view the ground where the armies had so recently contended. It was
strewed with dead and wounded, accoutrements and arms; a great part
of the latter broken. At those points where obstinate fighting took
place, the ground was covered with bodies: a great number of wounded,
both French, English, and Portuguese, lay along the road, groaning
and craving water. The village of _Gamarra Mayor_ was shattered with
heavy shot, and the bridge covered with dead, as well as its arches
choked up with bodies and accoutrements. We returned by the main road,
to where the centre of the army was engaged. Here were the French
huts, and their broken provisions, half cooked, lying about; this
was a level interspersed with little hillocks and brushwood: we were
then surrounded with dead and wounded; several cars were employed in
collecting the latter. A few straggling peasants could be seen at a
distance, watching an opportunity for plunder--there was a dreadful
silence over the scene. A poor Irishwoman ran up to one of the surgeons
near us, and with tears in her eyes, asked where was the hospital of
the 82nd regiment--I think it was the 82nd--she wrung her hands, and
said that the men told her she would find her husband wounded; and
she had travelled back for the purpose. The surgeon told her that the
only hospital on the field was in a cottage, to which he pointed; but
informed her that all the wounded would be conveyed to Vittoria. The
half-frantic woman proceeded towards the cottage, over the bodies which
lay in her way, and had not gone more than about fifty yards, when
she fell on her face, and uttered the most bitter cries. We hastened
to her--she was embracing the body of a sergeant, a fine tall fellow,
who lay on his face. “Oh! it’s my husband--it’s my husband!” said she;
“and he is dead and cold.” One of the men turned the body on his face;
the sergeant had been shot in the neck, and his ankle was shattered.
The lamentations of the woman were of the most heart-rending kind, but
not loud. She continued to sit by her lifeless husband, gazing on his
pale countenance, and moving her head and body to and fro, in the most
bitter agony of woe:--she talked to the dead in the most affectionate
language--of her orphans--of her home--and of their former happiness.
After a considerable time, by persuasion, we got her upon one of the
cars with the wounded, and placed the body of her husband beside her;
this we did, because she expressed a wish to have it buried by a
clergyman. She thanked us more by looks than words, and the melancholy
load proceeded slowly to Vittoria.
In our way back to the town, my companion’s attention was attracted by
a dead Portuguese; he raised up the body, and asked me to look through
it--I _did_ absolutely look _through_ it. A cannon-ball had passed
into the breast and out at the back--and so rapid must have been its
transit, from its forming such a clear aperture--in circumference about
twelve inches--that the man must have been close to the cannon’s mouth
when he was shot--it spoke volumes for the courage of the troops.
The hospital at Vittoria that evening presented a sad spectacle; not
only was part of it filled with wounded, but the streets all round
it--about two thousand men, including those of the French with those
of the Allies. Owing to the rapid, and perhaps unexpected, advance of
the army, there were only three surgeons to attend to this vast number
of wounded, for the first two days after the battle; and, from the
same reason, no provisions were to be had for them for a week! The
Commissariat had not provided for the exigency, and the small portion
of bread that could be purchased was sold at three shillings per pound.
From these casualties, I often thought since, that in cases of expected
general actions, if one half of both medical and commissariat staff
were under orders to remain on the field until relieved, instead of
following their respective divisions, it would obviate such privations.
However, there is every excuse in this case, considering the unexpected
rapidity of the advance. No fault whatever can be laid to either of the
departments in this instance: it was wholly owing to advancing to such
distance beyond Vittoria, as required too long a time to retrace.
In going through the hospital, I saw in one room not less than thirty
Hussars--of the 10th and 15th, I think--all wounded by lances; and
one of them had nineteen wounds in his body:--the surgeon had already
amputated his left arm. One of the men described the way in which so
many of their brigade became wounded. He said, that in charging the
rear of the enemy as they were retreating, the horses had to leap up
a bank, nearly breast high, to make good the level above. At this
moment, a body of Polish Lancers, headed by a General, dashed in upon
them, the General crying out, in broken English, “_Come on! I care not
for your fine Hussar brigade._” They fought for a considerable time,
and although ultimately the Lancers retired and left the ground to the
Hussars, yet the latter lost many killed and wounded. “That man,” said
the Hussar, “who lies there with the loss of his arm and so dreadfully
wounded, fought a dozen Lancers, all at him at once, and settled some
of them; at last he fell, and the Lancers were about to kill him, when
the General cried out to take him to the rear, for he was a brave
fellow. The skirmish continued, and the General cut that man there
across the nose, in fighting singly with him--but he killed the General
after all.”
