it, and whose side, next the town, is nearly perpendicular, was a
mortar battery:--here must the reader stand. About half a mile in his
front and a little to his left, stands San Sebastian around its high
rock and castle--its walls watered by the Gurumea stream, and relieved
in the distance by the wide blue waters of the Bay of Biscay. To the
left of the town he will see several picturesque hills, lessening
away into the horizon, while to his right he will behold the Bay of
Biscay washing the feet of the Pyrenees. Immediately under him, a
little to the left, are situated the British batteries and trenches,
on a tolerably level ground, and flanked on the other side by several
hills, upon the most forward of which stood the chief of the siege, Sir
Thomas Graham;[7]--these, for the most part, covered with apple-trees.
Behind all this is a beautifully picturesque and hilly country--the
Lake of Leso may be seen, like a patch of shining glass, in the midst
of foliage and fertile fields--an occasional farm-house shows itself
in the valleys and on the brows of the hills--while the background is
formed by the gigantic mountains of the Pyreenees. I can only compare
the position which I have now pointed out to my readers, to the highest
seat of an amphitheatre, at the bottom of which lies the exhibition
for his eye:--the batteries,--the river,--the town,--the encamped
army,--all were below; and over the whole I could gaze as on the Thames
from the towers of Windsor,--the yellow verging sands of Dublin Bay
from Killiny Hill,--or Edinboro’ from the Calton.
On the night of the 26th, the fort between the town and our lines was
carried by assault, and its defenders taken prisoners. This was done by
a detachment of infantry, assisted by a few marines and sailors: little
work was made about this affair, and the garrison, it is supposed, were
not aware of it until daylight. On the morning of the 27th, the signal
was made to open the fire upon the town; and I can only remember it by
having been awakened out of a sound sleep, at three miles’ distance
from San Sebastian, by the tremendous roar of the cannon. The batteries
continued to play upon the town almost incessantly, for nearly four
days and nights,--the cannon at the front wall, for the purpose of
effecting a breach--the mortars at the ramparts and the houses. The
French returned the fire from both the Castle and walls with great
rapidity--their shells were thrown in every direction; but this
vigorous return was soon over; for, on the second day of the cannonade,
their guns on the walls were silenced; so they contented themselves
with throwing a few shells and an occasional shot from the Castle upon
the troops in our trenches, whose well-directed muskets were annoying
the enemy whenever they appeared on the walls.
Observing the balls striking the wall at one point, first led the
beholders to suppose that no impression could possibly be made on the
massive and compact structure; for the perceptible effect was that a
little dust arose from the spot where each shot struck; and then the
ball dropped down, leaving no appearance whatever of an impression: but
continued firing first loosened a stone, then moved it, and ultimately
displaced it: when this was accomplished, it required very little more
to widen the breach to a sufficient extent for storming.
During the day-time the scene was awfully grand--but far more so at
night; and from the hill upon which I stood, it had the most terrible
aspect. Fancy yourself over the potteries of Staffordshire in a
balloon, when the face of the country is covered with fires; this may
be likened in some degree, to the trenches and ramparts--dark and flame
alternately mixed: then the roaring of the guns, more loud than a
thousand thunders; and the shells crossing each other, in their route
to destruction:--none could behold the scene without awe and horror!
