Part 8

I slept at Bastania the night I arrived: there were not more than a dozen houses in the village, and all filled with dragoons. Into one of those I went, and found the ground-floor covered thickly with straw, upon which the soldiers--about thirty in all--were lying. They immediately made room for me:--my servant slept with my horses in an out-house. I was fatigued; and so, without any other refreshment than a cup of commissariat grog, lay down and slept happily until the trumpeter sounded “_Boots and Saddles_:” this was at two o’clock in the morning, and I had been asleep about three hours. The men were soon out and horsed--so was I. The baggage of the dragoons all packed and mounted--every thing ready for “a breeze.” The morning was dark, and for the time of year, rather chilly: I could not see to a great distance, but within my view passed several troops of heavy dragoons proceeding towards the foot of the mountains. There was scarcely any sound but that from the motion of the horses--the men spoke but little, and were yet half asleep. I moved towards the main road, in order to come up with my division, which was in front; but I soon found that it would be unsafe to proceed, on account of a fog which arose, completely obscuring every thing around. In consequence of this I dismounted; took off my saddle; put it on the ground; and directing my servant to stake the horses to their tethers, lay down with my head resting on it. I can assure my readers, that a saddle is no bad substitute for a pillow when the ground is the bed. The spot I selected was soft, though not dry; it was in a furrow of a ploughed field. I was rolled in my blanket, and for an hour never enjoyed a sounder sleep: but I did not find the waking quite so pleasant; for it had rained heavily during my _enjoyment_, and I felt myself nearly covered by the _watery bed_ of the furrow: however, I shook off my blanket--saddled, and mounted. It was daylight, but not yet sunrise: as I proceeded towards the mountains, I could see to my right, over the distant plain, several bodies of horse evidently stationed to be ready in case the enemy forced their way down--the town of Pamplona on my left in the centre of the plain--the _tricolore_ flying, and occasional guns--I suppose signals--firing. The Pyrenees were capped in grey mist, and therefore I could not discern any of our infantry upon them; but I knew they were in their position there, and had fought the two preceding days in defence of it.

In my way I passed through the bivouac of the Spanish army which blockaded Pamplona, and there beheld a most sublime spectacle--it was the celebration of their religious rites, the mass, in the open air, close to a ruined house. It was now sunrise, and the hour with the circumstances of the time, gave the uncovered and kneeling soldiery a most interesting appearance. The priest was a bald and reverend looking man, and his sacerdotal robes made him look like a patriarch. I stopped in a reverie of admiration--out of which, however, I was roused in a few minutes by the sound of distant firing on the heights; so I left the Spaniards to their prayers, and galloped on towards where there was something going on, which to me was far more interesting.

In about ten minutes more I was upon the mountain where our division was drawn up: they had not yet fired a shot, nor seen a Frenchman, but expected every moment to be engaged. The scene of action here, is to be imagined by the reader placing himself ideally on the top of a bold hill, or moderately sized mountain; in front, and on each side, are similar hills or mountains--some smaller--some greater; far in the front the higher Pyrenees; and, behind, the wide plain, on which stands Pamplona. Over this scene let him then throw the most picturesque foliage--a village or two in the distant valleys--the ground spread with heath and furze: thus he will have the view of where the gallant battle of the Pyrenees was gained, after four days of terrible contest. The fight here was very different from a fight on a plain: in this it was a continual attempt on the part of Soult, with all the force he could collect, to pass the hills, for the relief of Pamplona, and as continual a resistance on the part of the allies--hill after hill was attacked and defended with the most heroic energy on both sides. But our people performed a still more glorious and prodigious task; for not only did they defend their own position, but attacked Soult’s, which was stronger than their’s; and thus for the second time during the campaign, made a wreck of the French army!

Soult was determined to pass to Pamplona if possible; he therefore brought all his power to the point: even his unfledged conscripts were not excused--boys of fifteen, in white undress, unable to use the bayonet; these he posted where they could pull their triggers without being exposed to a charge from our steel, while his veterans were employed in more dangerous situations. Before the attack, Soult in person appeared amongst them at the front, pointed towards the invested town, and offered every man a certain reward in cash, as soon as they passed the few hills before them, and relieved their blockaded countrymen. All this could not suffice; and the best General of France, with a powerful army, could not push over a quarter of a mile of ground, while the British defended it! nor although aware of the Duke of Wellington’s intention of invasion, could they keep him from pursuing them across their own frontiers! On this battle depended the fate of the Peninsula--perhaps of Europe:--the trust fell into worthy hands, and they did their duty.

