Part 3

On the morning of the 17th we were under arms an hour before day. Half an hour after sunrise, we observed the enemy in a wood. We received orders to retreat. Having fallen back about two miles, we struck to the right, in order to come upon their flank, whilst the 9th, 29th, and 5th battalion of the 60th, attacked them in front. They had a very strong position on a hill. The 29th advanced up the hill, not perceiving an ambush of the enemy, which they had placed on each side of the road. As soon as the 29th was right between them, they gave a volley, which killed, or Wounded, every man in the grenadier company except seven. Unmindful of their loss, they drove on, and carried the entrenchments. The engagement lasted until about four o’clock, when the enemy gave way. We continued the pursuit till darkness put a stop to it. The 71st had only one man killed, and one wounded: we were manœuvring all day to turn their flank, so that our fatigue was excessive, though our loss was but small. This was the battle of Rolleia, a small town at the entrance of a hilly part of the country. We marched the whole of the 18th and 19th without meeting any resistance. On the 19th, we encamped at the village of Vimeira, and took up a position alongst a range of mountains.

On the 20th, we marched out of our position to cover the disembarkation of four regiments, under General Anstruther. We saw a few French cavalry, who kept manœuvring, but did not offer to attack us.

On the 21st we were all under arms an hour before day-break. After remaining same time, we were dismissed, with orders to parade again at 10 o’clock, to attend divine service; for this was a Sabbath morning. How unlike the Sabbaths I was wont to enjoy! Had it not been for the situation in which I had placed myself, I could have enjoyed it much.

Vimeira is situated in a lovely valley, through which the small river Maceira winds, adding beauty to one of the sweetest scenes, surrounded on all sides by mountains and the sea, from which the village is distant about three miles. There is a deep ravine that parts the heights, over which the Lourinha road passes. We were posted on these mountains, and had a complete view of the valley below. I here, for a time, indulged in one of the most pleasing reveries I had enjoyed since I left home. I was seated upon the side of a mountain, admiring the beauties beneath. I thought of home;--Arthur’s Seat, and the level between it and the sea, all stole over my imagination. I became lost in contemplation, and was happy for a time. Soon my day-dream broke and vanished from my sight. The bustle around was great. There was no trace of a day of rest. Many were washing their linen in the river, others cleaning their firelocks; every man was engaged in some employment. In the midst of our preparation for divine service, the French columns began to make their appearance on the opposite hills. “To arms, to arms!” was beat at half-past eight o’clock. Every thing was packed up as soon as possible, and left on the camp ground. We marched out two miles to meet the enemy, formed line, and lay under cover of a hill for about an hour, until they came to us. We gave them one volley, and three cheers--three distinct cheers. Then all was as still as death. They came upon us, crying and shouting to the very point of our bayonets. Our awful silence and determined advance they could not stand. They put about and fled without much resistance. At this charge we took thirteen guns, and one General. We advanced into a hollow, and formed again; then returned in file from the right, in companies, to the rear. The French came down upon us again. We gave them another specimen of a charge, as effectual as our first, and pursued them three miles. In our first charge, I felt my mind waver; a breathless sensation came over me. The silence was appalling. I looked alongst the line--It was enough to assure me: The steady determined scowl of my companions assured my heart, and gave me determination. How unlike the noisy advance of the French! It was in this second charge, our piper, George Clark, was wounded in the groin. We remained at our advance until sunset, then retired to our camp-ground. The ground was so unequal, that I saw little of this battle, which forced the French to evacuate Portugal.

On my return from the pursuit at Monte Video, the birds of prey were devouring the slain. Here I beheld a sight, for the first time, even more horrible; the peasantry prowling about, more ferocious than the beasts and birds of prey, finishing the work of death, and carrying away whatever they thought worthy of their grasp. Avarice and revenge were the causes of these horrors. No fallen Frenchman, that showed the least signs of life, was spared. They even seemed pleased with mangling the dead bodies. When light failed them, they kindled a great fire, and remained around it all night, shouting like as many savages. My sickened fancy felt the same as if it were witnessing a feast of cannibals.

Next morning we perceived a column of the enemy upon the sand hills. We were all in arms to receive them, but it turned out to be a flag of truce. We returned to our old camp ground, where we remained three days, during the time the terms of a capitulation were arranging. We then got orders to march to Lisbon. On our arrival there, the French flag was flying on all the batteries and forts. We were encamped outside of the town, and marched in our guards next day, to take possession and relieve all the French guards. At the same time the French flag was hauled down, and we hoisted, in its stead, the Portuguese standard. We remained in camp until the day the French were to embark. We were then marched in to protect them from the inhabitants. But notwithstanding all we could do, it was not in our power to hinder some of their sick from being murdered. The Portuguese were so much enraged at our interference in behalf of the French, that it was unsafe for two or three soldiers to be seen alone. The French had given the Portuguese much cause to hate them; and the latter are not a people who can quickly forgive an injury, or let slip any means of revenge, however base.