The breach having been completed on the 30th, the storming party
prepared to enter; and on the 31st at about ten o’clock in the morning,
the forlorn hope, at the appointed time--which was the hour of
low-water--advanced from the trenches. I could see them plainly: one
followed the other rapidly into the stream, and boldly advanced--poor
fellows! a thousand balls were showered on them, and they dropped as
fast as they arrived at about the middle of the river--men followed
men, into the gulph of death--yet several arrived at the opposite bank:
on they went to the breach, followed by their comrades, and there
were knocked down by grape and bullets from the walls: but by rapidly
crowding over the heaped up dead, a mass of men succeeded in getting
on the breach: there they were stopped by balls and bayonets. At this
moment, a mine sprung outside the wall, and threw our advancing men
into confusion, killing several; but under the cover of the smoke
occasioned by it, many of the rear got up to the breach. Sir Thomas
Graham now ordered the heavy artillery to aim over the heads of our
men, so as to clear the ramparts of the opposing force, through the
embrasures: this was admirably done: I could see the balls striking
above them, and knocking stones and rubbish in upon the French, as well
as sweeping them away.--Every shot made my heart thrill with delight;
for the poor fellows, who were struggling to get into the breach,
against such fearful odds, were dropping every instant; but this
masterly experiment made immediate way for advance. There were several
Spanish females on the hill where I was, and the tears rolled down
their cheeks like rain, while this was going on; and many of the _men_
who beheld it could not refrain from weeping. The constant exclamations
from one to another, was, “Do you think they are likely to get in?--How
long they are on the breach!--God help them!--Brave fellows!”--Not
only the English present, but the Spanish, thus heartily felt for the
gallant soldiers who were standing on the threshold of death awaiting
destruction. At this moment, a column of Portuguese advanced boldly
out over the sand, on the right of the town, and exactly under the
battery in which I stood: they marched at ordinary time. As soon as
they appeared, the grape was showered in amongst them, and strewed the
yellow sands with the blue jackets; yet the column never broke, but
intrepidly marched into the river up to the arm-pits, and gained the
wall of the town; the water all around them, while passing, bubbling by
shot as if from large hail--so it appeared to me from the distance. The
Portuguese continued along the wall, and mounted the breach gallantly.
All this time, the breach was receiving a most destructive flanking
fire, from the projections of the walls on both sides--they kept up
a continual shower of bullets from the embrasures; fortunately now
a mine sprung on the ramparts by accident, and destroyed numbers of
the French: a dense black cloud of smoke arose from it: our artillery
was sweeping the ramparts, and at this juncture the surviving men
on the breach cleared their way into the town--advancing columns
followed fast--the batteries ceased--and the work of the British
bayonet began. The hearts of all who beheld the attack were now at
ease--the artillery men rested on their guns, and shook hands with each
other--all was quiet outside the town, but wild uproar and destruction
within. In about half an hour after this, we could see the French
mounting the rock inside the citadel, to shut themselves up in the
castle; then we felt convinced that the town was taken. The French
continued to fire upon their pursuers all the way up the hill, and we
could track them by the smoke of their guns.[8]
I went into the town through the breach, in the evening, and there
witnessed the true horrors of war; the soldiers were, for the most
part, half drunk--all were busy plundering and destroying: every thing
of value was ransacked--furniture thrown out of the windows--shops
rifled--packages of goods torn open and scattered about--the streets
close to the breach, as well as the breach itself, covered with dead
and wounded:--over these bodies, of necessity, I passed on my way.
As few women were in the town, the horrors attending the sex under
such circumstances were also few; and the attempt at ill-treating a
female on the day subsequent to the capture of the town, was summarily
punished by Lord Beresford on the spot. It was thus: although plunder
was nearly subdued on the day after entering San Sebastian, yet
stragglers were prowling about in spite of all efforts to prevent
further mischief: a woman was looking out of a window on the first
floor of a house, and I saw a drunken Portuguese soldier run into the
passage directly below where the woman was. Lord Beresford happened
to be walking a little before me in a plain blue coat and cocked hat,
accompanied by another officer: his Lordship saw the Portuguese running
into the house, and presently we heard the screams of a female--the
woman had gone from the window. Lord Beresford instantly followed the
Portuguese, and in a few minutes brought his senhorship down by the
collar; then with the flat of his sword gave the fellow that sort
of a drubbing which a powerful man, like his Lordship, is capable of
inflicting. Under the circumstances I thought it well bestowed, and far
better than trying him by court martial.
I understood that when the troops got into the town, the French
retreated behind their barricades in the streets, made with barrels
of sand and clay; from whence they fired at their pursuers, and when
driven from one, fled to the next, until they gained the Castle-hill.