I turned and saw a young Hussar, with a gash across his nose, and he
confirmed what his comrade said. The man who had the nineteen wounds, I
have since heard, recovered: he seemed much to regret the fate of the
General who saved his life. I saw this brave officer’s body buried the
next day in the principal church in Vittoria.
In passing through another part of the hospital, I perceived a
Portuguese female lying on the ground upon straw, in the midst of
numbers of wounded men. I enquired of her, was she wounded. She pointed
to her breast, and showed me where the bullet had passed. I asked her
how she received the shot, and was horror-struck when the dying woman
informed me that it was her _marido_,--her own husband,--who shot
her just as the action was commencing--she said he deliberately put
the muzzle of his gun to her breast and fired! This may be false; I
hope it is, for the sake of humanity:--it might be that the woman was
plundering the dead; and perhaps killing the wounded, when some of the
latter shot her. However, be the fact as it may, it was thus she told
her story. She was in great pain, and I should think did not live much
longer.
Colonels Weare and Fane, who fell so gloriously, were buried behind
this hospital:--but I have dwelt upon this circumstance at another part
of the work.
The people of Vittoria were very far from enthusiastic in favour of
the English, although they behaved with apparent gratitude; but this
may be accounted for by the yet uncertainty which prevailed, as to
our ultimate power of driving the French out of Spain. Bull-fights
and balls took place, and the new constitution was read and honoured;
but there was a want of warmth in the people, quite incompatible with
true patriotism:--on the whole, it was supposed that Vittoria was not
unfavourable to foreign tyranny.
A few days after the battle, the 6th division of the army passed
through Vittoria, on their march to join the main body of the army.
This division, from having been often employed on detached service,
acquired the name of the “_Flying Invisibles_,” by the rest of the
army. They were certainly not at the battle; but it was not their
fault, for they were left three days’ march in the rear, to protect the
transport of the stores, &c. The men presented a motley appearance;
they had not received a supply of clothing as had been expected, and
the consequence was that scarcely any red cloth was to be seen amongst
their jackets, so patched were they with that of every other colour.
Many had no shoes, and altogether they excited commiseration; but the
men themselves were as hearty and as healthy as any soldiers in the
army.
While I remained at Vittoria, I learned that an attempt to storm St.
Sebastian had been made by the allied armies, and had failed: it was
also stated that the Spaniards of the fortress were the most active in
defending the breach. Little fighting, I believe, took place in front,
except at Roncesvalles and the pass of Maya--the gates of the French
territory; and here, I believe, there was an effectual attack made by
the French against our troops--at least so far successful, that the
latter were obliged to retire a little, after having fought gallantly.
A considerable number of men wounded in this affair were sent back to
Vittoria.
I was now ordered to the front, and after a few days’ marches through
a most delightful and tranquil country, arrived at a village near
Pamplona, called Bastania. Here were quartered two heavy Dragoon
regiments--all the cavalry, indeed, were near; for it was a wide open
country, and consequently fit for the operations of Dragoons. In the
centre was the fortified town of Pamplona, within a mile of which we
durst not approach. The Pyrenees were about half a mile in front of
Bastania, and the cavalry were placed here in case the enemy should
succeed in forcing their way down to the plain for the relief of the
citadel, in which 1,200 French were shut up:--had they done so, the
horse could have acted with great effect upon them. This was in the
latter end of July; and I believe the Duke of Wellington had closed the
army in from the right, and intended to push on with his whole force to
France. The Spaniards he had placed to invest Pamplona.