On the 27th October, we quitted Lisbon, and marched to Abrantes, where we remained fourteen days. Then we marched to Camponia, and remained there for an order to enter Spain.

The first place we arrived at in Spain was Badajos, where we were very kindly treated by the inhabitants and Spanish soldiers. We remained there about a fortnight, when the division commanded by General Sir John Hope, to which I belonged, received orders to march towards Madrid. We halted at Escurial, about seven leagues from Madrid, and remained there five days; but were at length forced to retreat to Salamanca.

Two days before our arrival at Salamanca, we were forced to form ourselves into a square, to repel the attacks of the enemy; and in that position we remained all night. It was one of the severest nights of cold I ever endured in my life. At that time we wore long hair, formed into a club at the back of our heads. Mine was frozen to the ground in the morning, and when I attempted to rise, my limbs refused to support me for some time. I felt the most excruciating pains over all my body, before the blood began to circulate. We marched forty-seven miles this day, before encamping, and about nine miles to a town next morning, where the inhabitants were very kind to us. They brought out, into the market-place, large tubfuls of accadent, (a liquor much used in Spain,) that we might take our pleasure of it; and every thing they had that we stood in need of. This day we are under the necessity of burying six guns, on account of the horses failing, being quite worn down by fatigue. The head-quarters of the army were at Salamanca. Our division was quartered three leagues from it, at Alva de Tormes. On the 14th of December, we advanced to a place called Torro; the roads were bad; the weather very severe; all around was covered with snow. Our fatigue was dreadful, and our sufferings almost more than we could endure.

On the 24th of December, our head-quarters were at Sahagun. Every heart beat with joy. We were all under arms, and formed to attack the enemy. Every mouth breathed hope: “We will beat them to pieces, and have our ease, and enjoy ourselves,” said my comrades. I even preferred any short struggle, however severe, to the dreadful way of life we were at this time pursuing. With heavy hearts, we received orders to retire to our quarters: “And won’t we be allowed to fight? sure we’d beat them,” said an Irish lad near me; “by Saint Patrick, we beat them so easy, the General means to march us to death, and fight them after!”

Next morning, we fell back upon Majorga, on the road to Benevente.

On the 25th, Christmas day, we commenced our route for the sea-coast, melancholy and dejected, sinking under extreme cold and fatigue, as if the very elements had conspired against us: then commenced the first day of our retreat.

On the 26th, it rained the whole day without intermission. The soil here is of a deep rich loam, and the roads were knee-deep with clay: to form a regular march was impossible, yet we kept in regiments; but our sufferings were so great, that many of our troops lost all their natural activity and spirits, and became savage in their dispositions. The idea of running away from an enemy we had beat with so much ease at Vimeira, without even firing a shot, was too galling to their feelings. Each spoke to his fellow, even in common conversation, with bitterness; rage flashing from their eyes, even on the most trifling occasions of disagreement.

The poor Spaniards had little to expect from such men as these, who blamed them for their inactivity; every one found at home was looked upon as a traitor to his country. “The British are here to fight for the liberty of Spain, and why is not every Spaniard under arms and fighting? The cause is not ours, and are we to be the only sufferers?” Such was the common language of the soldiers; and from these feelings pillage and outrage naturally arose. The conduct of the men, in this respect, called forth, on the 27th, a severe reprimand from the Commander-in-Chief.

We halted at Benevente for one night. Just as the last division of our army entered into the town, the drums beat to arms. Every man was on the alert, and at his post in an instant. The cavalry poured out at the gates to meet the enemy, but the French did not like the manner and spirit that appeared amongst us. They retired from the heights, and we endeavoured to pass the night in the best manner in our power.

28th, the Spaniards now gave us no assistance, save what was enforced. The Duke of Ossuna has here a castle surpassing any thing I had ever seen. It was such, on our arrival, as I have read the description of in books of fairy tales. I blush for our men--I would blame them too--Alas! how can I, when I think upon their dreadful situation, fatigued and wet, shivering, perishing with cold?--no fuel to be got, not even straw to lie upon. Can men in such a situation admire the beauties of art? Alas! only so far as they relieve his cruel and destroying wants. Every thing that would burn, was converted into fuel, and even the fires were placed against the walls, that they might last longer and burn better. Many of our men slept all night wrapt in rich tapestry, which had been torn down to make bed-clothes.

