ADVANCE OF LORD WELLINGTON TO THE SIERRA BUSACO—BATTLE OF
BUSACO—DISASTERS AT COIMBRA—MASSÉNA OUT-GENERALLED—TEMPTED BY A
BUNCH OF GRAPES—DINNER INTERRUPTED BY THE ENEMY—LINES OF TORRES
VEDRAS—GALLANT FIGHT AT BAROSSA—BADAJOS BETRAYED TO THE
FRENCH—RETREAT OF MASSÉNA FROM TORRES VEDRAS.
The captain of the company in which I served being in want of a servant,
I had the honour of being engaged in that capacity. My place, however,
was no sinecure, and often amounted to a rather dangerous distinction.
The duties enjoined were heavy, and contributed not a little to increase
the severity of general military service. When my master dismounted from
his horse, I had to hold the animal, or lead him by the bridle along
roads through which it was difficult to drag myself; and the horse,
chafed by rough usage and deficient feed, was frequently so restive that
my employment was both irksome and laborious. This horse became an
eventual favourite. Having been placed for a short time at large, he
thought proper to escape, and accordingly scoured away over hill and
dale, with the saddle and accoutrements of his master, including a pair
of pistols in the holster and change of clothing behind. He was observed
by a party of French, who tried to secure him, but, strange to say, he
was determined they should not. By a kind of instinct, to me an entire
enigma, the horse chose the road in which he apparently knew his old
associates were to follow; and when we had crossed the bridge, to my
surprise, he was there beforehand, and waiting our arrival. A rare and
unpleasant circumstance took place here. The discipline and good order
of the 43rd were proverbial. The matter was therefore so much the more
vexatious. Being placed for a brief period in the vicinity of a village,
the landlady of a Spanish house of entertainment had broached a puncheon
of wine, which she retailed at a stipulated price. One of our men, with
more wit than wisdom, got behind the cask unperceived by the lady, and
having pierced the hinder end with his bayonet, drew away both for
himself and friends. In an evil hour the unlucky wight was detected, and
next morning was punished in presence of the regiment. That the man did
wrong, is clear; but being a good soldier, and of an excellent temper
withal, the event excited great regret, and the humiliating spectacle
was witnessed with reluctance.
One day a bullock was killed for our use, and afforded a luxurious
repast; but we were obliged to make haste about it. Scarcely had we
finished a hasty meal, when the advance of the enemy was announced. The
men were unwilling to lose even a fragment of viands so scarce; and
several were afterwards observed collecting bundles of the long dry
grass and making a fire, over which they frizzled pieces of meat,
impaled on the end of a ramrod. The hardships we endured in the
prosecution of this retreat were increasingly severe. Personal comforts
were out of the question. No change of linen could be procured, and as
to a pair of stockings, the luxury was not to be thought of. As mine
were worn to tatters, I contented myself without a new supply. Snatches
of broken slumber were all we could obtain, though, ready to stumble
with weariness. The physical energies both of myself and comrades have,
since that period, often appeared wonderful, even to myself. Many a time
I have marched eight or ten miles on the nourishment afforded by a
little water; and even then, with a pipe and good company, we talked
away dull care, and were able with three cheers to face about, and with
a determined volley warn away the following foe. We were much hurt by
exposure to extremes. After the exhaustion arising from a forced march,
pursued for hours, during the meridian heat of this burning climate, we
lay down to rest for the night; and on the following morning such was
the copiousness of the fallen dew, that our blankets appeared as if
dipped in water. Rising from the ground in such a condition, it will be
easily imagined that our sensations were not of an enviable cast. Even
then I thought of my native land; of its rivers and vales, all so
peaceful and beauteous, and they arose fairer than ever. And I thought
of my mother, who so often had cared and watched for me! But these
meditations were dismissed. Had they been long indulged, my heart would
have melted within me; and the time was at hand when the sterner
faculties were likely to be tried to the uttermost.
A sad disaster happened at this period. Almeida was besieged by Masséna
in person, at the head of a powerful army. The place, though regularly
constructed with six bastions, ravelines, an excellent ditch and covered
way, was extremely defective. With the exception of some damp casemates
in one of the bastions, there was no magazine for the powder. The
garrison consisted of about four thousand men. On the 18th of July the
trenches were begun, and on the morning of the 26th, the second parallel
being commenced, sixty-five pieces of artillery, mounted on ten
batteries, threw in their fire. Many houses were soon in flames, and the
garrison was unable to extinguish them; the counter fire was, however,
briskly maintained, little military damage was sustained, and towards
evening the cannonade slackened on both sides; but just after dark, the
ground suddenly trembled, the castle burst into a thousand pieces, and
gave vent to a column of smoke and fire. Presently the whole town sank
into a shapeless mass of ruin. Treason or accident had caused the
magazine to explode, and the devastation was incredible. Five hundred
persons were struck dead on the instant; only six houses remained
standing; and the surviving garrison, aghast at the terrible commotion,
disregarded all exhortations to rally. An immediate surrender was the
necessary result.
The invasion of Portugal by the French now assumed a most serious
aspect. Masséna’s command extended from the banks of the Tagus to the
Bay of Biscay, and the number of his troops exceeded a hundred and ten
thousand men. The view was discouraging, and was so felt by the British
ministry at home. Masséna could bring sixty thousand veterans into the
field, while the British force was scarcely fifty thousand, more than
half of which consisted of untried men. The Sierra Busaco was the place
on which Lord Wellington fixed for his position. A succession of
ascending ridges lead to this mountain, which is separated from the last
by a chasm so profound, that the unassisted eye could hardly distinguish
the movement of troops in the bottom. When this formidable position was
chosen, some officers expressed their fears that Masséna would not
assail it. ‘But if he do, I shall beat him,’ was the reply of the
English leader, who was well assured that the prince would attack.
