CAMPAIGN OF 1813: COLONEL COLBORNE—SECOND COMBAT OF VERA.
In our Division, generally speaking, the officers of each Company had
a little mess of their own, an arrangement indispensable, so much
detached were we on picquets, etc. Some of us lived most comfortably,
and great interchange of hospitality existed. We all had goats, and
every mess had a boy, who was in charge of them on the march and in
quarters, and milked them. On the march the flock of each Regiment and
Brigade assembled and moved with their goat-herds, when each drove his
master’s goats to his quarters. We observed extraordinary regularity
with these goats, and upon inquiry we found out the little fellows
organized themselves into regular guards. They had a captain, quite
a little fellow of dear old Billy Mein’s (52nd Regiment); their time
of duty was as regular as our soldiers’; they had sentries with long
white sticks in their hands, and Mein’s little boy held a sort of
court martial, and would lick a boy awfully who neglected his charge.
My little boy’s name was Antonio, and when he was for guard, I have
seen him turn out unusually smart, with his face and hands washed.
This little republic was very extraordinary, and quite true to the
letter as I have drawn it. Mein’s little captain told it all to my
wife, who took great interest in them after she was acquainted with
their organization, and the captain often consulted her. When our army
was broken up after Toulouse, and all the Portuguese Corps of course
marched back into Portugal, and the followers with them, we all of us
gave our goats to the poor little boys to whom we had been so much
indebted. My little fellow had a flock of fifteen. Many are probably
great goat-proprietors now from this basis for future fortune.
Our Brigade was now commanded by Colonel Colborne, in whom we all had
the most implicit confidence. I looked up to him as a man whose regard
I hoped to deserve, and by whose knowledge and experience I desired
to profit. He had more knowledge of ground, better understood the
posting of picquets, consequently required fewer men on duty (he always
strengthened every post by throwing obstacles—trees, stones, carts,
etc.—on the road, to prevent a rush at night), knew better what the
enemy were going to do, and more quickly anticipated his design than
any officer; with that coolness and animation, under fire, no matter
how hot, which marks a good huntsman when he finds his fox in his best
country.
The French were now erecting works, upon a position by nature strong
as one could well devise, for the purpose of defending the Pass of
Vera, and every day Colonel Colborne and I took rides to look at them,
with a pleasant reflexion that the stronger the works were, the greater
the difficulty we should have in turning them out—an achievement we
well knew in store for us. On Oct. 7, the Duke resolved to cross
the Bidassoa, and push the enemy at once into his own country, San
Sebastian having been taken. Now had arrived the time we long had
anticipated of a regular tussle with our fortified friends on the
heights of Vera. The Duke’s dispatch, Oct. 9, 1813, No. 837, tells the
military glory of the exploit. My object is the record of anecdotes
of myself and my friends. On the afternoon of the 7th, about two
o’clock, we were formed for the attack, and so soon as the head of
the 4th Division under that noble fellow, Sir Lowry Cole, appeared in
sight, we received the command to move forward. We attacked on three
different points. Advancing to the attack, Colborne, who had taken
a liking to me as an active fellow, says, “Now, Smith, you see the
heights above us?” “Well,” I said, “I wish we were there.” He laughed.
“When we are,” he says, “and you are not knocked over, you shall be a
Brevet-Major, if my recommendation has any weight at head-quarters.”
Backed by the performance of our Brigade, next day off he posted to
Lord Fitzroy Somerset, and came back as happy as a soldier ever is who
serves his comrade. “Well, Major Smith, give me your hand.” I did,
and my heart too (although not as a blushing bride). Kind-hearted
Colonel Barnard heard of this, went to Lord Fitzroy Somerset, asking
for the Brevet for one of his Captains, remarking that I should be made
a Major over the heads of twenty in my own Regiment. This startling
fact obliged Lord Fitzroy to lay the matter before the Duke, who, I am
told, said, “A pity, by G——! Colborne and the Brigade are so anxious
about it, and he deserves anything. If Smith will go and serve as
Brigade-Major to another Brigade, I will give him the rank after the
next battle.” Colborne’s mortification was so great that I banished
mine altogether by way of alleviating his disappointment. There was
such a demonstration of justice on the part of his Grace, and so did I
love the fellows whose heads I should have jumped over, that, honestly
and truly, I soon forgot the affair. Colborne said, “Go and serve with
another Brigade.” “No,” says I, “dear Colonel, not to be made of _your_
rank. Here I will fight on happily, daily acquiring knowledge from your
ability.”