I slept at Bastania the night I arrived: there were not more than a
dozen houses in the village, and all filled with dragoons. Into one
of those I went, and found the ground-floor covered thickly with
straw, upon which the soldiers--about thirty in all--were lying. They
immediately made room for me:--my servant slept with my horses in
an out-house. I was fatigued; and so, without any other refreshment
than a cup of commissariat grog, lay down and slept happily until the
trumpeter sounded “_Boots and Saddles_:” this was at two o’clock in
the morning, and I had been asleep about three hours. The men were
soon out and horsed--so was I. The baggage of the dragoons all packed
and mounted--every thing ready for “a breeze.” The morning was dark,
and for the time of year, rather chilly: I could not see to a great
distance, but within my view passed several troops of heavy dragoons
proceeding towards the foot of the mountains. There was scarcely any
sound but that from the motion of the horses--the men spoke but little,
and were yet half asleep. I moved towards the main road, in order to
come up with my division, which was in front; but I soon found that it
would be unsafe to proceed, on account of a fog which arose, completely
obscuring every thing around. In consequence of this I dismounted;
took off my saddle; put it on the ground; and directing my servant to
stake the horses to their tethers, lay down with my head resting on
it. I can assure my readers, that a saddle is no bad substitute for
a pillow when the ground is the bed. The spot I selected was soft,
though not dry; it was in a furrow of a ploughed field. I was rolled
in my blanket, and for an hour never enjoyed a sounder sleep: but I
did not find the waking quite so pleasant; for it had rained heavily
during my _enjoyment_, and I felt myself nearly covered by the _watery
bed_ of the furrow: however, I shook off my blanket--saddled, and
mounted. It was daylight, but not yet sunrise: as I proceeded towards
the mountains, I could see to my right, over the distant plain, several
bodies of horse evidently stationed to be ready in case the enemy
forced their way down--the town of Pamplona on my left in the centre
of the plain--the _tricolore_ flying, and occasional guns--I suppose
signals--firing. The Pyrenees were capped in grey mist, and therefore
I could not discern any of our infantry upon them; but I knew they
were in their position there, and had fought the two preceding days in
defence of it.
In my way I passed through the bivouac of the Spanish army which
blockaded Pamplona, and there beheld a most sublime spectacle--it was
the celebration of their religious rites, the mass, in the open air,
close to a ruined house. It was now sunrise, and the hour with the
circumstances of the time, gave the uncovered and kneeling soldiery a
most interesting appearance. The priest was a bald and reverend looking
man, and his sacerdotal robes made him look like a patriarch. I stopped
in a reverie of admiration--out of which, however, I was roused in a
few minutes by the sound of distant firing on the heights; so I left
the Spaniards to their prayers, and galloped on towards where there was
something going on, which to me was far more interesting.
In about ten minutes more I was upon the mountain where our division
was drawn up: they had not yet fired a shot, nor seen a Frenchman,
but expected every moment to be engaged. The scene of action here, is
to be imagined by the reader placing himself ideally on the top of a
bold hill, or moderately sized mountain; in front, and on each side,
are similar hills or mountains--some smaller--some greater; far in the
front the higher Pyrenees; and, behind, the wide plain, on which stands
Pamplona. Over this scene let him then throw the most picturesque
foliage--a village or two in the distant valleys--the ground spread
with heath and furze: thus he will have the view of where the gallant
battle of the Pyrenees was gained, after four days of terrible
contest. The fight here was very different from a fight on a plain:
in this it was a continual attempt on the part of Soult, with all the
force he could collect, to pass the hills, for the relief of Pamplona,
and as continual a resistance on the part of the allies--hill after
hill was attacked and defended with the most heroic energy on both
sides. But our people performed a still more glorious and prodigious
task; for not only did they defend their own position, but attacked
Soult’s, which was stronger than their’s; and thus for the second time
during the campaign, made a wreck of the French army!
Soult was determined to pass to Pamplona if possible; he therefore
brought all his power to the point: even his unfledged conscripts
were not excused--boys of fifteen, in white undress, unable to use
the bayonet; these he posted where they could pull their triggers
without being exposed to a charge from our steel, while his veterans
were employed in more dangerous situations. Before the attack, Soult
in person appeared amongst them at the front, pointed towards the
invested town, and offered every man a certain reward in cash, as soon
as they passed the few hills before them, and relieved their blockaded
countrymen. All this could not suffice; and the best General of
France, with a powerful army, could not push over a quarter of a mile
of ground, while the British defended it! nor although aware of the
Duke of Wellington’s intention of invasion, could they keep him from
pursuing them across their own frontiers! On this battle depended the
fate of the Peninsula--perhaps of Europe:--the trust fell into worthy
hands, and they did their duty.