Masséna was in fact anxious for a battle, and indulged in a vision in
which he beheld the allies fly before his face.
On the 22nd of September we fell back exactly a league, and encamped in
a pine wood. One night there happened among us an extraordinary panic,
for which none of us, either then or since, could assign any reasonable
cause. No enemy was near, nor was any alarm given, yet suddenly large
bodies of the troops started from sleep, as if seized with a frenzy, and
dispersed in every direction; some climbed the trees, they knew not why;
nor was there any possibility of allaying this strange terror, until
some person called out that the enemy’s cavalry were among them, when
the soldiers mechanically fell into something like order, and the
illusion instantly vanished. On the 25th the enemy’s cavalry were seen
gathering in front, and the heads of the three infantry columns were
visible on the tableland above Mortagas, coming on abreast, and at a
most impetuous pace; while heavy clouds of dust, rising and loading the
atmosphere for miles behind, showed that the whole French army was in
full march to attack. The cavalry skirmishers were already exchanging
pistol shots, when Lord Wellington, suddenly arriving, ordered the
division to retire, and, taking the personal direction, covered the
retreat with the 52nd and other troops. Nor was there a moment to lose;
the enemy with great rapidity brought up both infantry and guns, and
fell on so briskly, that all the skill of the general and the readiness
of the rearguard, where I was placed, could scarcely prevent the
division from being seriously engaged. Before three o’clock, forty
thousand French infantry were in position on the two points, and the
sharp musketry of the skirmishers arose from the gloomy chasms beneath.
The allies had now taken their stand; and along the whole of their front
skirmishers were thrown out on the mountain side, and about fifty pieces
of artillery disposed upon the salient points. In the evening, in order
to facilitate the approaching attack, the light French troops were
observed stealing by twos and threes into the lowest parts of the
valley, endeavouring to make their way up the wooded dells and hollows,
and to establish themselves unseen close to the piquets of the light
division. Some companies of rifle corps and cacadores checked this; but
similar attempts made with more or less success at different points of
the position seemed to indicate a night attack, and excited all the
vigilance of the troops. Had it not been so, none but veterans tired of
war could have slept. The weather was calm and fine, and the dark
mountain masses rising on either side were crowned with innumerable
watch-fires, around which more than a hundred thousand brave men were
gathered.
The attack began on the following morning before day-break. Three
columns were led by Ney and two by Reynier, the points being about three
miles asunder. The resistance was spirited, and six guns played along
the slope with grape; but in less than half an hour the French were
close upon the summit, so swiftly did they scale the mountain,
overthrowing everything that opposed their progress. The leading
battalions immediately established themselves upon the higher rocks, and
a confused mass wheeled to the right, intending to sweep the summit of
the sierra; but at that moment Lord Wellington directed two guns to open
with grape upon their flank, while a heavy musketry was poured into
their front; and in a little time the 45th and 88th regiments charged so
furiously that even fresh men could not have withstood them. The French,
quite spent with their previous exertion, opened a straggling fire, and
both parties, mingling together, went down the mountain side with mighty
clamour and confusion; the dead and dying strewing the way, even to the
bottom of the valley. Meanwhile the French who had first gained the
summit had reformed their ranks, with the right resting upon a precipice
overhanging the reverse side of the sierra; and thus the position was in
fact gained, if any reserve had been at hand; but just then General
Leith, who saw what had taken place, came on rapidly. Keeping the Royals
in reserve, he directed the 38th to turn the right of the French; but
the precipice prevented this; and meanwhile Colonel Cameron, informed by
a staff officer of the critical state of affairs, formed the 9th
regiment in line under a violent fire, and without returning a single
shot ran in upon and drove the Grenadiers from the rocks with
irresistible bravery and yet with excellent discipline; refraining from
pursuit, lest the crest of the position should be again lost, for the
mountain was so rugged that it was impossible to judge clearly of the
general state of the action.
On that side, however, the victory was secure. Ney’s attack was equally
unsuccessful. From the abutment of the mountain on which the light
division was placed, the lower parts of the valley could be discerned.
The tableland was sufficiently hollow to conceal the 43rd and 52nd
regiments, drawn up in a line; and a quarter of a mile behind them, but
on higher ground, and close to the convent, a brigade of German infantry
appeared to be the only solid line of resistance on this part of the
position. In front of the two British regiments, some rocks overhanging
the descent furnished natural embrasures, in which the guns of the
division were placed, and the whole face of the hill was planted with
the skirmishers of the rifle corps and of the two Portuguese cacadore
battalions. While it was yet dark, on listening attentively, we heard a
straggling musketry in the deep hollows separating the armies; and when
the light broke, the three divisions of the 6th corps were observed
entering the woods below, and throwing forward a profusion of
skirmishers soon afterwards. The French ascended with wonderful
cheerfulness, and though the light troops plied them unceasingly with
musketry, and the artillery bullets swept through their ranks, the order
of advance was never disturbed. Ross’ guns were worked with incredible
swiftness, yet their range was contracted every round, and the enemy’s
shot came singing up in a sharper key, until the skirmishers, breathless
and begrimed with powder, rushed over the edge of the ascent, when the
artillery suddenly drew back, and the victorious cries of the French
were heard within a few yards of the summit. Crauford, who, standing
alone on one of the rocks, had been intently watching the progress of
the attack, then turned and in a quick, shrill tone desired the two
regiments in reserve to charge. The next moment eighteen hundred British
bayonets went over the hill. Our shouts startled the French column; and
yet so truly brave were the hostile leaders, that each man of the first
section raised his musket, and two officers and ten men fell before
them, so unerring was their aim. They could do no more; we were on them
with resistless impetuosity. The head of their column was violently
overturned, and driven upon the rear; both flanks were lapped over by
our wings; and three terrible discharges at five yards’ distance
completed the rout. In a few minutes a long line of carcases and broken
arms indicated the line of retreat. The main body of the British stood
fast, but several companies followed in pursuit down the mountain.