The 1st Caçadores, under poor Colonel Algeo, moved so as to threaten
the enemy’s left, and intercept or harass the retreat of the troops
in the redoubt (which the noble 52nd were destined to carry at the
point of the bayonet without one check), and the 2nd Battalion of the
95th and the 3rd Caçadores moved to the enemy’s right of this redoubt
for a similar purpose. This Battalion was fiercely opposed, but so
soon as it succeeded in putting back the enemy, Colonel Colborne, at
the head of the 52nd, with an eye like a hawk’s, saw the moment had
arrived, and he gave the word “Forward.” One rush put us in possession
of the redoubt, and the Caçadores and 2nd Battalion 95th caused the
enemy great loss in his retreat to the top of the pass where his great
defence was made. The redoubt just carried was placed on the ridge of
the ravine, and must be carried ere any advance could be made on the
actual [position].
In this attack poor Algeo was killed. He rode a chestnut horse marked
precisely as my celebrated hunter and war-horse, “Old Chap,” which
I rode on that day. My wife was looking on the fight from the very
cottage window we had occupied so long, barely without the range of
musketry, and saw this horse gallop to the rear, dragging for some
distance the body by the stirrup. The impulse of the moment caused her
with one shriek to rush towards it, and so did anxiety and fright add
to her speed that my servant for some time could not overtake her. The
horse came on, when she soon recognized it was poor Algeo’s charger,
not mine, and fell senseless from emotion, but soon recovered, to
express her gratitude to Almighty God.
After this attack—and there never was a more brilliant one—the 4th
Division was well pushed up the hill, and, so soon as our Brigade was
reformed, we prepared for the great struggle on the top of the Pass of
Vera. Colborne sent me to Sir Lowry Cole, to tell him what he was about
to attempt, and to express his hope of a support to what he had just so
vigorously commenced. General Cole was all animation, and said, “Rely
on my support, and you will need it, for you have a tough struggle
before you.” On my return, we again advanced with a swarm of Riflemen
in skirmishing order keeping up a murderous fire. Firing up a hill is
far more destructive than firing down, as the balls in the latter case
fly over. The 52nd Regiment, well in hand, with their bayonets sharp
and glistening in the sun (for the afternoon was beautiful), were
advanced under a most heavy fire, but, from the cause mentioned, it was
not near so destructive as we expected. Still more to our astonishment,
the enemy did not defend their well-constructed work as determinedly as
we anticipated. Although they stood behind their parapets until we were
in the act of leaping on them, they then gave way, and we were almost
mixed together, till they precipitated themselves into a ravine, and
fled down almost out of sight as if by magic.
On the opposite side of this ravine, a few of the Riflemen of General
Kempt’s Brigade were pushing forward with a noble fellow, Reid, of the
Engineers, at their head. At the moment he did not know how full of
the enemy the ravine was. Colonel Colborne and I were on horseback. We
pushed on, a little madly, I admit, followed by those who could run
fastest, until the ravine expanded and a whole column of French were
visible, but we and Reid on the opposite side were rather ahead, while
the enemy could not see from out the ravine. The few men who were there
could not have resisted them, and certainly could not have cut them
off, had they been aware. Colonel Colborne, however, galloped up to the
officer at the head of the column with the bearing of a man supported
by 10,000, and said to the officer in French, “You are cut off. Lay
down your arms.” The officer, a fine soldier-like looking fellow, as
cool as possible, says, presenting his sword to Colonel Colborne,
“There, Monsieur, is a sword which has ever done its duty,” and then
ordered his men to lay down their arms. Colborne, with the presence
of mind which stamps the character of a soldier, said, “Face your men
to the left, and move out of the ravine.” By this means the French
soldiers were separated from their arms. At this moment there were up
with Colborne myself, Winterbottom, Adjutant of the 52nd Regiment, my
brother Tom, Adjutant of the 95th, and probably ten soldiers, and about
as many with Reid on the opposite ridge. Reid wisely did not halt,
but pushed forward, which added to the Frenchman’s impression of our
numbers, and Colborne turns to me, “Quick, Smith; what do you here? Get
a few men together, or we are yet in a scrape.” The French having moved
from their arms, Colborne desired the officer commanding to order them
to sit down. Our men were rapidly coming up and forming, and, when our
strength permitted, we ordered the enemy to march out of the ravine,
and there were 22 officers and 400 men. Three pieces of cannon we had
previously carried (_vide_ the Duke’s dispatch, Oct. 9, 1813, No.