In about half an hour after I joined the division, a hill in front and
on our right, defended by Portuguese, was attacked; the latter received
the French with a volley, and then, shouting, advanced down the hill
with the bayonet: a cheer from our men involuntarily burst out, and
the French rolled and ran, pursued about a hundred yards. The hill
was of great importance to us, and very desirable to the enemy: this
was the first attack upon it, and having failed, reinforcements were
preparing to accomplish its conquest:--we could see several columns
of the enemy moving down from another mountain towards it; but this
was provided for by our chief, who reinforced the gallant Portuguese
by the 48th British regiment, and a regiment of Spaniards. Here then
was the hardest fighting for two days--the 27th and 28th; attacks were
repeatedly made upon this point, in the most able manner by the French,
and as often defeated. Soult and Wellington were both placed within
sight of each other, upon the tops of hills, anxiously observing this
terrible strife at various times; and the anxiety of the former could
be seen plainly in all his attitudes. During this time several other
points were assailed, gained and lost: it was up hill at one moment,
and down the next; and considering that those hills were so steep at
some places, that I was nearly breathless in mounting one, besides a
hot sun blazing over us, it is to be wondered how such prodigies of
valour were accomplished. I do not know why, but certain it is, that
our men usually did more execution when charging up a hill than down;
there seemed to be a greater energy about them in overcoming their
difficulties, and perhaps a desire of revenge for the advantage their
enemy seemed to take of them in firing down at them as they advanced.
As an instance of this, I will mention the following fact:--When our
troops were passing the Bidassoa, the firing from a bold height on
the French bank of the river galled them very much; the water was up
to the middle of their bodies, and the men were obliged to hold their
muskets over their heads to keep them dry: many fell; others, wounded,
continued to cross the ford; the hill in front was to be mounted and
taken by those troops in the water, and a strong force was defending
it. The men became outrageous as they looked up at the muskets of
their enemies pointed at them; and frequent oaths and imprecations
plainly showed that they would seek satisfaction when they crossed
the river.--“_Oh! by J----! we’ll give it to you by and by, you
French beggars. D----your eyes, we’ll sarve you out_,” &c. &c. Such
expressions as these were heard from every man, and when arrived on the
other side of the river, scarcely a moment passed till they were up on
the heights--stabbing, butting, and flinging over the rocks the bodies
of their enemies. The height was gained, and on the top of it they
gave three cheers, which made Fontarabia ring. But--to the narrative.
During the 27th and 28th, the contest produced nothing decisive,
except that Soult could not gain his point, and the whole line of
hills were at one time or other the scene of active operation--cannon,
musketry, and bayonet, were all at work. On the 28th, the French made
a desperate attack on the 6th division, which had been sent by the
Duke of Wellington to occupy the heights on the left, across a valley
near Orican: the moment this division appeared, the enemy advanced on
it, but was received in fine style--they got into a _cul de sac_; for
the fourth division on their left was so placed on hills as to effect
a most destructive fire on their flank, while they gave them their
vollies from a ridge upon their right, as well as in front, so that at
this point the French met with unequivocal defeat.
The third day closed in darkness, and the work of death ceased for a
time. The men were now so familiar with the carnage around that they
cared nothing about it: many laid themselves down beside dead comrades
and enemies mingled: all slept soundly on the mountain heath that
night--not even bestowing a thought upon whether they were to fight
next day or not; and when the bugle sounded and the drum beat next
morning, jumped up as fresh as if they had been at a review; then,
after eating their cold beef and biscuit, and swallowing a mouthful of
rum, were ready in their ranks to renew the scenes of the preceding
days--nay, anxious for the fight.
This was the day for glory. The Duke attacked Soult on the right and
left at once, which proving successful, he dashed at the centre. This
was now a change from defence to attack, and the enemy in a few hours
were driven from all their strong points, and retreated. Yet they
fought desperately: at one village alone--the first on the main road
from Pamplona to the pass of _Maia_--the British were driven back four
times; but took and held it on the fifth: the road here was covered
with dead of both sides, and well proved the valour with which both
fought, in that masterly victory which opened the barrier of France to
the allies--led the Portuguese and Spaniards to the glory of shouting
“Retribution” in their persecutor’s country--and once more passed the
ranks of heroes over the consecrated ground of Roncesvalles.
