At daylight on the 3rd of April our nearness to the enemy indicated the approach of another collision. The English general, having ten thousand men pivoted on the 5th division at Sabugal, designed to turn Reynier’s left, and surround him before he could be succoured. This well-concerted plan was marred by one of those accidents to which war is always liable, and brought on the combat of Sabugal, one of the hottest in which I was ever engaged. The morning was so foggy that the troops could not gain their respective posts of attack with that simultaneous regularity which is so essential to success. Colonel Beckwith, who commanded the first brigade, halted at a ford to await orders, and at that moment a staff officer rode up, and somewhat hastily asked why he did not attack. The thing appeared rash, but with an enemy in front he could make no reply; and instantly passing the river, which was deep and rapid, mounted a steep wooded hill on the other side. Many of the men were up to their middle in water; and a dark, heavy rain coming on, it was impossible for some time to distinguish friends from foes. The attack was thus made too soon; for owing to the obscurity, none of the divisions of the army had reached their respective posts; and Beckwith having only one bayonet regiment and four companies of riflemen, was advancing against more than twelve thousand infantry, supported by cavalry and artillery.

Scarcely had the riflemen reached the top of the hill, when a compact and strong body of French drove them back upon the 43rd. The weather cleared at that instant, and Beckwith at once saw and felt all his danger; but, well supported as he was, it was met with a heart that nothing could shake. Leading a fierce charge, he beat back the enemy, and the summit of the hill was attained; but at the same moment two French guns opened with grape, at the distance of a hundred yards, a fresh body appeared in front, and considerable forces fell upon either flank of the regiment. Fortunately, Reynier, little expecting to be attacked, had, for the convenience of water, placed his principal masses in the low ground behind the height on which the action commenced; his renewed attack was therefore uphill, yet the musketry, heavy from the beginning, now increased to a storm. The French mounted the acclivity with great clamour; and it was evident that nothing but the most desperate fighting could save the regiment from destruction. Captain Hopkins, commanding a flank company of the 43rd, immediately ran out to the right, and with admirable presence of mind seized a small eminence close to the French guns and commanding the ascent by which the French troops were approaching. His first fire was so sharp that the assailants were thrown into confusion, they rallied, and were again confounded by the volleys of this company; a third time they endeavoured to form an attack, when Hopkins, with a sudden charge, increased the disorder, and at the same moment the two battalions of the 52nd regiment, which had been attracted by the fire, entered the line. Meantime the centre and left of the 43rd were furiously engaged, and excited beyond all former precedent. Beckwith, wounded in the head, and with the blood streaming down his face, rode amongst the foremost of the skirmishers, directing all with ability, and praising the men in a loud, cheerful tone. I was close to him at the time. One of our company called out, ‘Old Sydney is wounded.’ Beckwith heard the remark, and instantly replied, ‘But he won’t leave you: fight on, my brave fellows: we shall beat them.’ The musket bullets flew thicker and closer every instant; but the French fell fast. A second charge cleared the hill, a howitzer was taken, and the British skirmishers were even advanced a short way down the hill, when small bodies of French cavalry came galloping in from all parts, and obliged them to take refuge in the main body of the regiment. Having brought down a Frenchman by a random shot, I advanced close to the poor fellow as he lay on his side. Never shall I forget the alarm that was pictured on his countenance; he thought I was going to bayonet him, to avert which he held out his knapsack, containing most likely all his worldly substance, by way of appeasing my wrath. Unwilling to injure a fallen foe, I did not take his life, and in a few seconds he was protected by a charge of cavalry.

The English line was now formed behind a stone wall above; yet one squadron of dragoons surmounted the ascent, and with incredible desperation, riding up to this wall, were in the act of firing over it with their pistols, when a rolling volley laid nearly the whole of them prostrate. By this time, however, a second and stronger column of infantry had rushed up the face of the hill, endeavouring to break in and retake the howitzer, which was on the edge of the descent, and only fifty yards from the wall. But no man could reach it and live, so deadly was the 43rd’s fire. One of my comrades, having previously passed the howitzer, took a piece of chalk from his pocket, and, as he said, marked it as our own, and we were determined to keep it. Reynier, convinced at last that he had acted unskilfully in sending up his troops in small parties, put all his reserves, amounting to nearly six thousand infantry, with artillery and cavalry, into motion, and outflanking the division on the left, appeared resolved to storm the contested position. At this critical period the 5th division passed the bridge of Sabugal, the British cavalry appeared on the hills beyond the enemy’s left, and General Colville with the leading brigade of the 3rd division issued out of the woods on Reynier’s right, and opened a fire on the flank that directly decided the fate of the day. The loss of the allies in this sanguinary contest, which did not last quite an hour, was nearly two hundred killed and wounded; that of the enemy was enormous,—three hundred dead bodies were heaped together on the hill, the greater part round the captured howitzer; and more than twelve hundred were wounded,—so unwisely had Reynier managed his masses, and so true and constant was the English fire. Lord Wellington afterwards observed that this was one of the most glorious actions that British troops ever sustained. If by this term we are to understand that a numerous and well-disciplined force was signally repulsed by one of numerical inferiority, and that on the British side our national honour was upheld, he was right. In any other sense, the glories of war are, I am afraid, of a cast rather ambiguous. I scarcely ever before saw such determined firmness in our troops. It amounted almost to invincibility. During the action there was through our ranks to be observed a fierce and terrible anger, before the breakings forth of which the enemy quailed and fled. Our fire was given with singular exactness and rapidity. This fine conduct arose partly from a sense of extreme personal danger, for of that not a man was insensible; and partly from the desire, which I believe pervaded every breast, of properly supporting the officers engaged.