Before two o’clock, Crauford having assented to a momentary truce,
parties of both armies were mixed amicably together, searching for the
wounded men. Towards evening, however, a French company having
impudently seized a village within half musket-shot of our division, and
refusing to retire, it so incensed Crauford, that, turning twelve guns
on the village, he overwhelmed it with bullets for half an hour. A
company of the 43rd was then sent down, who cleared the place in a few
minutes.
[Illustration: BATTLE OF BUSACO.]
An affecting incident, contrasting strongly with the savage character of
the preceding events, added to the interest of the day. A poor orphan
Portuguese girl, about seventeen years of age and very handsome, was
seen coming down the mountain, and driving an ass loaded with all her
property through the midst of the French army. She had abandoned her
dwelling in obedience to the proclamation; and now passed over the field
of battle with simplicity which told she was unconscious of her perilous
situation, and scarcely understanding which were the hostile and which
the friendly troops, for no man on either side was so brutal as to
molest her. In this Battle of Busaco, the French after astonishing acts
of valour, were repulsed. General Graind’orge, and about eight hundred
men were slain, besides nearly five thousand wounded; while the loss of
the allies did not exceed thirteen hundred. After this trial, Masséna
judged the position of Busaco impregnable, and to turn it by the Mondego
impossible, as the allies could pass that river quicker than himself.
But a peasant informed him of the road leading from Mortagas to Boyalva,
and he resolved to turn Lord Wellington’s left. To cover this movement
the skirmishing was renewed with such vigour on the 28th, that many
thought a general battle would take place; and yet the disappearance of
baggage and the throwing up of intrenchments on the hill covering the
roads to Mortagas indicated some other design. It was not till evening,
when the enemy’s masses in front being sensibly diminished, and his
cavalry descried winding over the distant mountains, that the project
became quite apparent.
On the 1st of October our outposts were attacked; but the French, on
entering the plain of Coimbra, suffered some loss from a cannonade; and
the British cavalry were drawn up in line, but with no serious intention
of fighting, and were soon after withdrawn across the Mondego. The light
division then marched hastily to gain the defiles of Condeixa, which
commences at the end of the bridge. At this juncture all the inhabitants
of the place rushed simultaneously out, who had not before quitted the
place, each with what could be caught up in the hand, and driving before
them a number of animals loaded with sick people or children. At the
entrance to the bridge the press was so great that the troops halted for
a few moments, just under the prison. The jailer had fled with the keys;
the prisoners, crowding to the windows, were endeavouring to tear down
the bars with their hands, and even with their teeth; some were shouting
in the most frantic manner, while the bitter lamentations of the
multitude increased, and the pistol-shots of the cavalry, engaged at the
fords below, were distinctly heard. Captain William Campbell burst the
prison doors, and released the wretched inmates, while the troops forced
their way over the bridge; yet at the other end, the uphill road,
passing between high rocks, was so crowded, that no effort, even of the
artillery, could make way. At last some of the infantry opened a passage
on the right flank, and by great exertions the road was cleared for the
guns; but it was not until after dusk that the division reached
Condeixa, although the distance was less than eight miles. Hitherto the
marches had been easy, the weather fine, and provisions abundant;
nevertheless, the usual mischievous disorders of a retreat had shown
themselves. In Coimbra, a quantity of harness and intrenching tools lay
scattered in the streets; at Leiria, the magazines were plundered by the
troops and camp followers; and at Condeixa a magazine of tents, shoes,
spirits, and salt meat was destroyed or abandoned to the enemy; and the
streets were flowing ankle-deep with wasted rum, while the Portuguese
division, only a quarter of a mile distant, could receive only half the
usual supply of liquor.
It is with some regret I reflect, that at this period, though exposed to
dangers so imminent, I was carried away in some degree with the torrent
of prevailing dissipation. Not that during any period of my active
service I ever suffered the pleasure of conviviality, so called, to
interfere with my duty. I was indeed often astonished to notice the
reckless gaiety of my companions in arms, many of whom would crowd
around the evening card-table, though aware that by dawn of day they
might be engaged in mortal combat. In the midst of examples so
contaminating, certain principles of morality, aided perhaps by a little
natural gravity, were never totally subverted; and, under the blessing
of God, preserved me from the grosser vices. Had I been favoured with an
able and enlightened Christian teacher, it is probable, even then, that
my mind might have received the light of Gospel truth. Insensible and
ungrateful indeed I must have been not to have perceived and felt the
mercies of Divine Providence; for during the entire period of my active
service, though exposed to perils almost unnumbered, I was, not only
preserved alive, but had been exempted from sickness, and therefore
able, without a single exception, to maintain my place in the division.