It is thus the French generally fight against our troops--they take
every advantage of screening themselves from shot, and but on very few
occasions stand up man to man with the bayonet.
The town was dreadfully injured by shot, shell, and the destructive
fury of our troops:[9] but by no means so dilapidated as Flushing was.
A great number of the inhabitants had left San Sebastian previous to
its blockade, and the few respectable families who remained, fled to
the Castle along with the French.
For several days after the storming, soldiers and sailors were to be
seen strutting about the roads outside the town in masquerade--some in
silks and satins--others as pedlars selling their plunder to the people
who came from Passages to see the wreck of San Sebastian: the roads
were like a fair; and the humour of the Portuguese and our sailors
glossed over the horrors of the time with strange mirth. In general the
sailors were habited in old fashioned silk gowns and petticoats, put
on over their tarry jackets; while on a battered sail-cloth hat, Jack
sported a Spanish veil. The garrison in the Castle held out a week,
but at the end of that time surrendered: the number marched out was, I
believe, 1,800.
From the fall of San Sebastian, until the invasion of France in the
month following, nothing particular took place, and the army reposed in
the luxuriant valleys of Navarre. Here both officers and men enjoyed
themselves in quiet: they had plenty of provision--plenty of forage for
the horses--a profusion of fruit and excellent wine--the weather was
delightful, and the country the most picturesque on earth. However,
little more than a month passed over before the army crossed the
Bidassoa, driving the enemy from their frontier, and our successful
commander established his head quarters at _St. Jean de Luz_. I had
been quartered at Tafalia from a week after the siege until the fall of
Pamplona, and that being the only fortress to impede the operations of
the army--from its being occupied by the enemy--it is not unlikely that
its fall was the signal for the invasion of France.
On the surrender of Pamplona, the French garrison were permitted to
march out, with closed knapsacks. They were escorted by the Spaniards
through Tolosa to Passages for embarkation as prisoners of war; and,
unhappily for many of them, they found the difference between Spanish
and British foes on that miserable occasion.
It was cold weather when the garrison marched out: they were disarmed
of course. The French governor and several of the superior officers
were allowed to ride their own horses, and suffered nothing more
severe than mere insults from their escort, the Spaniards. Far
different was it with the men: every species of brutality was practised
against them short of open massacre. The road from Pamplona to Tolosa
is one of the widest and best in Spain, not very inferior to any in
Great Britain: it takes a course through valleys along the sides of an
immense mountain for a considerable way, and, frequently, over patches
of fertile country--the whole abounding in foliage. Occasional villages
present themselves at a few miles distant from each other, and now and
then a farm house or two opens upon the traveller’s view in some wild
spot.
I was on my route from Tafalia, in company with a brother officer; and
then returning to the front. We slept one night in a village within
a mile and a half of Pamplona, as one of our halting places; and
next day in passing the town we saw a considerable body of Spanish
troops--principally cavalry--drawn up; and, on enquiry, learnt that
they were waiting to receive the French garrison, which were then
about to march out as prisoners of war. In a few moments the French
appeared and were placed in column to proceed thus on their route
to Tolosa. We marched with them all that day, conversing with the
governor--a gentlemanly and pleasant officer--who expressed his fears
of ill treatment for his men, regretting that it was not by the English
that they were escorted. It came on to snow severely about four o’clock
in the afternoon, and promised a most miserable night to the poor
prisoners, as they had a full league farther to go before they could
get under cover; and they were far less able to bear fatigue than the
Spaniards who escorted them; for they had been half starved in the
garrison--provisions having been exhausted:--the governor declared that
they had all been subsisting for twelve days previous to surrender, on
four ounces _of horse flesh_ per day to each man, and that the horses
killed for that purpose were the private property of the officers.