Among others, I had been unusually excited, and had dealt out wounds and destruction with an unsparing hand. In endeavouring to reach the enemy, all concern for my own preservation was forgotten. Just as the action commenced, a round shot struck a horseman close to my side, and brought him down. Daniel Lowry, an intimate friend, who was also within a few paces, was slain. My old captain was hit, and badly wounded; his place was, however, well supplied by Lieutenant Brown, who succeeded in the command of the company. After the action had ceased, the latter officer was pleased to take special notice of my conduct, and by his recommendation I was made corporal in one of the companies of the regiment. We halted on the field of battle during the succeeding day. Some of our men were quartered in a chapel which had been recently occupied by French troops. Nearly the whole of the interior fittings were destroyed. As the place had been used for Roman Catholic worship, saints and images, attired in fanciful vestments, ‘black, white, and grey, with all their trumpery,’ had been abundant. These petty divinities, despite of their alleged virtues, were upset and destroyed; some were prostrate on the floor, others were broken and disfigured, not a few had been consumed, and all that remained of many were a few glowing embers.

As food now became dreadfully scarce, a small party, of which I was one, went in search of bread or any other article of sustenance we could procure. After wandering at least ten or twelve miles from the camp ground, we observed a young heifer, to which we immediately gave chase; but the animal was so timid, and withal so swift of foot, that after a weary pursuit the game was lost. The French soldiers had, in fact, laid waste the land. Having spread themselves over the surface of many a league, they had, like a devastating army of locusts, devoured every particle of food within reach; and what in some respects is worse, what they did not eat was destroyed. On ascending an eminence, we saw the smoke of several burning villages. One of the men discovered also, at a moderate distance, what appeared to be two or three huts; we accordingly made for them; on arriving near the spot, we found they were tents, pitched apparently for temporary use. Two or three women and some children presently appeared, when we asked if they had any bread and wine to sell; telling them at the same time, to secure their favour, that we were English soldiers. They were inexorable, and declared they had nothing; but one of our party, not disposed to credit the ladies, forced his way into the tent, and dragged out a leathern bottle, containing perhaps twenty or thirty gallons of liquid. We flattered ourselves it was wine, but on inspection it was filled with oil. Several loaves of bread were, however, discovered, with which we made free; but had nearly paid a high price for the liberty taken. All on a sudden the whole party of women and children set up a dismal piercing shout, and almost at the same instant a numerous and armed party of men were observed rapidly coming down the mountain side upon us. We were few in number, and unfortunately were without our muskets. Sensible that if overtaken, our lives were forfeited, a hasty retreat became necessary. We were chased for several miles; but owing to our superior speed, we at length left our pursuers behind. When out of the reach of danger, we halted, almost dead with fatigue, and divided our spoil. It amounted to a small piece of bread for each; but how sweet that morsel was, no man can tell but he who has been driven to desperate acts by the call of biting hunger. The next day our division took the route of Valdespina, to look out for the enemy on the side of the passes leading upon Coria; but MassÉna was in full retreat for Ciudad Rodrigo, and on the 5th he crossed the frontier of Portugal; so that Lord Wellington now stood victorious on the confines of that kingdom, having executed what to others had appeared incredible and vain.

The pursuit was continued. When MassÉna reached the Agueda, his cavalry detachments, heavy artillery, and convalescents again augmented his army to more than fifty thousand men; but the fatigue of the retreat and want of provisions would not suffer him to show a front to the allies; he therefore fell back to Salamanca, and Lord Wellington invested Almeida. Our division occupied Gallegos and Espeja, and the rest of the army were disposed in villages on both sides of the Coa. Here Colonel Waters, who had been taken near Belmonte, rejoined the army. His escape was most extraordinary. Confident in his own resources, he had refused his parole; but when carried to Ciudad Rodrigo, he rashly mentioned his intention to the Spaniard in whose house he was lodged. This man betrayed him; but a servant, detesting his master’s treachery, secretly offered his aid, and Waters coolly allowed him to get the rowels of his spurs sharpened. When the French army was near Salamanca, Waters, being in the custody of gendarmes, waited until their chief, who rode the only good horse in the party, had alighted; then, giving the spur to his own beast, he galloped off. This was an act of astonishing resolution and hardihood; for he was on a large plain, and before him and for miles behind the road was covered with the French columns. His hat fell off, and thus distinguished, he rode along the flanks of the troops, some encouraging him, others firing at him, and the gendarmes, sword in hand, close at his heels; but suddenly breaking at full speed between two columns, he gained a wooded hollow, and having baffled his pursuers, evaded the rear of the enemy’s army.