Masséna resumed his march on the 4th. Leaving his sick and wounded with
a slender guard at Coimbra, amounting altogether to four thousand seven
hundred men, he resumed his march by Condeixa and Leiria. His hospital
was established at the convent of Santa Clara, on the left bank of the
river; and all the inhabitants who were unable to reach the lines came
down from their hiding-places in the mountains. But scarcely had the
prince left the city, when Trant, Miller, and Wilson, with nearly ten
thousand militia, closed upon his rear, occupying the sierras on both
sides the Mondego, and cutting off all communication with Almeida. The
English army retreated; the right by Thomar and Santarem, the centre by
Batalha and Rio Mayor, the left by Olobaca and Obidos; and at the same
time a native force under Colonel Blunt was thrown into Peniché. Masséna
followed in one column, by the way of Rio Mayor; but meanwhile a capital
exploit, performed by a partisan officer, convicted the prince of bad
generalship, and shook his plan of invasion to the base. Colonel Trant
reached Milheada, and, believing that his arrival was unknown at
Coimbra, he resolved to attack the French in that city. Having surprised
a small post at Fornos, early in the morning of the 7th he sent his
cavalry at full gallop through the streets of Coimbra, with orders to
pass the bridge and cut off all communications with the French army.
Meantime, his infantry penetrated at different points into the principal
parts of the town; and the enemy, astounded, made little or no
resistance. The convent of St. Clara surrendered at discretion; and
thus, on the third day after the Prince of Essling had quitted the
Mondego, his depôts and hospitals, with nearly five thousand prisoners,
wounded and unwounded, among which there was a company of the marines of
the Imperial Guard, fell into the hands of a small militia force.
But Crauford, who had reached Alemguer on the 9th, was still there at
three o’clock on the afternoon of the 10th. The weather being stormy, we
were placed under cover, and no indication of marching was given. The
cavalry had already filed into the lines; yet no guards were posted, no
patrols sent forward, nor any precautions taken against surprise,
although the town, situated in a deep ravine, was peculiarly favourable
for such an attempt. It was clear to me and others that our officers
were uneasy at this posture of affairs; the height in front was
anxiously watched, and about four o’clock some French dragoons on the
summit were observed. The alarm was given, and the regiments got under
arms; but the posts of assembly had been marked on an open space very
much exposed, and from whence the road led through an ancient gateway to
the top of the mountain behind. The enemy’s numbers increased every
moment, and they endeavoured to create a belief that their artillery was
come up: this feint was easily seen through, but the general desired the
regiments to break, and reform on the other side of the archway, out of
gun-range; and immediately all was disorder. The baggage animals were
still loading, the streets were crowded with the followers of the
division, and the whole in one confused mass rushed or were driven
headlong to the archway. Several were crushed, and with worse troops
general panic must have ensued; but the greater number of the soldiers,
ashamed of the order, stood firm in their ranks until the confusion
abated. Nevertheless the mischief was sufficiently great; and the
enemy’s infantry, descending the heights, endeavoured, some to turn the
town on the left, while others pushed directly through the streets in
pursuit; and thus, with our front in disorder and our rear skirmishing,
the retreat was commenced. The weather was, however, so boisterous that
the firing soon ceased, and a few wounded, with the loss of some
baggage, was all the hurt sustained. I was on this occasion on the verge
of considerable personal danger. Having been ordered by an officer to
procure forage for his horse, I incautiously ventured too near the
enemy; and being further tempted by some clusters of fine grapes,
accidentally noticed, I remained some little time to discuss them. On a
sudden I found that the last column of the British was out of sight,
while imperceptibly to myself the advanced horsemen of the French had
nearly hemmed me in. Fully aware of my danger, which I felt conscious
had been increased by my agreeable but untimely repast, I was aroused to
instant exertion, and was happy enough to elude the surrounding scouts
and reach my division. Having, however, exceeded my commission, by
taking care of myself as well as the horse, and exposed both to extreme
jeopardy, I was glad to resign the animal to its owner, and resume my
musket and place in the ranks without notice; and had no objection to
perceive that my error had been unnoticed both by foes and friends.
The captain of the company in whose service I had engaged myself, like
many others, had not much time to spare. When an alarm was given of the
enemy’s approach, we were preparing for dinner. Three or four officers
messed together; and on that day another or two were expected, by way of
a small party. Culinary preparations on a moderate scale were going on,
and I had just opened the captain’s trunk, and taken out some
table-linen, when, lo! the well-known bugle sounded to arms. Aware that
something unexpected had happened, I ran upstairs, and on looking out at
a back window I saw the enemy on the brow of a mountain, a column of
whom were rapidly descending into the town. Coming down in haste, I
found the dinner ready; but there is many a slip between the cup and the
lip; and, reaching across the table, which was ready garnished, I swept
the whole—utensils, food, and all—into the orifice of a large
travelling-bag, and made my way with it into the street. Confusion and
disorder are terms too weak to describe the condition of the public
thoroughfare. This time, thought I, we shall be surely taken. The
captain clamoured for his horse; I was as urgent for a mule to carry the
baggage; every minute of delay seemed an hour. At length, by uncommon
effort, we cleared the town, and though the roads were bad, reached a
small village within the lines before midnight. I was billeted, with
several officers, in a gentleman’s house. It was well furnished; but I
regret to add, that in a few days most of the moveables were destroyed.
The proprietor, it would appear, had a presentiment of approaching
injury; for previous to our actual entrance on the premises, he and his
family had decamped.
I have already made some allusion to the lines of Torres Vedras, thrown
up for the defence of Lisbon by Lord Wellington. These lines consisted
of three distinct ranges of defence. The first, extending from Alhandra
on the Tagus to the mouth of the Zizandre on the sea-coast, was,
following the inflections of the hills, twenty-nine miles long. The
second, traced at a distance varying from six to ten miles in rear of
the first, stretched from Quintella, on the Tagus, to the mouth of the
St. Lorenzo, being twenty-four miles in length. The third, intended to
cover a forced embarkation, should it become necessary, extended from
Passo d’Arcos, on the Tagus, to the tower of Junquera, on the coast.