Scarce was our rear-guard within the town, ere the alarm was sounded. We rushed to our posts, pushing the inhabitants out of our way. Women and children crowded the streets, wringing their hands, and calling upon their saints for protection. The opposite plain was covered with fugitives. The French, as usual, liked not the spirit with which we formed, and the ardour with which our cavalry issued from the gates. They were content to look upon us from the neighbouring heights. The bridges were ordered to be destroyed, which was done before day. That over the Ezla had been destroyed to little purpose, as a ford was found only 300 yards farther down the river. The picquets hastened thither, and were skirmishing with four squadrons of the Imperial Guards, who had already formed on the bank. The 10th Hussars were sent for. On their arrival, General Stewart, with them and the picquets, charged and drove the Imperial Guard into the river. They crossed in the utmost confusion, but formed on the opposite bank. Some pieces of artillery that had been placed at the bridge, soon dispersed them. General Lefebvre, commander of the Imperial Guards, and seventy prisoners, were the fruits of this action. We were told, by the Spaniards, that Buonaparte saw this affair from the heights.

On the 30th, we reached Astorga, which we were led to believe was to be our resting-place, and the end of our fatigues. Here we found the army of General Romana. I can convey no description of it in words. It had more the appearance of a large body of peasants, driven from their homes, famished and in want of every thing, than a regular army. Sickness was making dreadful havoc amongst them. It was whispered we were to make a stand here. This was what we all wished, though none believed. We had been told so at Benevente; but our movements had not the smallest appearance of a retreat, in which we were to face about and make a stand; they were more like a shameful flight.

From Astorga to Villa Franca de Bierzo, is about sixty miles. From Salamanca to Astorga may be called the first and easiest part of this tragedy, in which we endured many privations and I much fatigue; from Astorga to Villa Franca, the second, and by far the more severe part. Here we suffered misery without a glimpse of comfort. At Astorga, there were a great many pairs of shoes destroyed. Though a fourth of the army were in want of them, and I among the rest, yet they were consumed alongst with the other stores in the magazines. The first sixteen miles, the road lay wholly up the mountain, to the summit of Foncebadon; and the country was open. At this time it was a barren waste of snow. At the top of the mountain is a pass, which is one of the strongest, they say, in Europe. It is about eight or nine miles long. All the way through this pass, the silence was only interrupted by the groans of the men, who, unable to proceed farther, laid themselves down in despair to perish in the snow; or where the report of a pistol told the death of a horse, which had fallen down, unable to proceed. I felt an unusual listlessness steal over me. Many times have I said, “These men who have resigned themselves to their fate, are happier than I. What have I to struggle for? Welcome death! happy deliverer!” These thoughts passed in my mind involuntarily. Often have I been awakened out of this state of torpor, by my constant friend Donald, when falling out of the line of march to lie down in despair. The rain poured in torrents; the melted snow was half knee-deep in many places, and stained by the blood that flowed from our wounded and bruised feet. To add to our misery, we were forced by turns to drag the baggage. This was more than human nature could sustain. Many waggons were abandoned, and much ammunition destroyed. Our arrival at Villa Franca closed the second act of our tragedy.

From Villa Franca we set out on the 2d January, 1809. What a New-year’s day had we passed! Drenched with rain, famished with cold and hunger, ignorant when our misery was to cease. This was the most dreadful period of my life. How differently did we pass our _hogmonay_[5] from the manner our friends were passing their’s at home. Not a voice said, “I wish you a happy new-year;” each seemed to look upon his neighbour as an abridgment to his own comforts. His looks seemed to say, “One or other of the articles you wear would be of great use to me; your shoes are better than those I possess; if you were dead they would be mine.”

Before we set out, there were more magazines destroyed. Great numbers would not leave the town, but concealed themselves in the wine cellars, which they had broken open, and were left there; others, after we were gone, followed us. Many came up to the army dreadfully cut and wounded by the French cavalry, who rode through the long lines of these lame defenceless wretches, slashing among them as a school-boy does amongst thistles. Some of them, faint and bleeding, were forced to pass alongst the line as a warning to others.--Cruel warning! Could the urgency of the occasion justify it? There was something in the appearance of these poor, emaciated, lacerated wretches, that sickened me to look upon. Many around me said, “Our commanders are worse than the French: will they not even let us die in peace, if they cannot help us?” Surely this was one way to tantalize the men, and render them familiar to scenes of cruelty.