The beautiful village of Fuentes d’Onoro was now destined to suffer. It had escaped all injury during the previous warfare, though occupied alternately for above a year by both sides. Every family in it was known to our division; and it was therefore a subject of deep regret to find that the preceding troops had pillaged it, leaving only the shells of houses where, three days before, a friendly population had been living in comfort. This wanton act was so warmly felt by the whole army, that eight thousand dollars were afterwards collected by general subscription for the poor inhabitants; yet the injury sank deeper than the remedy. The allies occupied a fine table land, lying between the Turones and the Dos Casos; the left at Fort Conception, the centre towards the village of Alameda, the right at Fuentes d’Onoro, the whole distance being five miles. The first and third divisions were concentrated on a gentle declivity, about a cannon-shot behind Fuentes d’Onoro, where the line of ground occupied by the army turned back, and ended on the Turones. The French came up in three columns abreast. General Loison fell upon Fuentes d’Onoro, which was occupied by five battalions of chosen troops. Most of the houses in this village were at the bottom of the ravine; but an old chapel and some buildings on a craggy eminence overhung one end. The low parts were vigorously defended; yet the violence of the attack was so great, and the cannonade so heavy, that the British abandoned the streets, and could scarcely maintain the upper ground; and the fight was becoming perilous, when three fresh regiments, coming down from the main position, charged with so little ceremony, that the French were forced back, and, after a severe contest, finally driven over the stream of Dos Casos.

On the 4th MassÉna arrived; and, having examined all the line, made dispositions for the next day. Forty thousand infantry, and five thousand horse, with thirty pieces of artillery were under arms; and they had shown, in the action of the 3rd, that their courage was not abated. The position of the English was, on the other hand, not at all desirable; and it required no common resolution to receive battle on ground so dangerous. The action began by severe cavalry fighting; and the British horsemen, being overmatched, retired behind the light division, which threw itself into squares; but the main body of the French were upon the seventh division, before the like formation could be effected; nevertheless the troops stood firm, and, although some were cut down, the Chasseurs Britanniques, taking advantage of a loose wall, received the attack with such a fire, that the enemy recoiled. Immediately after this, a commotion was observed among the French squadrons; men and officers closed in confusion towards one point, where a thick dust was arising, and where loud cries and the sparkling of blades and the flashing of pistols indicating some extraordinary occurrence. Suddenly the multitude was violently agitated; an English shout arose, the mass was rent asunder, and Norman Ramsey burst forth at the head of his battery, his horses on full stretch, and his guns bounding along like things of no weight, with the mounted gunners in close and compact order protecting the rear. But while this brilliant action was passing in one part, the enemy were making progress in the wood, and it was evident that the battle would soon be lost if the original position was not immediately regained.

In this posture of affairs, Lord Wellington directed the seventh division to cross the Turones and move down the left bank to Frenada. General Crauford, who had resumed the command of the light division, first covered the passage of the seventh, and then retired slowly over the plain in squares, having the British cavalry principally on the right flank. He was followed by the enemy’s horse, which continually outflanked him, and near the wood surprised and sabred an advanced post of the Guards, making Colonel Hill and fourteen men prisoners. Several times Montbrun seemed disposed to storm the light division squares, but we were too formidable to be meddled with. Yet, on the authority of Colonel Napier, there was not during the war a more dangerous hour than this for England. The whole of that vast plain, as far as the Turones, was covered with a confused multitude, amidst which the squares appeared but as specks. The seventh division was separated from the army by the Turones; five thousand French cavalry, with fifteen pieces of artillery, were close at hand, impatient to charge; the infantry of the eighth corps was in order of battle behind the horsemen; the wood was filled with the skirmishers of the sixth corps; and, if the latter body had issued forth, our division was in imminent danger of being broken. No effort of the sort was made. Montbrun’s horsemen merely hovered about our squares; the plain was soon cleared, the cavalry took post behind the centre, and the light division formed a reserve, sending the riflemen among the rocks to connect it with the seventh. At sight of this new front, so deeply lined with troops, the French stopped short, and commenced a heavy cannonade, which did great execution from the closeness of the allied masses; but twelve British guns replied with vigour, and the violence of the hostile fire abated. All this time a fierce battle was raging at Fuentes d’Onoro. MassÉna had directed Drouet to carry this village, at the very moment when Montbrun’s cavalry should turn the right wing. It was, however, two hours later when the attack began. The three British regiments made a desperate resistance, but, overpowered by numbers, they were pierced and divided; two companies of the 79th were taken, Colonel Cameron was mortally wounded, and the lower part of the town was carried. The upper part was, however, stiffly held, and the rolling of musketry was incessant. In this manner the fight lasted till the evening, when the lower part of the town was abandoned by both parties; the British maintaining the crags, and the French retiring a cannon-shot from the stream. Fifteen hundred men and officers, of which three hundred were prisoners, comprised the loss of the allies; that of the enemy was computed at five thousand, but this I have reason to believe was an exaggerated statement.