Here an outer line, constructed on an opening of three thousand yards,
enclosed an entrenched camp, designed to cover the embarkation with
fewer troops, should the operation be delayed by bad weather; and within
this second camp, Fort St. Julian’s, whose high ramparts and deep
ditches defied an escalade, was armed and strengthened to enable a
rearguard to protect both itself and the army. Of these stupendous
lines, the second, whether regarded for its strength or importance, was
the principal, and the others only appendages; the one as a final place
of refuge, the other as an advanced work to stem the violence of the
enemy, and to enable the army to take up its ground on the second line
without hurry or pressure. The aim and scope of all the works were to
bar those passes, and to strengthen the favourable fighting positions
between them, without impeding the movements of the army. The
fortifications extended to the space of fifty miles; there were one
hundred and fifty forts, and not fewer than six hundred pieces of
artillery mounted within them, while the river was protected by gunboats
manned with British marines.
Masséna was astonished at the extent and strength of works, the
existence of which had only become known to him five days before he came
upon them. He employed several days in examining their nature, and was
as much at a loss at the end of his inspection as at the beginning. The
heights of Alhandra he judged unattackable; but the valleys of Calandrix
and Aruda attracted his attention. There were here frequent skirmishes
with the light division to oblige Crauford to show his force; but by
making Aruda an advanced post, he rendered it impossible to discover his
true position without a serious affair; and in a short time the
division, with prodigious labour, secured the position in a manner which
was spoken of with admiration. Across the ravine on the left, a loose
stone wall, sixteen feet thick and forty feet high, was raised, and
across the great valley of Aruda a double line of abattis was drawn; not
composed, as is usual, of the limbs of trees, but of full-grown oaks and
chestnuts, dug up with all their roots and branches, dragged by main
force for several hundred yards, and then reset and crossed, so that no
human strength could break through. Breastworks at convenient distances
to defend this line of trees were then cast up; and along the summit of
the mountain, for the space of nearly three miles, including the salient
points, other stone walls, six feet high and four in thickness, with
banquettes, were built, so that a good defence might have been made
against the attacks of twenty thousand men.
The increased strength of the works in general soon convinced Masséna
that it was impracticable to force the lines without great
reinforcements; and towards the end of October the hospitals, stores,
and other encumbrances of the French army were removed to Santarem. On
the 31st of the month two thousand men forded the Zezere above Punheta,
to cover the construction of a bridge; and a remarkable exploit was
performed by a sergeant of the 16th Dragoons, named Baxter. This man,
having only five troopers, came suddenly upon a piquet of fifty men, who
were cooking. The Frenchmen ran to their arms, and killed one of the
dragoons; but the rest broke in amongst them so strongly, that Baxter
with the assistance of some countrymen made forty-two captives. On the
19th the light division entered the plain between the Rio Mayor and the
Tagus, and advanced against the heights by a sedgy marsh. The columns on
our side were formed for attack, and the skirmishers of the light
division were exchanging shots with the enemy, when it was found that
the guns belonging to Pack’s brigade had not arrived; and Lord
Wellington, not quite satisfied with the appearance of his adversary’s
force after three hours’ demonstrations, ordered the troops to retire to
their former ground. It was indeed evident that the French were resolved
to maintain their position. Every advantageous spot of ground was fully
occupied, the most advanced sentinels boldly returned the fire of the
skirmishers, large bodies of reserve were descried, some in arms, others
cooking; the strokes of the hatchet and the fall of trees resounded from
the woods upon the hills; and the commencement of a triple line of
abattis, and the fresh earth of entrenchments, were discernible in many
places. Our active light division was, however, again in motion. General
Crauford thought that the hostile troops who had shown themselves
amounted merely to a rearguard of the enemy. His eager spirit could not
bear to be restrained; and seizing a musket, he advanced in the night
along the causeway, followed only by a sergeant, and commenced a
personal skirmish with the French piquets, from whose fire he escaped by
miracle, convinced at last that the enemy were not in flight.
Lord Wellington judged it best to remain on the defensive, and
strengthen the lines. With this view the light division, supported by a
brigade of cavalry, occupied Valle and the heights overlooking the marsh
and inundation; the bridge at the end of the causeway was mined; a
sugarloaf shaped hill, looking straight down the approach, was crowned
with embrasures for artillery, and laced in front with a zig-zag covered
way, capable of containing five hundred infantry. Thus the causeway
being blocked, the French could not, while the inundation was
maintained, make any sudden irruption from Santarem. About this period a
column of French, six thousand strong, scoured all the country beyond
the Zezere, and contrived to secrete a quantity of food near Pedragoa,
while other detachments arriving on the Mondego, below Coimbra, even
passed that river, and carried off four hundred oxen and two thousand
sheep intended for the allies. These excursions gave rise to horrible
excesses, which broke down the discipline of the French army, and were
not always executed with impunity. The British cavalry at various times
redeemed many cattle, and brought in a considerable number of prisoners.
Finding the drudgery of servitude, when added to my customary military
duty, greater than I could well sustain, I requested permission to
resign my situation with the captain; and we parted, mutually satisfied
with past acquaintance, and on the fairest terms. While in the vicinity
of Santarem, the unarmed French and English soldiers, while procuring
wine for the respective forces, were frequently intermingled in the same
cellar, when there seemed to exist a tacit understanding that all
animosity was suspended. The liquor was, however, sometimes too
powerful; and one of our men, who had been a good soldier, after a sad
debauch relapsed into a fit of despondency. The inordinate cup was then
resorted to, but, as usual, it lifted him up only to throw him into
lower depths of misery. He then deserted; and when taken, seized an
opportunity of placing the muzzle of a musket to his mouth, and setting
his foot upon the trigger, blew his head to atoms.
