CAMPAIGN OF 1813: IN THE PYRENEES—GENERAL SKERRETT—COMBAT OF
VERA—FIGHT AT THE BRIDGE, AND DEATH OF CADOUX.
Just before we reached Vera, my dear friend and General, Vandeleur,
was moved to a Cavalry Brigade, and General Skerrett, a very different
man, was sent to us, with a capital fellow for an A.D.C.—Captain Fane,
or, as usually designated, “Ugly Tom.” I, who had been accustomed to go
in and out of my previous Generals’ tents and quarters as my own, and
either breakfast or dine as I liked, was perfectly thunderstruck when
it was intimated to me I was to go only when asked; so Tom the A.D.C.
and we lived together, to the great amusement of my wife, who was
always playing Tom some trick or other.
During our halt in this position, the siege of San Sebastian was going
on. Soult, an able officer, who had been appointed to the command
of the beaten French force, soon reorganized it, and instilled its
old pride of victory, and inspired all again with the ardour and
vivacity of French soldiers. The siege of San Sebastian was vigorously
prosecuted. Pamplona was closely invested, and, from want of
provisions, must inevitably ere long surrender. Soult, therefore, had
a brilliant opportunity either to raise the siege of San Sebastian,
or to throw supplies in to Pamplona, or to do both, if great success
attended his operations. This opportunity he ably availed himself of,
by making a rapid movement to our right to the Pass of Roncesvalles
of knightly fame, and obliging the Duke of Wellington to concentrate
a great part of his army to protect Pamplona, or, rather, to ensure
its strict blockade, while the siege of San Sebastian was for the time
suspended, awaiting supplies which were on their passage from England.
My Division, the Light, was kept between the two, as were Lord Dacre’s
“horsemen light,” to “succour those that need it most,”[33] and we
had some very harassing marches, when it was discovered Soult had
penetrated the Pyrenees and was resolved on a general action. This he
fought on the 27th and 28th July, with the Frenchman’s usual success, a
good thrashing.[34]
The Light Division made a terrible night march on this occasion, one
of the most fatiguing to the soldiers that I ever witnessed. On the
Pyrenees, as on other mountains, the darkness is indescribable. We were
on a narrow mountain path, frequently with room only for one or two
men, when a soldier of the Rifle Brigade rolled down a hill as nearly
perpendicular as may be. We heard him bumping along, pack, rifle,
weight of ammunition, etc., when from the bottom he sang out, “Halloa
there! Tell the Captain there’s not a bit of me alive at all; but the
devil a bone have I broken; and faith I’m thinking no soldier ever
came to his ground at such a rate before. Have a care, boys, you don’t
follow. The breach at Badajos was nothing to the bottomless pit I’m now
in.”
After the battles of the Pyrenees, our Division was pushed forward with
great rapidity to intercept the retreat of one of the _corps d’armée_,
and General Kempt’s—the 1st—Brigade had some very heavy fighting [at
Jansi, 1 Aug.]; while at [Echallar], poor General Barnes, now no more,
in command of a Brigade of the 7th Division, made one of the boldest
and most successful attacks on five times his number, but one in which
bravery and success far exceeded judgment or utility.
We moved on again, and on one of our marches came to some very nice
cottages, one of which fell to the lot of myself and Tom Fane, the
A.D.C. The poor peasant was a kind-hearted farmer of the mountains, his
fields highly cultivated, his farm-yard supplied with poultry; every
domestic comfort his situation in life demanded was his—poor fellow, he
merited all. He killed some ducks for our supper, his garden supplied
beautiful peas, and we had a supper royalty would have envied with our
appetites. My wife had spread her cloak on the floor—she was perfectly
exhausted—and was fast asleep. I awoke her, she ate a capital supper,
but the next morning upbraided me and Tom Fane for not having given her
anything to eat; and to this day she is unconscious of sitting at our
supper-table. Judge by this anecdote what real fatigue is. The next
morning we could hardly induce our host to receive payment for his
eggs, his poultry, his bread, bacon, peas, milk, etc., and he would
insist on giving my wife a beautiful goat in full milk, which was added
to the boy Antonio’s herd.[35] We marched with mutual feelings of
newly-acquired but real friendship. Three days afterwards, we returned
to the very same ground, and we again occupied our previous dear little
mountain retreat, but the accursed hand of war had stamped devastation
upon it. The beautiful fields of Indian corn were all reaped as
forage, the poultry yard was void, the produce of our peasant’s garden
exhausted, his flour all consumed—in a word, he had nothing left of
all his previous plenty but a few milch goats, and that night he, poor
thing, supped with us from the resources of our rations and biscuit. He
said the French had swept off everything the English did not require.