837). Colonel Colborne, myself, and others were called madmen for our
audacity. I never witnessed such presence of mind as Colborne evinced
on this occasion, and when, like a _man_ as he is, he returned the poor
Frenchman’s sword, “There,” he says, “wear the sword, your pride; it is
not yet disgraced.” The fortune of war gave us the advantage over equal
bravery.[39]
By this time our men had got well out of the Pyrenees into the plain
of France below, and as night was rapidly approaching, I was sent on
to halt them, ready for Colonel Colborne to take up his position. The
prisoners were sent to the rear (what became of their arms I never
knew) under charge of a Lieutenant Cargill, of the 52nd Regiment, a
manly, rough young subaltern, who on his march, just at dusk, met the
Duke, who says, “Halloa, sir, where did you get those fellows?” “In
France. Colonel Colborne’s Brigade took them.” “How the devil do you
know it was France?” “Because I saw a lot of our fellows coming into
the column just before I left with pigs and poultry, which we had not
on the Spanish side.” The Duke turned hastily away without saying a
word. The next morning Mr. Cargill reported this to Colonel Colborne,
whom I hardly ever saw so angry. “Why, Mr. Cargill, you were not such a
blockhead as to tell the Duke _that_, were you?” In very broad Scotch,
“What for no? It was fact as death.” It did not escape the Duke, who
spoke to Colborne, saying, “Though your Brigade have even more than
usually distinguished themselves, we must respect the property of
the country.” “I am fully aware of it, my lord, and can rely upon
the discipline of my soldiers, but your lordship well knows in the
very heat of action a little irregularity will occur.” “Ah, ah!” says
my lord, “stop it in future, Colborne.” Nor had his Grace cause to
complain of us.
This night we slept on our arms, and cold and miserable we were, for
no baggage had been permitted to come to us. The next day we occupied
the heights of Vera, our outposts remaining pushed forward, and
head-quarters and our general hospital were established at Vera. My
wife joined me very early, and I never before had seen her under such
excitement, the effect of the previous day, when, as she conceived
at the moment, she had seen me killed. She did not recover her usual
vivacity for several days, and the report of a musket acted on her like
an electric shock. We remained in this position several days.
One day I dressed myself in all my best to do a little dandy at
head-quarters, to see some of my wounded comrades and officers, and
to look into our hospitals. In galloping through the country, I heard
a very melancholy and faint call, repeated once or twice without
attracting my attention. When I turned towards it, it was repeated. I
rode up and among several dead bodies of the enemy, I found the poor
fellow who had called to me greatly exhausted. _Four days_ had elapsed
since the action, and he had both legs shot off high up. I dismounted
and felt his pulse, which was still far from faint. Of course he prayed
me to send succour. I promised to do so, and I proceeded to tie some of
the bushes of the underwood to mark the spot, and continued to do so
until I reached a mountain track leading to Vera. I now even hear the
hideous moans he uttered when I turned from him, although I earnestly
assured him of help. Away I galloped to the hospital, not to visit my
own poor fellows, but to get a fatigue party and a stretcher, and off
I set for my poor wounded enemy, whom, from the precautions taken, I
easily found. Poor thing, from the belief that I had abandoned him, he
was nearly exhausted. We got him on the stretcher, the party set off
to the hospital, and I to my bivouac, for it was late and I was well
aware the poor thing would be treated just as one of our own soldiers.
I had literally forgotten the circumstance, when one day after we had
advanced considerably into France, a month or five weeks after the man
was picked up, a large convoy of disabled men, as an act of humanity,
were sent to their own country from the rear. My Brigade was of course
on the outpost, and it became my duty to go to the enemy’s advanced
post close to, with a letter and flag of truce. I was received as usual
with great civility, and the convoy passed on. While I was talking to
the French officers, a poor fellow on one of the stretchers called to
me and the officer, and began a volley of thanks, which, if it had
been of musquetry, would have been difficult to resist. I said, “I know
nothing about you, poor fellow; that will do.” “I know you; I owe my
life to you; you fetched the party who carried me to hospital. Both
stumps were amputated; I am now doing perfectly well, and I was treated
like one of your own soldiers.” I never saw gratitude so forcibly
expressed in my life.