In about half an hour after I joined the division, a hill in front and on our right, defended by Portuguese, was attacked; the latter received the French with a volley, and then, shouting, advanced down the hill with the bayonet: a cheer from our men involuntarily burst out, and the French rolled and ran, pursued about a hundred yards. The hill was of great importance to us, and very desirable to the enemy: this was the first attack upon it, and having failed, reinforcements were preparing to accomplish its conquest:--we could see several columns of the enemy moving down from another mountain towards it; but this was provided for by our chief, who reinforced the gallant Portuguese by the 48th British regiment, and a regiment of Spaniards. Here then was the hardest fighting for two days--the 27th and 28th; attacks were repeatedly made upon this point, in the most able manner by the French, and as often defeated. Soult and Wellington were both placed within sight of each other, upon the tops of hills, anxiously observing this terrible strife at various times; and the anxiety of the former could be seen plainly in all his attitudes. During this time several other points were assailed, gained and lost: it was up hill at one moment, and down the next; and considering that those hills were so steep at some places, that I was nearly breathless in mounting one, besides a hot sun blazing over us, it is to be wondered how such prodigies of valour were accomplished. I do not know why, but certain it is, that our men usually did more execution when charging up a hill than down; there seemed to be a greater energy about them in overcoming their difficulties, and perhaps a desire of revenge for the advantage their enemy seemed to take of them in firing down at them as they advanced. As an instance of this, I will mention the following fact:--When our troops were passing the Bidassoa, the firing from a bold height on the French bank of the river galled them very much; the water was up to the middle of their bodies, and the men were obliged to hold their muskets over their heads to keep them dry: many fell; others, wounded, continued to cross the ford; the hill in front was to be mounted and taken by those troops in the water, and a strong force was defending it. The men became outrageous as they looked up at the muskets of their enemies pointed at them; and frequent oaths and imprecations plainly showed that they would seek satisfaction when they crossed the river.--“_Oh! by J----! we’ll give it to you by and by, you French beggars. D----your eyes, we’ll sarve you out_,” &c. &c. Such expressions as these were heard from every man, and when arrived on the other side of the river, scarcely a moment passed till they were up on the heights--stabbing, butting, and flinging over the rocks the bodies of their enemies. The height was gained, and on the top of it they gave three cheers, which made Fontarabia ring. But--to the narrative.

During the 27th and 28th, the contest produced nothing decisive, except that Soult could not gain his point, and the whole line of hills were at one time or other the scene of active operation--cannon, musketry, and bayonet, were all at work. On the 28th, the French made a desperate attack on the 6th division, which had been sent by the Duke of Wellington to occupy the heights on the left, across a valley near Orican: the moment this division appeared, the enemy advanced on it, but was received in fine style--they got into a _cul de sac_; for the fourth division on their left was so placed on hills as to effect a most destructive fire on their flank, while they gave them their vollies from a ridge upon their right, as well as in front, so that at this point the French met with unequivocal defeat.

The third day closed in darkness, and the work of death ceased for a time. The men were now so familiar with the carnage around that they cared nothing about it: many laid themselves down beside dead comrades and enemies mingled: all slept soundly on the mountain heath that night--not even bestowing a thought upon whether they were to fight next day or not; and when the bugle sounded and the drum beat next morning, jumped up as fresh as if they had been at a review; then, after eating their cold beef and biscuit, and swallowing a mouthful of rum, were ready in their ranks to renew the scenes of the preceding days--nay, anxious for the fight.

This was the day for glory. The Duke attacked Soult on the right and left at once, which proving successful, he dashed at the centre. This was now a change from defence to attack, and the enemy in a few hours were driven from all their strong points, and retreated. Yet they fought desperately: at one village alone--the first on the main road from Pamplona to the pass of _Maia_--the British were driven back four times; but took and held it on the fifth: the road here was covered with dead of both sides, and well proved the valour with which both fought, in that masterly victory which opened the barrier of France to the allies--led the Portuguese and Spaniards to the glory of shouting “Retribution” in their persecutor’s country--and once more passed the ranks of heroes over the consecrated ground of Roncesvalles.