The night after the action, I was stationed on the line of sentinels, not far from the French front, and at the extreme verge of our own. This service, which demands perpetual vigilance, requires also, on account of its wearisome and continued toil, no ordinary degree of physical energy, as the safety of the army itself often depends upon the caution and alertness with which the outposts are preserved. Often when pacing some doubtful position, at dead of night, I have applied my ear to the ground, to try if by that means a distant footstep could be heard. At the precise time to which I now refer, the feeble voice of many a poor wounded fellow, calling for help, might be heard. These were, however, removed by the parties on both sides without delay, after which the dead were buried with as much decency and respect as circumstances allowed. A pile of about one hundred and thirty dead bodies, of which one-third were British, was discovered on a small space at Fuentes d’Onoro; and several large excavations or graves were formed, in which the remains of our fallen friends were deposited.

Soon after this period the French were compelled to evacuate Almeida; but by a singular and ingenious train of operations, the men who defended it contrived to effect their escape. During the battle of Fuentes d’Onoro, General Brennier, the governor of Almeida, with his garrison of fifteen hundred, skirmished boldly with the blockading force, and loud explosions, supposed to be signals of communication with the relieving army, were frequently heard. When all hope of succour vanished, a soldier named Tillet contrived, with extraordinary courage and presence of mind, to penetrate, although in uniform, through the posts of the blockade, carrying Brennier orders to evacuate the fortress. The blockade, it would appear, was imperfectly maintained. This was noticed by Brennier, who prepared to force his way through the encircling troops. An open country and a double line of troops greatly enhanced the difficulty; yet Brennier was resolved, not only to cut his own passage, but to render the fortress useless to the allies. To effect this, he ruined all the principal bastions, and kept up a constant fire of his artillery, so directed that the mouth of one piece crossed that of another; while therefore some shots flew towards the besiegers, and a loud explosion was heard, others destroyed pieces without attracting notice. At midnight, on the 10th, all being ready, he sprang his mines, sallied forth in a compact column, broke through the piquets, and passed between the quarters of the reserves with a nicety that proved at once his talent of observation and his coolness. General Pack followed with a few men collected at the instant, and plied him with a constant fire; yet nothing could shake or retard his column, which in silence, and without returning a shot, gained the rough country upon Barba del Puerco. Here it halted for a moment, just as daylight broke; and Pack, who was at hand, hearing that some English dragoons were in a village, sent an officer to bring them out, thus occasioning a slight skirmish, and consequent delay. The troops of the blockade had paid little attention at first to the explosion of the mines, thinking them a repetition of Brennier’s previous practice; but Pack’s fire having aroused them, the 36th regiment was close at hand; and the 4th also, having heard the firing at Valde Mula, was rapidly gaining the right flank of the enemy. Brennier, having driven off the cavalry, was again in march; yet the British regiments, having thrown off their knapsacks, followed at such a pace that they overtook the rear of his column in the act of descending the deep chasm of Barba del Puerco, killed and wounded many, captured about three hundred, and even passed the bridge in pursuit. Lord Wellington, it is said, was stung by this event, and issued a remonstrance to the army, couched in terms which no one could misunderstand.

When Marmont had thus recovered the garrison of Almeida, he withdrew the greater part of his army to Salamanca. Lord Wellington also set out for that province; but before he could arrive, a great and bloody battle had closed the operations. Beresford held a conference with the Spanish generals at Valverde, on the 13th, when it was resolved to abide the enemy’s attack at Albuera. The position taken by the allied forces was, it is said, singularly defective. It was occupied by thirty thousand infantry, above two thousand cavalry, and thirty-eight pieces of artillery; but the brigade of the fourth division being still absent, the British infantry, the pith and strength of the battle, did not amount to seven thousand. The French had fifty guns, and above four thousand veteran cavalry, but only nineteen thousand chosen infantry; yet being of one nation, obedient to one discipline, and animated by one spirit, their excellent composition amply compensated for inferiority of numbers. Beside which, it is acknowledged by military men, that the talents of their general were immeasurably greater than those of his adversary. Soult examined Beresford’s position without hindrance on the evening of the 15th, and having detected the weakness of the entire arrangement, resolved to attack the next morning. Passing by the varied evolutions which preceded the contest, it may be sufficient to observe, that a little before nine in the morning, Godinet’s division issued from the woods in one heavy column of attack, preceded by ten guns. He was flanked by the light cavalry, and followed by Werle’s division of reserve; and, making straight towards the bridge, commenced a sharp cannonade, attempting to force the passage. The allies’ guns, on the rising ground above the village, answered the fire of the French, and ploughed through their columns, which were crowding without judgment towards the bridge, although the stream was fordable above and below.