We rode along with the column until dark, when we left it to take up
our quarter for the night at a farm-house, which we saw on the left,
in a valley, at the distance of about a quarter of a mile. Here we
passed the time pleasantly, having met with hospitable people who
accommodated us with what we wished. My friend had purchased a brace
of woodcocks in the village where we slept on the previous night, and
my servant was busy cooking them: while we sat at the fire along with
the farmer, his wife and three children, enjoying ourselves with a
glass of good Tafalia wine, about seven o’clock, a youth who was in
the employ of the farmer, lifted the latch, and entered, covered with
snow; his face was as white as his clothes, and he evidently laboured
under extreme terror. His master demanded what was the matter--in the
Basque language, which we did not understand, and which is the language
of the country people in that quarter: the boy, in the most apparently
incoherent manner, spoke for several minutes, shuddering as he spoke.
We supposed that he had encountered a mountain ghost in full costume;
but the master explained in Spanish the cause of his servant’s fright
to be nothing etherial. He said that the boy had been returning from
a neighbouring farmer’s house, and was crossing the main road in the
snow, when he stumbled over something, and fell; it was quite dark;
at first he thought it was a _Borachio_,[10] or a sack of corn that
thus tripped him, and put down his hand to it. He felt it warm, and
on closer examination found it to be a dead body quite naked, and
bleeding warm blood from the throat and breast, with which the boy’s
hands were covered. He ran towards a gap to get into the field which
led him towards his master’s, and in climbing up, his foot slipped by
occasion of the snow, and down he fell into the ditch upon another
dead, naked, and bleeding body! At first I was at a loss to account
for this extraordinary affair, but the Spaniard, who was a shrewd man,
soon awakened me to the cause. “They are French,” said he;--“French
prisoners killed by the soldiers of the escort, for their knapsacks
and clothes.” A shudder of horror passed through the nerves of both
my friend and myself. At first we thought of proceeding on after the
column, and to remonstrate with the Spanish Commanding-officer; but
a moment’s reflection showed us the uselessness as well as danger of
such an undertaking: we therefore contented ourselves with condemning
the dastard villany of the action, and in plans of preventing the like
outrages for the remainder of the march.
The next morning we mounted our horses a little after daylight, and
proceeded to the main road in order to pursue our route to Tolosa, and
there the scene which opened upon us was one of the most heart-sinking
nature: at least thirty bodies were scattered along the road, for
the distance of about two miles; most of them stabbed in the breast,
side, and abdomen--others with their throats cut; and some who had not
died of their wounds were gasping in death, hastened by the extreme
inclemency of the weather to which they had been exposed the whole
of the night--and all completely naked! We stopped with one young
man who could just speak a little; I put my canteen to his lips, and
he swallowed a mouthful of brandy, which for a moment lighted up the
expiring spark of life. The suffering victim told us that the Spanish
soldiers stabbed him in the breast when it became quite dark. He said
that happening to be on the flank of the column, and being a little
tired and weak, he straggled out from it a moment, when one of the
Spaniards dragged him into the ditch and plunged his steel into his
body; then took off his knapsack and clothes, leaving him naked as he
was, exposed all night to the snow and sleet. We threw our blankets
down, and lifted him upon them--the blood gushed out afresh from his
side. We immediately commenced to carry him back to the house we had
slept in the preceding night; but before we had gone many yards with
the unhappy soldier, he died.
We lost no time in proceeding onwards to overtake the column, and we
came up with it in about two hours. The poor jaded prisoners looked
at us as if they thought we could protect them from their abominable
persecutors, and many of them begged our interference, and corroborated
what the dying soldier told us. We heard the same melancholy complaint
from the French commandant and his officers. He said he remonstrated
with the commanding-officer of the Spaniards, but was answered that
the men should keep close in the column, and then they would not be
exposed to the danger of being murdered! My friend and I immediately
rode up to the Spanish officer in command, and represented the horrid
scene which was acted on the preceding night; but instead of a humane
and soldier-like consideration of the report, he cooly observed that
_he_ did not see them doing it, and that the prisoners must be more
careful not to straggle. I asked him to investigate the matter, and
concluded by hoping that the horrors of the night before would not be
renewed that night. My friend added, that it was a disgrace to the
name of a nation to murder their prisoners thus. He said he could not
help it, and that these things must happen in spite of the officers.
