoken to
him. Colonel Brooke, brother of the “Shannon” Brooke, his Q.M.G., was
with him. “Oh,” says Cole, “sent by Craufurd, are you? Do you know the
road?” We Light Division gentlemen were proper saucy fellows. I said,
“I suppose I should not have been sent if I had not.” “Ugh,” says Cole,
as hot as pepper. Here I may remark upon the difficulty there is at
night to know roads, even for one well acquainted with them. Fires
lighting, fires going out, the covering of the country with troops—such
things change the face of nature, and a little anxiety adds to the
difficulty. Cole, a most anxious man, kept saying, “Are you sure you
know the road, sir?” etc., etc., etc. At last I said, “General Cole,
if you will let me alone, I will conduct your Division; if you thus
attract my attention, I cannot.” It was an anxious moment, I admit. I
was just at a spot where I might miss the road, a great road which I
knew was near. I galloped ahead to look for it, and oh, how General
Cole did blow me up! I found my road, though, and so soon as the head
of the column had fairly reached it, I said, “Good night, General,”
and in a moment was in full speed, while he was hallooing to me to
come back. I had some difficulty in finding my own Division, which
was moving parallel with the force. When I told Craufurd of my first
acquaintance with that hot Irishman Cole, how he laughed! Poor dear Sir
Lowry! I was afterwards A.Q.M.G. to him after the battle of Waterloo,
and served under him as Commandant of Cape Castle and Senior Member of
Council when he was Governor, and many is the laugh we have had at our
first acquaintance.
On one of our marches from the Alemtejo to the north, in a house
where General Drummond and I were quartered at Idanha a Nova, a
very facetious Portuguese gentleman showed us a sort of a return of
the British, so incorrect that General Drummond laughed at it; but
Charlie Rowan, our A.A.G. (now the great policeman in London[23]), who
was dining with General Drummond, told this anecdote at the Duke’s
table at Guinaldo, and I was sent back about 150 miles to fetch my
friend. I could speak Portuguese as well as English. I therefore
persuaded our hero to accompany me to the Duke without telling why,
but a more unpleasant ride than this, in charge of my friend and all
alone, without groom, etc., I never had, and many was the blessing
I bestowed on Charlie Rowan’s tongue. I delivered my friend to the
Adjutant-General at Guinaldo, and had twenty-four miles to join my
General at Robledillo.