Beresford, convinced that the principal effort would be on the right, sent Blake orders to form a part of the first and all the second line of the Spanish army on the broad part of the hills, at right angles to their actual front. Soon after, the enemy’s columns began to appear on the right; and Blake, moving at last, proceeded in the evolution with such pedantic slowness, that Beresford, impatient of his folly, took the direction in person. Great was the confusion and delay thus occasioned; and before the troops could be put in order, the French were among them. In one short half-hour Beresford’s situation was rendered nearly desperate. Two-thirds of the French were in compact order of battle, on a line perpendicular to his right, and his army, disordered, and composed of different nations, was still in the difficult act of changing its front. The Spaniards were already in disorder; some had given way; and Soult, thinking that the whole army was yielding, pushed forward his columns, while his reserves also mounted the hill, and all the batteries were placed in position. At this critical moment, General Stewart arrived with Colonel Colborne’s brigade, which formed the head of the second division. The colonel seeing the confusion above, desired to form in order of battle previous to mounting the ascent; but Stewart, carried away by the impetuosity of his feelings, led up without any delay in column of companies, and attempted to open out his line in succession as the battalions arrived at the summit. Being under a destructive fire, the foremost charged to gain room, but a heavy rain prevented any object from being distinctly seen; and four regiments of Hussars and Lancers, which had passed the right flank in obscurity, came galloping in upon the rear of the line, at the instant of its development, and slew or took two-thirds of the brigade. In the tumult, a lancer fell upon Beresford, but the marshal, a man of great strength, putting his spear aside, cast him from his saddle; and a shift of wind blowing aside the mist and smoke, the mischief was perceived from the plains by General Lumley, who sent four squadrons out upon the Lancers, and cut many of them off.

During this unhappy effort of the second division, so great was the confusion that the Spanish line continued to fire, although the British were before them; on which Beresford, finding his exhortations to advance fruitless, seized an ensign, and bore him and his colours by main force to the front. Yet the troops would not follow, and the man went back again on being released. At this juncture, Sir William Stewart once more advanced; and the weather having cleared, he poured a dreadful fire into the thickest of the French columns, convincing Soult, that whatever might be the result, the day was not yet won. Houghton’s regiments soon got footing on the summit, Dickson placed the artillery in line; the remaining brigade of the second division came up on the left; and two Spanish corps at last moved forward. The enemy’s infantry then recoiled; yet soon recovering, renewed the fight with greater violence than before. The cannon on both sides discharged showers of grape at half range, and the peals of musketry were incessant, and often within pistol-shot. But the close formation of the French embarrassed their battle, and the British line would not yield them one inch of ground nor a moment of time to open their ranks. Their fighting was, however, fierce and dangerous. Stewart was twice hurt, Colonel Duckworth of the 48th was slain, and the valiant Houghton, who had received many wounds without shrinking, fell, and died in the act of encouraging his men.

Still the combat raged with unabated fury. Colonel Inglis, twenty-two officers, and more than four hundred men, out of five hundred and seventy that had ascended the hill, fell in the 57th alone. And the other regiments were much the same in loss; not one-third were standing in any. Ammunition failed; and as the English fire slackened, the enemy established a column in advance upon the right flank. The play of Dickson’s artillery checked them for a moment, but again the Polish Lancers charged, and captured six guns. In this desperate crisis, Colonel Hardinge boldly ordered Cole to advance; and then riding to Colonel Abercrombie, who commanded the remaining brigade of the second division, directed him also to push forward into the fight. The die being thus cast, the terrible battle was continued. The field was heaped with carcases; the lancers were riding furiously about the captured artillery on the upper slope of the hill, and on the lower parts a Spanish and an English regiment, in mutual error, were exchanging volleys; behind all, some Portuguese, in withdrawing from the heights above the bridge, appeared to be in retreat. All now appeared to be lost, when all was in a few minutes gained by the conduct of a few brave and unconquerable men. Colonel Arbuthnot pushing between the fire of the mistaken troops, enlightened their minds; while Cole, with the Fusileers, flanked by a battalion of the Lusitanian legion, mounted the hill, dispersed the lancers, recovered the captured guns, and soon appeared on the right of Houghton’s brigade.