We plainly saw that those men, who from their rank should have been
supposed to have known better, were indirectly as much of the base
assassin as the wretches they commanded: however, I believe they were
not the _regular_ troops of the line, but the militia of the province.
God forbid that all the Spanish army were such as this sample! For the
sake of human nature, I hope they were not. The Spaniards had certainly
suffered much from the French invading army; but nothing should have
operated so disgraceful a crime in them, as to murder the helpless
prisoners _entrusted to their protection_. The British soldiers, with
all their faults, never stained the name of their country with conduct
like this: they have pilfered--they have plundered--they have rioted
in drunkenness and debauchery; but they never _struck a prostrate
foe_: they were the most formidable enemies to the French in Spain;
but they were the first to whom the fallen of that nation looked to
for protection--and not in _vain_--except in one _grand instance_ * *
* But in this, thank Heaven! the _Nation_, although bearing the blame,
_unjustly bears it_; for _it was the act of its evil director, and
wholly unsanctioned by the hearts of its people_.
We obtained a sort of promise, however, from the Spanish officers,
not again to allow such conduct as disgraced the preceding night;
and having cautioned the French in the rear to keep close together,
we went to our quarters in a little village, with some hopes that
the murderers would not again go to their infernal work; but we were
disappointed; for next morning the front room of the cottage in which
we passed the night, was filled with Spanish soldiers at day-break,
(for it happened to be a sort of wine-house,) and every one of them
had a knapsack or two which they took from the French on the preceding
evening: and no doubt for every knapsack which we counted, there was
a murdered prisoner. We were horror-struck when we beheld them, and
spoke in very decided terms of the brutality of the soldiers; but they
only replied by recommending the English officers to mind their own
men, and let Spaniards do as they liked!--nay, they made no secret
of their atrocity, but boasted to each other of the manner in which
they selected the prisoners who carried the largest knapsacks, and of
the celerity with which they detached them from their comrades and
slaughtered them. These wretches held a sort of fair or market in front
of this cottage, selling the clothes and contents of the plundered
knapsacks to the peasants of the village.
This proved to be the last day of slaughter for the poor unhappy
prisoners; for they arrived at Tolosa that evening by four o’clock,
and their further march was only to Passages (one day’s march) where
they were to embark. My friend and I, however, to guard against further
outrage, reported the affair to the Spanish authorities at Tolosa,
who, although promising to effectually prevent a recurrence, _excused_
the murderers by saying, “that they had not received a shilling pay for
two years; and this,” said they, “is owing to these infernal French.”
There would have been some reason in this, if the murdered had been
the men who designed and moved the Spanish invasion; but these unhappy
prisoners were as much the victims of it as the Spaniards themselves.
I now proceeded to my quarters at _Urogne_, beyond the Bidassoa,
between _Fontarabia_ and _St. Jean de Luz_. From the appearance of the
town, the armies must have had severe fighting there: the houses were
all in ruins, and no inhabitants to be seen: here I remained until the
advance of the army to its ultimate conquest at Toulouse, which began
the winter’s campaign in France.--But, as the crossing of the Bidassoa,
properly speaking, was the end of the _Last Campaign in the Peninsula_,
I must with it conclude this sketch--on which I have already, perhaps,
dwelt too long.
NIGHTS IN THE GUARD-HOUSE.
No. V.
“Holloa! what is that, sentry?”
“They are firing on the hills, sir.”
Out ran Sergeant Dobson from the guard-house, and looked through the
dark towards the point from which he supposed the muskets had been
fired.
“They are at it, sure enough,” said he--“Pop!--there they go. Is that a
house o’ fire?”
“I think it is, sir,” replied the sentry.