Dreadful as our former march had been, it was from Villa Franca that the march of death may be said to have begun. On the day after we left that place, we were attacked by the French, but drove them back, and renewed our forlorn march.

From Villa Franca to Castro is one continued toil up Monte del Cebiero. It was one of the sweetest scenes I ever beheld, could our eyes have enjoyed any thing that did not minister to our wants. There was nothing to sustain our famished bodies, or shelter them from the rain or snow. We were either drenched with rain or crackling with ice. Fuel we could find none. The sick and wounded that we had been still enabled to drag with us in the waggons, were now left to perish in the snow. The road was one line of bloody foot-marks, from the sore feet of the men; and on its sides lay the dead and the dying. Human nature could do no more. Donald M‘Donald, the hardy Highlander, began to fail. He, as well as myself, had long been bare-footed and lame; he, that had encouraged me to proceed, now himself lay down to die. For two days he had been almost blind, and unable, from a severe cold, to hold up his head. We sat down together--not a word escaped our lips. We looked around--then at each other, and closed our eyes. We felt there was no hope. We would have given in charge a farewell to our friends; but who was to carry it? There were, not far from us, here and there, above thirty in the same situation with ourselves. There was nothing but groans, mingled with execrations, to be heard, between the pauses of the wind. I attempted to pray, and recommend myself to God; but my mind was so confused, I could not arrange my ideas. I almost think I was deranged. We had not sat half an hour; sleep was stealing upon me; when I perceived a bustle around me. It was an advanced party of the French: unconscious of the action, I started upon my feet, levelled my musket, which I had still retained, fired, and formed with the other stragglers. The French faced about and left us. There were more of them than of us. The action, and the approach of danger in a shape which we had it in our power to repel, roused our dormant feelings, and we joined at Castro.

From Castro to Lugo is about forty-eight miles, where we were promised two days’ rest. Why should I continue longer this melancholy narrative? Donald fell out again from sickness; and I from lameness and fatigue. When the French arrived, we formed with the others as before, and they fell back. I heard them, more than once, say, as they turned from the points of our bayonets, that they would rather face a hundred fresh Germans, than ten dying English. So great was the alarm we caused in them. How mortifying to think, at these moments, that we were suffering all our misery, flying from an enemy who dared not fight us, and fled from us, poor wretches as we were! How unaccountable was our situation! None could be more galling to our feelings. While we ran, they pursued;--the moment we faced about, they halted: If we advanced, they retired. Never had we fought but with success; never were we attacked, but we forced them to retire. “Let us all unite, whether our officers will or not, and annihilate these French cowards, and shew our country it is not our fault that we run thus; let us secure our country from disgrace, and take a sweet revenge.” This was the language of the more spirited men, and in it the others joined, from a hope of relieving their miseries.

With feelings such as these, with a gradual increase of sufferings, we struggled onwards. Towards the close of this journey, my mind became unfit for any minute observation. I only marked what I myself was forced to encounter. How I was sustained, I am unable to conceive. My life was misery. Hunger, cold, and fatigue, had deprived death of all its horrors. My present sufferings I felt; what death was I could only guess. “I will endure every thing in the hope of living to smooth the closing years of my mother’s life, and atone for my unkindness. Merciful God! support me.” These ejaculations were always the close of my melancholy musing, after which I felt a new invigoration, though many times my reflections were broken short by scenes of horror that came in my way. One, in particular, I found, after I came home, had been much talked of. After we had gained the summit of Monte del Castro, and were descending, I was roused by a crowd of soldiers. My curiosity prompted me to go to it; I knew it must be no common occurrence that could attract _their_ sympathy. Judge of the feelings which I want words to express. In the centre lay a woman, young and lovely, though cold in death, and a child, apparently about six or seven months old, attempting to draw support from the breast of its dead mother. Tears filled every eye, but no one had the power to aid; while we stood around, gazing on the interesting object, then on each other,--none offered to speak, each heart was so full. At length one of General Moore’s staff-officers came up, and desired the infant to be given to him. He rolled it in his cloak, amidst the blessings of every spectator. Never shall I efface the benevolence of his look from my heart, when he said, “Unfortunate infant, you will be my future care.” From the few remaining waggons we had been able to bring with us, women and children, who had hitherto sustained, without perishing, all our aggravated sufferings, were every now and then laid out upon the snow frozen to death. An old tattered blanket, or some other piece of garment, was all the burial that was given them; the soldiers who perished lay uncovered, until the next fall of snow, or heavy drift, concealed their bodies.