The whole of the road over which we pursued the retreating and broken
army, was covered with the wreck of its baggage and artillery--hundreds
of dead mules were lying about, having been killed with fatigue,
or hurled off the precipices along which the road sometimes
passed--waggons, guns, carriages, tumbrils, casks, medicine chests,
and dead men, were the objects that every where, like Rosamond’s clue,
marked the track of the devoted victims:--a sickening sight, which,
while engaged in the heat of pursuit, was viewed without emotion; but
when calm reflection took her seat in the soldier’s mind, was not to be
contemplated by him without unenviable feelings.
On this march nothing remarkable occurred in the part of the army where
I was stationed. The siege of San Sebastian was begun by Sir Thomas
Graham, while the front of our main force occupied the border line of
France on the Bidassoa. The two contending armies remained in sight of
each other--Soult fortifying the frontier of his threatened country,
and Wellington refreshing his victorious troops until after the fall of
San Sebastian. All this time the Duke’s head-quarters were at Lesacco,
in the mountains, a town about four leagues south of Passages; and
these four leagues, I may say, with a little allowance--was up _one_
side of a mountain and down the other,--a wretched town; and perhaps
never before had it to boast of the domicile of so many heroes--such
glittering nobility. Here, for the greatest part of a rainy and raw
winter, the indefatigable Commander of the Forces fixed his quarters;
and here I have seen him working with an energy which often threatened
his life. He rode so much one week, that he was confined for several
succeeding days to his bed; and I have seen his fifteen valuable
English chargers led out by the groom to exercise, with scarcely any
flesh on their bones--so active and vigilant was their noble rider,
and so much were his horses used. Every day during the siege of San
Sebastian, I saw the Duke, unattended by his staff, riding by my
window, in a narrow street of Renteria, on his way to the besieged
fortress, accompanied by an old artillery or engineer officer,--I
believe Sir R. Fletcher,[6]--and dressed in a plain grey frock, white
cravat, and cocked hat--evidently intent on the matters of the siege;
this was upwards of thirty miles a day for a _ride_, between breakfast
and dinner; but he has often rode double that distance, over the worst
of roads and in the worst of weather.
The siege of San Sebastian was the next important operation of the
Allied Army. This was entrusted to Sir Thomas Graham, under the eye of
the Duke of Wellington. From being quartered at Renteria, for three
weeks previous to the capture of that fortress, I had an opportunity
of witnessing the whole affair; and scarcely a day passed without my
visiting the works before it: but from the commencement of the siege
up to the battering down of the walls, nothing took place to require
a particular notice, beyond the description I have given of the
siege of Flushing, in another part of this work: generally speaking,
the operations were similarly conducted. The storming of the town,
however, was a scene in the campaign of which I write, which ought not
to be passed over unnoticed. As I beheld, so will I describe it; and so
mighty an achievement as the capture of this town was, I would be happy
to hear described by every individual who was engaged in it; for each
would tell what he had seen; which, although all generally the same,
would be different in particulars, and therefore, like Mosaic work,
form a picture of the highest value. We have had several descriptions
of the storming of San Sebastian, amongst which that given by the
author of “_The Subaltern_,” (a deservedly popular work) is by far the
best, and, with but few exceptions, correctly true--at least those
exceptions are at variance with what I recollect of the affair. The
author of “_The Subaltern_” describes what he saw, as a _stormer_ of
the town; I can only speak as a spectator: both our remarks, therefore,
may be taken as separate parts of the same picture.
San Sebastian is situated at the foot of a high rock, upon the top
of which is a fortified castle; the town surrounds this rock, and
is backed by the open sea. A river runs in front of the town, into
which the sea flows; but at low water it is fordable; and its banks of
yellow sand appear to our right--imagining us fronting the town. On
first beholding San Sebastian, one supposes it is situated on a little
island; but on closer approach, it is seen connected by a neck of land,
which at high water is very narrow; and on this neck, which is an
island at high water, is a fort mounting three or four guns:--but the
best way to proceed in the description, I think, is to place my reader
in the position which I took up myself at the battering and storming of
the town.