Such a gallant line issuing from the midst of the smoke, and rapidly separating itself from the confused and broken multitude, startled the enemy’s heavy masses, which were increasing and pressing onwards as to an assured victory; they wavered, hesitated, and then vomiting forth a storm of fire, hastily endeavoured to enlarge their front, while a fearful discharge of grape from all their artillery whistled through the British ranks. Myers was killed; Cole and the three colonels, Ellis, Blakeny, and Hawkshawe, fell wounded; and the fusileer battalions, struck by the iron tempest, began to reel. In that moment, when the last particle of energy appeared to be gone, they arose in almost unprecedented might, and surpassed their former selves. Closing at once with their enemies, the strength and intrepidity of a British soldier were exhibited in deeds seldom seen. In vain did Soult, by voice and gesture, animate his Frenchmen; in vain did the hardiest veterans, extricating themselves from the crowded columns, sacrifice their lives to gain time for the mass to open out on so fair a field; in vain did the mass itself bear up, and, fiercely striving, fire indiscriminately upon friends and foes, while the horsemen, hovering on the flank, threatened to charge the advancing line. Nothing could stop that astonishing infantry. Their eyes were bent on the dark columns in front; their firm, heavy, and measured tread shook the ground; their dreadful volleys swept away the head of every formation; their deafening shouts overpowered the dissonant cries that broke from all parts of the tumultuous crowd, as foot by foot, and with horrid carnage, it was driven by the vigour of the attack to the extreme edge of the hill. Here the last stand was made, with the hope of averting this mountain torrent. But it was in vain: the effort only served to increase the irremediable confusion; and the mighty mass giving way, like a loosened cliff, went headlong down the ascent.

The rain flowed after in streams discoloured with blood; and of six thousand British soldiers who performed these wonders, fifteen hundred unwounded men were all that remained upon the fatal hill. The serious fighting had endured only four hours; and in that space of time nearly seven thousand of the allies and above eight thousand of their antagonists were struck down. Three French generals were wounded, two slain, and eight hundred soldiers so badly hurt as to be left on the field. On Beresford’s side, beside the loss of the British already named, two thousand Spaniards and six hundred Germans and Portuguese were killed or wounded. The trophies of the French were five hundred unwounded prisoners, a howitzer, and several stand of colours; the British had nothing of that sort to display; but the piles of carcases within their lines told, with convincing eloquence, who were the conquerors; and all the night the rain poured down, and the rivers and hills and woods resounded with the groans of dying men. On the 18th Soult retreated.

Towards winter I was charged with a mission to fetch clothing from Lisbon for the use of the regiment. One description of article was flannel shirts, of which I received six hundred, for the approaching winter wear. On returning, I met with an accident, which had nearly deprived me of sight. One of our party, with consummate carelessness, placed his powder-horn upon the table, fully charged, and by some accident the whole quantity exploded; my face was sadly scorched, but providentially the organs of vision received no lasting injury. Our party consisted of six or seven persons: of these, three were corporals, of whom I was senior. Having to pass over several mountains of vast height, our progress was necessarily slow. One evening, having ascended the slope of a stupendous hill, on which the snow was deep, we were unable to move the cars on which the stores were carried. Having also but an imperfect knowledge of the pass, we found ourselves compelled to spend the night in that bleak and desolate region. All the shelter we could procure was to creep under the cars. Two of the men were soon after seized with ague, and suffered extremely. The silence which prevailed in this elevated region was singularly impressive.

After a wearisome night, which appeared almost endless, we were happy to perceive the first morning ray. We soon after discovered a man coming our way, driving two bullocks. I thought the omen a happy one; and in the spirit of the national war then raging I ordered the man to stop, and without hesitation pressed the animals into our service, by yoking them to our cars. The driver demanded my authority for so doing. I told him to look at my musket. To my dismay I afterwards found that some of the troops had been in the habit of laying violent hands upon cattle, having no other object in view than to extort money from the owners when they applied to reclaim their property. To put down this practice, Lord Wellington had issued a proclamation, of which, unfortunately, I had not heard, denouncing these excesses in terms of great severity. In fact, strange as it appeared to myself, who had no intention of violating general orders, on my arrival at quarters I was handed over to the provost-marshal, deprived of my arms and acoutrements, and thrown into confinement among some of the most ill-favoured vagabonds that ever infested man or beast. The officer in whose custody I was placed proved himself one of Job’s comforters. He gave me to understand that not long since a man in the 52nd had been shot for the exact crime of which I was guilty; he then closed the prison-door and departed. Conscious, however, that I had intended neither to rob nor injure, my mind was supported. Let me tell an old-fashioned secret: the Almighty has always been my guide and defence. What is more, He always will. But, says an objector, this is rank fanaticism. That I cannot help: such is the truth; nor can it be altered by the coinage of any term, whether of approval or reproach. On the occasion now described, I was released as if nothing had happened. After my enlargement had taken place, I found that my worthy comrades had been to the owner of the animals, and had exhausted the entire circle of a soldier’s pleading on my behalf. I was young, had not heard of the late order, knew no better, used no violence, asked for no money, was an Irishman; beside which they gave him to understand that I was a good Catholic, to which I believe they subjoined a little cash in hand. These two latter arguments were irresistible, and the matter was smoothly settled.