The French in their retreat from Santarem had either consumed or
destroyed every particle of food that came within their reach, so that
the country was a spacious desert. During a sharp day’s march in
pursuit, a horrible calamity was unexpectedly disclosed. While passing
over a desolate mountain, a large house standing alone, and apparently
deserted, was discovered near the line of our route. Prompted by
curiosity, several men turned aside to inspect the interior, where they
found a number of famished wretches crowded together, for no other
conceivable purpose but to die in company. Thirty women and children had
perished for want of food, and lay dead upon the floor; while about half
that number of survivors sat watching the remains of those who had
fallen. Of those who thus perished the bodies were not much emaciated,
but the muscles of the face were invariably drawn transversely, giving
the appearance of a smile, and presenting the most ghastly sight
imaginable. Most of the living were unable to move; and it had been by
great exertion that they had crawled to a little distance from the group
of death. The soldiers offered some refreshment to these unfortunate
persons; but one man only had sufficient strength to eat. The women
seemed patient and resigned, and even in this distress had arranged the
bodies of those who first died with decency and care.
The blockade of Cadiz was now prosecuted with unusual vigour by the
French forces. The chain of forts they had built was perfected. The
batteries at the Troccaderos were powerful, and the flotillas ready for
action. Soult repaired in person to San Lucar; and in the last night of
October thirty pinnaces and gunboats slipped out of the Guadalquivir,
eluded the allied fleet, passed along the coast to Rota, and from
thence, aided by shore-batteries, fought their way to Santa Maria and
the San Pedro. The flotilla was afterwards transported over-land; and in
the ensuing month one hundred and thirty armed vessels and transports
were assembled in the Troccadero Canal. At that celebrated point there
were immense batteries and some notable pieces of ordnance, called
cannon-mortars, or Villantroys, after the inventor. These huge engines
were cast in Seville, and, being placed in slings, threw shells with
such prodigious force as to range over Cadiz, a distance of more than
five thousand yards; but to obtain this flight, the shells were partly
filled with lead, so that the charge of powder was proportionately of
less effective explosion. While Cadiz was thus begirt, a furious
engagement took place at Cerra de Puerco, called by the English the
heights of Barossa, about four miles from the sea-mouth of the Santa
Petri. Barossa is a low ridge creeping in from the coast about a mile
and a half, and overlooking a high and broken plain of small extent.
Graham, who commanded the British, was extremely desirous of holding the
Barossa height, as the key both to offensive and defensive movements.
Our Spanish allies on this occasion behaved scandalously; indeed,
nothing but the unflinching firmness and courage of the English troops
could have saved the army from entire ruin. Major Brown, seeing the
general confusion arising from the defeat of the Spaniards, and being
unable to stem the torrent, slowly retired into the plain, sending
notice of what was passing to Graham, and demanding orders. That
general, being then near Bermeja, answered that he was to fight; and
instantly facing about himself, regained the plains with the greatest
celerity, when, to his surprise, he beheld the Spanish rearguard and
baggage flying in confusion, the French cavalry between the summit and
the sea, and Laval close on his own left flank. In this desperate
situation he felt that to retreat upon Bermeja, and thus bring the enemy
pell-mell with the allies on that narrow bridge, must be disastrous;
hence, without a moment’s hesitation, he resolved to attack, although
the key of the field of battle was already in the enemy’s possession.
Ten guns, under Major Duncan, instantly opened a terrific fire against
Laval’s column, while Colonel Barnard, with the riflemen and the
Portuguese companies, running out to the left, commenced the fight. The
remainder of the British troops, without any attention to regiments or
brigades, so sudden was the affair, formed two masses, one of which,
under General Dilkes, marched hastily against Ruffin, and the other,
under Colonel Wheatley, against Laval. Duncan’s guns ravaged the French
ranks; Laval’s artillery replied with spirit; Ruffin’s batteries took
Wheatley’s columns in flank; and the infantry on both sides pressed
forward eagerly and with a pealing musketry; and when near together, a
fierce, rapid, prolonged charge of the British overthrew the first line
of the French, and, notwithstanding its extreme valour, drove it in
confusion over a narrow dip of ground upon the second, which was almost
immediately broken in the same manner, and only the chosen battalion,
hitherto posted on the right, remained to cover the retreat. Meanwhile
Brown, receiving his orders, had marched headlong against Ruffin. Nearly
half of his detachment went down under the enemy’s last fire; yet he
maintained the fight until Dilkes’ column, which had crossed a deep
hollow and never stopped even to reform the regiments, came up, with
little order indeed, but in a fierce mood, when the whole ran up towards
the summit. There was no slackness on any side, and at the very edge of
the ascent their opponents met them. A dreadful and for some time a
doubtful fight ensued. Ruffin and Chaudron Rousseau, commanding the
chosen Grenadiers, both fell, mortally wounded. The English bore
strongly onward; and their incessant, slaughtering fire forced the
French from the hill, with the loss of three guns and many brave men.
The defeated divisions retired concentrically, and having soon met, they
endeavoured with great energy to reform and renew the action; but the
fire of Duncan’s guns, close, rapid, and destructive, rendered the
attempt vain. Victor was soon in full retreat; and the British, having
been twenty-four hours under arms, were too exhausted to pursue. In this
brief but desperate fight upwards of twelve hundred British soldiers,
and more than two thousand Frenchmen, were killed or wounded; from the
latter, six guns, an eagle, and two generals, both mortally wounded,
were taken, together with four hundred other prisoners.