The latter paid for everything, and gave him _bons_ or receipts for the
Indian corn reaped as forage, which he knew some day our commissary
would take up and pay. I never pitied man more, and in the midst of his
affliction it was beautiful to observe a pious resignation and a love
for his country, when he exclaimed, “Gracias a Dios, you have driven
back the villainous French to their own country.”
“O fortunatos nimium, sua si bona norint,
Agricolas ... procul discordibus armis.”
We returned to our line on this side of Vera, and the siege of San
Sebastian was again vigorously resumed. We Light Division, with the
3rd and 4th, were out of that glory, which we did not regret, although
the Duke never took the town until he sent to these three Divisions
for volunteers for the storming party [31 Aug.]. Then we soon took it;
but in candour I should state that the breaches were rendered more
practicable than when first stormed, the defences destroyed, and the
enemy’s means of defence diminished. It was, however, still a tough
piece of work, in which we lost some valuable officers and soldiers.
The enemy made a forward movement [the same day, 31 Aug.] for the
purpose of reinforcing the garrison, and in the morning put back our
picquets, and we anticipated a general action. However, the whole of
the enemy moved to the Lower Bidassoa, and crossed in force. The day
was very rainy, and the river was so full the French were compelled to
retreat rapidly; in fact, so sudden was the rise of the river, many
were obliged to retire by the bridge in our possession, as described by
Napier.
I have only, therefore, to relate an incident which occurred between
me and my new General—who, I soon discovered, was by nature a gallant
Grenadier, and no Light Troop officer, which requires the eye of a hawk
and the power of anticipating the enemy’s intention—who was always
to be found off his horse, standing in the most exposed spot under
the enemy’s fire while our Riflemen were well concealed, as stupidly
composed for himself as inactive for the welfare of his command.[36]
When the enemy put back our picquets in the morning, it was evidently
their intention to possess themselves of the bridge, which was
curiously placed as regarded our line of picquets. Thus—
[Illustration]
We did not occupy Vera, but withdrew on our own side of it, and I
saw the enemy preparing to carry the houses near the bridge in the
occupation of the 2nd Battalion Rifle Brigade. I said, “General
Skerrett, unless we send down the 52nd Regiment in support, the enemy
will drive back the Riflemen. They cannot hold those houses against the
numbers prepared to attack. Our men will fight like devils expecting to
be supported, and their loss, when driven out, will be very severe.” He
laughed (we were standing under a heavy fire exposed) and said, “Oh,
is that your opinion?” I said—most impertinently, I admit,—“And it
will be yours in five minutes,” for I was by no means prepared to see
the faith in support, which so many fights had established, destroyed,
and our gallant fellows knocked over by a stupidity heretofore not
exemplified. We had scarcely time to discuss the matter when down
came a thundering French column with swarms of sharpshooters, and, as
I predicted, drove our people out of the houses with one fell swoop,
while my General would move nothing on their flank or rear to aid them.
We lost many men and some officers, and the enemy possessed the houses,
and consequently, for the moment, possessed the passage of the bridge.
From its situation, however, it was impossible they could maintain it,
unless they put us farther back by a renewed attack on our elevated
position. So I said, “You see now what you have permitted, General, and
we must retake these houses, which we ought never to have lost.” He
quietly said, “I believe you are right.” I could stand this no longer,
and I galloped up to Colonel Colborne, in command of that beautiful
52nd Regiment, now Lord Seaton, who was as angry as he soon saw I
was. “Oh, sir, it is melancholy to see this. General Skerrett will do
nothing; we must retake those houses. I told him what would happen.”
“I am glad of it, for I was angry with you.” In two seconds we retook
the houses, for the enemy, seeing our determination to hold them, was
aware the nature of the ground would not enable him to do so unless he
occupied the position we intended to defend, and his effort was as much
as not to see whether we were in earnest, or whether, when attacked in
force, we should retire. The houses were retaken, as I said, and the
firing ceased the whole afternoon.