The new year opened with uncommon effort on the side of the British forces in Spain. Lord Wellington, whose means of collecting information were extensive and correct, had discovered that a considerable reduction had taken place in the French army. The Imperial Guards, seventeen thousand strong, were required for the Russian war, and had returned to France; so that the force in the Peninsula was diminished by sixty thousand men. Marmont was also deceived, by what appeared to him the careless winter attitude of the allies, and Ciudad Rodrigo was left unprotected. The Frenchman was mistaken; and Wellington resolved to show that he was, by grasping at that fortress. The troops disposable for the attack of Ciudad Rodrigo were about thirty-five thousand, including cavalry. From the scarcity of transports, only thirty-eight guns could be brought to the trenches, and these would have wanted their proper supply of ammunition if eight thousand shot had not been found among the ruins of Almeida. When the place was closely examined, it was found that the French, in addition to the old works, had fortified two convents. They had also constructed an enclosed and pallisadoed redoubt upon the Greater Teson; and this redoubt, called Francisco, was supported by two guns and a howitzer, placed upon the flat roof of the convent of that name. On minutely inspecting these enlarged works, it was resolved to storm Fort Francisco, and, opening the first parallel along the Greater Teson, to form counter-batteries with which to ruin the defences and drive the besieged from the convent. Meanwhile, to cover the siege, Julian Sanchez and Carlos d’Espana were posted in observation of the enemy.

On the 8th of January, the eighth division and some Portuguese forded the Agueda near Caridad, three miles above the fortress, and making a circuit took post beyond the Great Teson. As there was no regular investment, the enemy did not believe that the siege was commenced; but in the evening the troops stood to their arms, and Colonel Colborne, commanding the 52nd, having assembled two companies from each of the British regiments of the light division, stormed the redoubt of Francisco: of this party I had the honour to make one. The attack was so rapid and furious that the assailants appeared to be at one and the same time in the ditch, mounting the parapets, fighting on the top of the rampart, and forcing the gorge of the redoubt, where the explosion of one of the French shells had burst the gate open. The post was taken with the loss only of twenty-four men and officers; and working parties were set to labour on the right of it, for the fort itself was instantly covered with shot and shells from the town. This tempest continued through the night; but at day-break the parallel, six hundred yards in length, was sunk three feet deep and four wide; the communication over the Teson to the rear was completed, and the progress of the siege was hastened several days by this well-managed assault. I was exposed to the fire of the enemy for some time previous to our arrival at the fort, but sustained no injury. We were discovered when about a hundred and fifty yards from the fort.

After the redoubt had been taken, I was employed with several others in escorting the prisoners to a place of safety. The garrison, it seems, had no expectation of this unceremonious visit; and when we entered the place I observed several packs of cards, with which the men had been amusing themselves. On returning, I unexpectedly came in contact with a French soldier, who by some means or other had escaped notice. I called out instantly, desiring him to surrender, which he did; but while in the act of conducting him to the others, a British sergeant, who deserves to be named, but on whom compassionate silence shall be shown, stopped the prisoner for the sake of plunder. Enraged at this unjust and discreditable interference, I placed my gun on the ground, determined to knock down the interloper, and secure my captive. A scuffle accordingly ensued; when in an instant, we found to our dismay that further contention was needless. The Frenchman observing our quarrel, instantly took to his heels, and being exceedingly alert, was out of sight before I could fire at him.

On the 12th we were employed in the trenches, from whence we picked off the enemy’s gunners. The riflemen, also, taking advantage of a thick fog, did great execution; but in the night the weather was so cold and the besieged shot so briskly, that little progress was made. Two days afterwards, the enemy, having observed that the men in the trenches went off in a disorderly manner on the approach of the relief, made a sally, and overturned the gabions of the sap; they even penetrated to the parallel, and were upon the point of entering the batteries, when a few of the workmen getting together, checked them until a support arrived, and thus the guns were saved. This affair, together with the death of the engineer on duty, and the heavy fire from the town, delayed the opening of the breaching batteries; but at half past four in the evening, twenty-five heavy guns battered the rampart, and two pieces were directed against the convent of Francisco. The spectacle was sublime. The enemy replied by more than fifty pieces; the bellowing of eighty large guns shook the ground far and wide; the smoke rested in heavy columns upon the battlements of the place; the walls crashed to the blow of the bullet; and when night put an end to this turmoil, the quick clatter of musketry was heard like the pattering of hail after a peal of thunder; for the 40th regiment assaulted and carried the convent of Francisco, and established itself on the suburb on the left of the attack.

On the 17th the firing on both sides was very heavy, and the wall of the place was beaten down in large cantles; but several of the besiegers’ guns were dismounted, their batteries injured, and many of their men killed. General Borthwick, the commandant of the artillery, was wounded, and the sap was entirely ruined. Even the riflemen in the pits were at first overpowered with grape; yet towards evening they recovered the upper hand, and the French could fire only from the more distant embrasures. In the night the battery intended for the lesser breach was armed, and that on the Lower Teson raised, so as to afford cover in the day-time. On the 19th it was reported that both breaches were practicable, and a plan of attack was immediately formed.