The activities of this spirited campaign were maintained in other
places. Badajos was sorely pressed by the French. Early in March, the
second parallel being completed, and the Pardaleras taken into the
works, the approaches were carried by sap to the covered way; mines were
also prepared to blow in the counterscarp, and yet Rafael Menacho, the
governor, was not dismayed. His sallies were frequent and vigorous; he
constructed new entrenchments where necessary; and everything went on
prosperously till the evening of the 2nd, when in a sally, in which the
nearest French batteries were carried, the guns spiked, and trenches
partly ruined, Menacho was killed, and the command fell to Imas, a man
so unworthy that a worse could not be found. At once the spirit of the
garrison died away, for cowardice is often contagious. The besiegers’
works rapidly advanced, the ditch was passed, a lodgment was made on one
of the ravelines, the rampart was breached, and the fire of the besieged
being nearly silenced, on the 10th of March the place was summoned in a
peremptory manner. Not that there was the least need to surrender. A
strong body of British and Portuguese were in full march for the relief
of the place. This information had been communicated by telegraph,
besides which Imas had been informed by a confidential messenger that
Masséna was in full retreat. The breach was not practicable, provisions
were plentiful, the garrison above eight thousand strong, the French
army reduced by sickness and the previous operations to fewer than
fourteen thousand men. Imas, however, instantly surrendered, but he also
demanded that his Grenadiers should march out of the breach. This was
granted, and he was obliged to enlarge the opening before they could do
so. Yet this man, so overwhelmed with opprobrium, was never punished.
Masséna continued to retreat; and a skirmish, attended with some loss on
both sides, unexpectedly took place at Pombal. The commander just named
was so closely followed by our division, that, the streets being still
encumbered, Ney drew up a rearguard on a height behind the town, and
threw a detachment into the old castle. He had, however, waited too
long. The French army was moving in some confusion, and in an extended
column of march, by a narrow defile between the mountains and the Soire
river, which was fordable, while the British divisions were in rapid
motion on the left bank, with the design of crossing lower down, and
cutting Masséna’s line of retreat; but darkness came on, and the
operation terminated in a sharp conflict at Pombal, whence the 95th and
the 3rd Cacadores drove the French from the castle and town with such
vigour, that the latter could not destroy the bridge, though it was
mined for the purpose. Daybreak on the 12th saw both armies in movement,
and eight miles of march brought the head of the British into a hollow
way leading to a high tableland, on which Ney had disposed five thousand
infantry, a few squadrons of cavalry, and some light guns. His centre
was opposite to the hollow road, his wings were covered by the woody
heights which he occupied with light troops. Behind him arose the
village of Redhina, situated on low ground, in front of which were
posted a division of infantry, a regiment of cavalry, and a battery of
heavy guns, all so skilfully disposed as to give the appearance of
considerable force.
After examining the enemy’s position for a short time, Lord Wellington
first directed the light division to attack the wooded slopes covering
Ney’s right; and in less than an hour these orders were executed. The
woods were presently cleared, and our skirmishers advanced even to the
open plain beyond. Just then, the French battalions, supported by four
guns, opened a heavy rolling fire, and at the same moment Colonel
Farrière, of the 3rd French Hussars, charged and took fourteen
prisoners. This officer, during the whole campaign, had never failed to
break in upon the skirmishers in the most critical moments, sometimes
with a squadron, sometimes with only a few men; he was, however, sure to
be found in the right place. The British light division, commanded by
Sir William Erskine, consisted of five battalions of infantry and six
guns, and was formed so that it outflanked the French right. It was also
reinforced with two regiments of dragoons. Meanwhile Picton seized the
woody heights protecting the French left, and thus Ney’s position was
exposed. Nevertheless, that marshal, observing that Lord Wellington,
deceived as to his real numbers, was bringing the mass of the allied
troops into line, far from retreating, even charged Picton’s
skirmishers, and continued to hold his ground with astonishing
confidence. In this posture both sides remained for about an hour, when
three shots were fired from the British centre as a signal for a forward
movement, and a most splendid spectacle of war was exhibited. The woods
seemed alive with troops, and in a few moments thirty thousand men,
forming three gorgeous lines of battle, were stretched across the plain,
but bending on a gentle curve, and moving majestically forward, while
horsemen and guns springing simultaneously onward from the centre and
left wing, charged under a volley from the French battalions. The latter
were instantly hidden by the smoke; and when that cleared away, no enemy
was to be seen. Ney keenly watched the progress of this grand formation,
and having opposed Picton’s foremost skirmishers with his left, withdrew
the rest of his people with such rapidity that he gained the village
before the cavalry could touch him. The utmost efforts of Picton’s
skirmishers and of the horse artillery scarcely enabled them to gall the
hindmost of the French. One howitzer was, indeed, dismounted close to
the bridge, but the village of Redhina was in flames. The marshal was
hard pressed, for the British were thundering at his rear, and the light
troops of the 3rd division, chasing like heated bloodhounds, passed the
river almost at the same time with the French. Ney at length fell back
upon the main body at Condeixa.
The mind is sometimes impressed by trifling occurrences, especially when
they take place unexpectedly, or are at all out of the common way. I
remember that in the midst of the clangor and firing just described, a
hare emerged from the woods, and for some time amused herself by sundry
doubles and evolutions between the hostile lines; at length, as if
satisfied that enough had been seen, she suddenly disappeared. The other
event is, that the tallest man I ever saw had been a private in the
French ranks at Redhina. He was lying dead on the road side.