The evening came on very wet. We knew that the enemy had crossed the
Bidassoa [31 Aug.], and that his retreat would be impossible from the
swollen state of the river. We knew pretty well the Duke would shove
him into the river if he could; this very bridge, therefore, was of
the utmost importance, and no exertion should have been spared on
our part so to occupy it after dark as to prevent the passage being
seized. The rain was falling in torrents. I proposed that the whole of
the 2nd Battalion Rifle Brigade should be posted in the houses, the
bridge should be barricaded, and the 52nd Regiment should be close at
hand in support. Skerrett positively laughed outright, ordered the
whole Battalion into our position, but said, “You may leave a picquet
of one officer and thirty men at the bridge.” He was in the house on
the heights he had previously occupied. I had a little memorandum-book
in my pocket; I took it out for the first time in my life to note my
General’s orders. I read what he said, asking if that was his order.
He said, “Yes, I have already told you so.” I said most _wickedly_,
“We shall repent this before daylight.” He was callous to anything. I
galloped down to the houses, ordered the Battalion to retire, and told
my brother Tom, the Adjutant, to call to me a picquet of an officer
and thirty men for the bridge. Every officer and soldier thought I was
mad. Tom said, “Cadoux’s company is for picquet.” Up rode poor Cadoux,
a noble soldier, who could scarcely believe what I said, but began
to abuse me for not supporting them in the morning. I said, “Scold
away, all true; but no fault of _mine_. But come, no time for jaw, the
picquet!” Cadoux, noble fellow, says, “My company is so reduced this
morning, I will stay with it if I may. There are about fifty men.”
I gladly consented, for I had great faith in Cadoux’s ability and
watchfulness, and I told him he might rest assured he would be attacked
an hour or two before daylight. He said, “Most certainly I shall, and I
will now strengthen myself, and block up the bridge as well as I can,
and I will, if possible, hold the bridge until supported; so, when
the attack commences, instantly send the whole Battalion to me, and,
please God, I will keep the bridge.” It was then dark, and I rode as
fast as I could to tell Colborne, in whom we had all complete faith and
confidence. He was astonished, and read my memorandum. We agreed that,
so soon as the attack commenced, his Battalion should move down the
heights on the flank of the 2nd Battalion Rifle Brigade, which would
rush to support Cadoux, and thus we parted, I as sulky as my hot nature
would admit, knowing some disaster would befall my dear old Brigade
heretofore so judiciously handled.
In the course of the night, as we were lying before the fire, I _far
from asleep_, General Skerrett received a communication from General
Alten to the purport “that the enemy were retiring over the swollen
river; it was, therefore, to be apprehended he would before daylight
endeavour to possess himself of the bridge; that every precaution
must be taken to prevent him.” I, now being reinforced in opinion,
said, “Now, General, let me do so.” As he was still as obstinate as
ever, we were discussing the matter (I fear as far as I am concerned,
very hotly) when the “En avant, en avant! L’Empereur récompensera le
premier qu’avancera,” was screeched into our very ears, and Cadoux’s
fire was hot as ever fifty men’s was on earth. “Now,” says I, “General,
who is right?” _I_ knew what the troops would do. My only hope was
that Cadoux could keep the bridge as he anticipated. The fire of the
enemy was very severe, and the rushes of his columns most determined;
still Cadoux’s fire was from his post. Three successive times, with
half his gallant band, did he charge and drive back the enemy over the
bridge, the other half remaining in the houses as support. His hope and
confidence in support and the importance of his position sustained him
until a melancholy shot pierced his head, and he fell lifeless from
his horse.[37] A more gallant soul never left its mortal abode. His
company at this critical moment were driven back; the French column
and rear-guard crossed, and, by keeping near the bed of the river,
succeeded in escaping, although the Riflemen were in support of poor
Cadoux with as much rapidity as _distance_ allowed, and daylight saw
Colborne where he said he would be.
I was soon at the bridge. Such a scene of mortal strife from the fire
of fifty men was never witnessed. The bridge was almost choked with
the dead; the enemy’s loss was enormous, and many of his men were
drowned, and all his guns were left in the river a mile or two below
the bridge. The number of dead was so great, the bodies were thrown
into the rapid stream in the hope that the current would carry them,
but many rocks impeded them, and when the river subsided, we had
great cause to lament our precipitancy in hurling the bodies, for the
stench soon after was awful. The Duke was awfully annoyed, as well
he might be, but, as was his rule, never said anything when disaster
could not be amended. I have never told my tale till now. Skerrett
was a bilious fellow (a gallant Grenadier, I must readily avow), and
I hope his annoyance so affected his liver it precipitated a step he
had desired—as his father was just dead, and he was heir to an immense
property—to retire home on sick-leave. You may rely on it, I threw
no impediment in his way, for when he was gone, Colonel Colborne was
my Brigadier, whom we all regarded inferior to no one but the Duke.