The whole of the road over which we pursued the retreating and broken army, was covered with the wreck of its baggage and artillery--hundreds of dead mules were lying about, having been killed with fatigue, or hurled off the precipices along which the road sometimes passed--waggons, guns, carriages, tumbrils, casks, medicine chests, and dead men, were the objects that every where, like Rosamond’s clue, marked the track of the devoted victims:--a sickening sight, which, while engaged in the heat of pursuit, was viewed without emotion; but when calm reflection took her seat in the soldier’s mind, was not to be contemplated by him without unenviable feelings.

On this march nothing remarkable occurred in the part of the army where I was stationed. The siege of San Sebastian was begun by Sir Thomas Graham, while the front of our main force occupied the border line of France on the Bidassoa. The two contending armies remained in sight of each other--Soult fortifying the frontier of his threatened country, and Wellington refreshing his victorious troops until after the fall of San Sebastian. All this time the Duke’s head-quarters were at Lesacco, in the mountains, a town about four leagues south of Passages; and these four leagues, I may say, with a little allowance--was up _one_ side of a mountain and down the other,--a wretched town; and perhaps never before had it to boast of the domicile of so many heroes--such glittering nobility. Here, for the greatest part of a rainy and raw winter, the indefatigable Commander of the Forces fixed his quarters; and here I have seen him working with an energy which often threatened his life. He rode so much one week, that he was confined for several succeeding days to his bed; and I have seen his fifteen valuable English chargers led out by the groom to exercise, with scarcely any flesh on their bones--so active and vigilant was their noble rider, and so much were his horses used. Every day during the siege of San Sebastian, I saw the Duke, unattended by his staff, riding by my window, in a narrow street of Renteria, on his way to the besieged fortress, accompanied by an old artillery or engineer officer,--I believe Sir R. Fletcher,[6]--and dressed in a plain grey frock, white cravat, and cocked hat--evidently intent on the matters of the siege; this was upwards of thirty miles a day for a _ride_, between breakfast and dinner; but he has often rode double that distance, over the worst of roads and in the worst of weather.

The siege of San Sebastian was the next important operation of the Allied Army. This was entrusted to Sir Thomas Graham, under the eye of the Duke of Wellington. From being quartered at Renteria, for three weeks previous to the capture of that fortress, I had an opportunity of witnessing the whole affair; and scarcely a day passed without my visiting the works before it: but from the commencement of the siege up to the battering down of the walls, nothing took place to require a particular notice, beyond the description I have given of the siege of Flushing, in another part of this work: generally speaking, the operations were similarly conducted. The storming of the town, however, was a scene in the campaign of which I write, which ought not to be passed over unnoticed. As I beheld, so will I describe it; and so mighty an achievement as the capture of this town was, I would be happy to hear described by every individual who was engaged in it; for each would tell what he had seen; which, although all generally the same, would be different in particulars, and therefore, like Mosaic work, form a picture of the highest value. We have had several descriptions of the storming of San Sebastian, amongst which that given by the author of “_The Subaltern_,” (a deservedly popular work) is by far the best, and, with but few exceptions, correctly true--at least those exceptions are at variance with what I recollect of the affair. The author of “_The Subaltern_” describes what he saw, as a _stormer_ of the town; I can only speak as a spectator: both our remarks, therefore, may be taken as separate parts of the same picture.

San Sebastian is situated at the foot of a high rock, upon the top of which is a fortified castle; the town surrounds this rock, and is backed by the open sea. A river runs in front of the town, into which the sea flows; but at low water it is fordable; and its banks of yellow sand appear to our right--imagining us fronting the town. On first beholding San Sebastian, one supposes it is situated on a little island; but on closer approach, it is seen connected by a neck of land, which at high water is very narrow; and on this neck, which is an island at high water, is a fort mounting three or four guns:--but the best way to proceed in the description, I think, is to place my reader in the position which I took up myself at the battering and storming of the town.

To our right, on a high bold hill, which overtops several others near 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]