Our forces continued to drive the enemy. Masséna, in repairing to Fonte
Coberta, had left orders to fire Condeixa at a certain hour. These
gentlemen left nothing willingly behind them, but ruin and desolation.
In a few days we came up with the rear. Picton contrived to wind round
the bluff side of a mountain about eight miles distant. As he was
already beyond the French left, instant confusion pervaded their camp.
The British immediately pushed forward; their advance was extremely
rapid, and it is affirmed that the Prince of Essling, who was on the
road, only escaped capture by taking the feathers out of his hat, and
riding through some of the light troops. Condeixa being thus evacuated,
the British cavalry pushed towards Coimbra, and cutting off Montbrun,
captured part of his horsemen. The rest of the army kindled their fires,
and the light division, in which, as usual, I was stationed, planted
piquets close up to the enemy; but about ten at night the French
divisions, whose presence was unknown to Lord Wellington, stole out, and
passing along the front of the British posts, made for Miranda de Corvo.
The noise of their march was heard, but the night was dark; it was
imagined to be the moving of the French to the rear, and being so
reported to Sir William Erskine, that officer put the light division in
march at daylight on the 14th. Our movements partook of extraordinary
rashness, and, what increased the danger, we were insensible of it. The
morning was so obscured that nothing could be distinguished at the
distance of a hundred feet, but the sound of a great multitude was heard
on the hills in front, and it being evident that the French were there
in force, many officers represented the impropriety of thus advancing
without orders, and in such a fog. But Erskine, with what is deemed
astounding negligence, sent the 52nd forward in a simple column of
sections, without a vanguard or other precaution, and even before the
piquets had come in from their posts. The road dipped suddenly,
descending into a valley, and the regiment was immediately lost in the
mist, which was so thick that the troops, unconsciously passing the
enemy’s outposts, had nearly captured Ney himself, whose bivouac was
close to the piquets. The riflemen followed in a few moments, and the
rest of the division was about to plunge into the same gulf, when the
rattling of musketry and the booming of round shot was heard, and when
the vapour slowly rose, the 52nd were seen on the slopes of the opposite
mountain engaged, without support, in the midst of the enemy’s army. At
this moment Lord Wellington arrived, and the whole of the light division
were pushed forward to sustain the 52nd. The enemy’s ground was so
extensive, and his skirmishers so thick and so easily supported, that in
a little time the division was necessarily stretched out in one thin
thread, and closely engaged in every part without any reserve; nor could
it even thus present an equal front, until Picton sent the riflemen of
the 60th to prolong the line. The fight was vigorously maintained amidst
the numerous stone enclosures on the mountain side; some advantages were
gained, and the right of the enemy was partially turned, yet the main
position could not be shaken until Picton and Cole had turned it by the
left. Ney then commenced his retreat, retiring from ridge to ridge with
admirable precision, and for a long time without confusion and with very
little loss. Towards the middle of the day, however, the British guns
and the skirmishers got within range of his masses, and the retreat
became more rapid and less orderly; yet he finally gained the strong
pass of Miranda de Corvo, which was secured by the main body of the
French. The loss in the light division this day was eleven officers and
a hundred and fifty men, and about a hundred prisoners were taken.
On the 15th the weather was so obscure that the allies could not reach
the Ceira before four o’clock in the afternoon, and the troops as they
came up proceeded to kindle fires for the night. The French right rested
on some thick and wooded ground, and their left on the village of Fons
d’Aronce; but Lord Wellington, having cast a rapid glance over it,
directed the light division, who were seldom forgotten when honour was
to be obtained, to hold the right in play, and at the same moment the
horse artillery, galloping forward to a rising ground, opened with great
and sudden effect. Ney’s left wing, being surprised and overthrown by
the first charge, dispersed in a panic, and fled in such confusion
towards the river that some, missing the fords, were drowned, and
others, crowding on the bridge, were crushed to death. On the right the
ground was so rugged and close that the action resolved itself into a
skirmish; and thus Ney was able to use some battalions to check the
pursuit of his left; but meanwhile darkness came on, and the French
troops in their disorder fired upon each other. Only four officers and
sixty men fell on the side of the British; the enemy’s loss was not less
than five hundred, of which one-half were drowned, and an eagle was
afterwards found in the bed of the river when the waters had subsided.
Ney maintained the left bank of the Ceira until every encumbrance bad
passed, and then, blowing up seventy feet of the bridge, sent his corps
on. Thus terminated the first part of the retreat from Santarem, in
which, though the ability of the French commander was conspicuous, it
revealed much that savoured of a harsh and ruthless spirit. Almost every
horror that could make war hideous attended this dreadful march. Death
was dealt out in all modes. Unpitying vengeance seemed to steel every
breast. Lives were lost by wounds, by fatigue, by fire, by water,
besides the numerous victims of famine. One of my comrades going out at
dusk in search of provisions, on turning a corner stumbled over the body
of a recently murdered man. The natives were of course excited to
retaliate, and Colonel Napier once saw a peasant cheering on his dog to
devour the dead and dying; the spirit of cruelty once unchained smote
even the brute creation. On the 15th, the French general, in order to
diminish the encumbrances on his march, ordered a number of beasts of
burden to be destroyed. The inhuman fellow charged with the execution,
who, if known, would have long since been hooted from society,
ham-stringed five hundred asses, and left them to starve; and thus they
were found by the British army. The acute but deep expression of pain
visible in these poor creatures’ looks wonderfully aroused the fury of
the soldiers; and so little weight has reason with the multitude, when
opposed by momentary sensation, that had prisoners been taken at that
moment, no quarter most assuredly would have been given.
[Illustration]