Many is the conversation he and I have had over the lamentable affair
which killed poor Cadoux. I really believe, had he survived, he would
have held the bridge, although the enemy attacked it in desperation,
and although each time the column was driven back, a few men in the
dark succeeded in crossing, and these fellows, all practised soldiers,
posted themselves under cover on the banks of the river below the
bridge, and caused the loss our people sustained, that of noble Cadoux
among the rest, with impunity. Cadoux’s manner was effeminate, and, as
a boy, I used to quiz him.[38] He and I were, therefore, although not
enemies, not friends, until the battle of Vittoria, when I saw him most
conspicuous. He was ahead of me on his gallant war horse, which he took
at Barossa with the holsters full of doubloons, as the story went. I
was badly mounted that day, and my horse would not cross a brook which
his was scrambling over. I leaped from my saddle over my horse’s head
(I was very active in those days), seized his horse by the tail, and
I believe few, if any, were as soon in the middle of the Frenchmen’s
twelve guns as we were in support of the 7th Division. From that day we
were comrades in every sense of the term, and I wept over his gallant
remains with a bursting heart, as, with his Company who adored him, I
consigned to the grave the last external appearance of Daniel Cadoux.
His fame can never die.
The enemy retired into their previous position, as did we, and San
Sebastian was ours. We were in this line for some time, daily watching
the enemy making works with extraordinary vigour and diligence, which
we knew ere long we should have the glory (the pleasure, to most of
us) to run our heads against, for such was the ardour and confidence
of our army at this moment, that, if Lord Wellington had told us to
attempt to carry the moon, we should have done it.
During the occupation of our present position, I found the Basque
inhabitants on the Spanish side, and those on the French side of the
Pyrenees, carried on a sort of contraband trade, and that brandy and
claret were to be had. One day, therefore, upon General Skerrett’s
complaining to me he could get no wine or sheep, I told him I could get
him both. My smugglers were immediately in requisition. They got me
eight sheep and one dozen of claret. I was disappointed at the small
supply—accustomed to hospitable old Vandeleur’s consumption—and I told
my new General. He said he was exceedingly obliged to me; he should be
glad of one sheep and two bottles of wine. It did not make a bad story
through the Brigade. I and the A.D.C., Tom Fane, however, managed to
consume all.
One day (the man may now be conceived) Skerrett gave a great dinner,
and the _liberal_ Barnard and Colborne, commanding Regiments in the
Division, were asked to dine. Tom Fane and I were amused, for we knew
he had but little to give them to eat and less to drink, and where
were the materials to come from? And Barnard loved a good dinner, with
at least two bottles of good wine. To my astonishment, when I waited
on him, as I usually did every morning, for orders, he was dressed.
I said, “Where are you going, General?” (To me he was ever a most
affable, and rather an amusing, fellow.) He said, “To head-quarters at
Lesaca.” So Tom and I supposed he would come back laden with supplies.
(At head-quarters there was an excellent sutler, but the prices were,
of course, beyond any moderate means.) So Tom, A.D.C., was on the
look-out for his return. He soon arrived with a bottle of sherry in
each pocket of his military blue coat, viz. two, and says, “Fane, tell
Smith, as my wine stock is not large, to be cautious of it.” Tom did
tell me, and, when we met in the dining-room, the joke was too good not
to tell such noble and liberal fellows as Barnard and Colborne. Down we
sat to, oh! such a dinner; our soldiers in camp lived far better. So
Barnard says, “Being so near the French, we shall have plenty of cooks
in camp soon; come, Smith, a glass of wine,” and I think we drank the
pocket two bottles in about as many minutes; when Barnard, as _funny a
fellow_ and as _noble a soldier_ as ever lived, says, “Now, General,
some more of this wine. We camp fellows do not get such a treat
everyday.” Barnard had a French cook, taken at the battle of Salamanca,
and lived like a gentleman. “Barnard,” Skerrett says, looking like a
fiend at me, “that is the last, I very much regret to say, of an old
stock” (Barnard winked at me); “what I must now give you, I fear, won’t
be so good.” It was produced; it was trash of some sort, but not wine.
“No,” says Barnard, “that won’t do, but let us have some brandy.” We
got some execrable coffee, and here ended the only feast he ever gave
while in command of my Brigade. Poor Skerrett, he soon inherited £7000
a year, not long to enjoy it. He was killed in the most brilliant, and
at the same time the most unfortunate, affair that ever decorated and
tarnished British laurels, at Bergen Op Zoom.