All the troops reached their different posts without seeming to attract the attention of the enemy; but before the signal was given, and while Lord Wellington was still at the convent of Francisco, the attack on the right commenced, and was instantly taken up along the whole line. The space between the army and the ditch was then ravaged by a tempest of grape from the ramparts. The storming parties of the third division jumped out of the parallel when the first shout arose; but so rapid had been the movements on their right, that before they could reach the ditch three regiments had already scoured the faussebraye, and were pushing up the great breach, amid the bursting of shells, the whistling of grape and muskets, and the shrill cries of the French, who were driven fighting behind the retrenchments. There, however, they rallied, and, aided by the musketry from the houses, made hard battle for their post; none would go back on either side, and yet the British could not get forward; and men and officers, falling in heaps, choked up the passage, which was incessantly raked with grape from two guns flanking the top of the breach at the distance of a few yards. It was now our turn. We had three hundred yards to clear; but, impatient of delay, we did not wait for the hay-bags, but swiftly ran to the crest of the glacis, jumped down the scarp, a depth of eleven feet, and rushed up the faussebraye, under a smashing discharge of grape and musketry. The bottom of the ditch was dark and intricate, and the forlorn hope took too much to their left; but the storming party went straight to the breach, which was so contracted that a gun placed lengthwise across the top nearly blocked up the opening. Here the forlorn hope rejoined the stormers; but when two-thirds of the ascent were gained, the leading men, crushed together by the narrowness of the place, staggered under the weight of the enemy’s fire. Our commander, Major Napier, was at this moment struck to the earth by a grape-shot, which shattered his arm, but he called to his men to trust to their bayonets; and all the officers simultaneously sprang to the front, when the charge was renewed with a furious shout, and the entrance was gained. The supporting regiments then came up in sections abreast, and the place was won. During the contest, which lasted only for a few minutes after the faussebraye was passed, the fighting had continued at the great breach with unabated violence; but when the 43rd and the stormers of the light division came pouring down on the right flank of the French, the latter yielded to the storm; at the same moment the explosion of three wall-magazines destroyed many persons, and the third division with a mighty effort broke through the retrenchments. The garrison fought for a short time in the streets, but finally fled to the castle, where an officer, who, though wounded, had been amongst the foremost at the lesser breach, received the governor’s sword.

The allies now plunged into the streets from all quarters; after which, throwing off the restraints of discipline, frightful excesses were committed. The town was fired in three or four places; the soldiers menaced their officers, and shot each other; many were killed in the market-place; intoxication soon increased the disorder; and at last, the fury rising to an absolute madness, a fire was wilfully lighted in the middle of the great magazine, when the town, and all in it, would have been blown to atoms, but for the energetic courage of some officers and a few soldiers, who still preserved their senses. Three hundred French had fallen, fifteen hundred were made prisoners; and beside the immense store of ammunition, above one hundred and fifty pieces of artillery were captured in the place. The whole loss of the allies was about twelve hundred soldiers, and ninety officers; and of these above six hundred and fifty men, and sixty officers, had been slain or hurt in the breaches. General Crauford and General Mackinnon were killed. With these died many gallant men, and amongst others, a captain in the regiment to which I belonged. Of him it was felicitously said, that ‘three generals and seventy other officers had fallen; but the soldiers fresh from the strife only talked of Hardyman.’ Unhappily, the slaughter did not end with the battle; for the next day, as the prisoners and their escort were marching out by the breach, an accidental explosion took place, and numbers of both were blown into the air. The personal sufferings of the soldiers were severe, as the service had been unusually dangerous. While in the front ditch near the glacis, a live shell exploded within a few paces of the spot on which I stood. We threw ourselves flat on the ground, but though nearly suffocated by the dust it threw around, no material injury was inflicted either on myself or comrades.

The station I was ordered to take on the following day was of a melancholy cast. It was in the ditch, among the unburied dead. Nothing struck me more forcibly than the conduct of a soldier’s widow. Suspecting that her husband had fallen, she traversed this vale of death to seek him. Never shall I forget the anguish of her soul when she discovered the much-loved remains. The brave man had fallen covered with wounds; his countenance was sadly disfigured, and suffused with blood. She fell upon his face, and kissed his faded lips; she then gazed at the lifeless form, repeated her embraces, and gave way to the wild and ungovernable grief which struggled for expression. Sin! what hast thou done? Nor can I forbear observing, that a noble disregard for suffering, and fortitude of no common kind, were frequently shown both by officers and men, though severely hurt and disabled. None retired to the rear, until compelled by stern necessity. This resolute disposition to surmount, and if possible forget all surmountable difficulties, reminds me of a French royalist officer, in the late revolutionary war. Being engaged in a desperate action, he had the misfortune to have both his legs carried away by a cannon-ball. While lying on the ground, a wounded soldier indulged in loud and clamorous complaints: ‘Peace, friend,’ said the officer, ‘our God died upon the cross; our king perished on the scaffold; and I have lost my limbs. Revere the Almighty, and be patient.’

The siege of Ciudad Rodrigo lasted twelve days. When the commander-in-chief terminated his order for the assault, with this sentence, ‘Ciudad Rodrigo must be stormed this evening,’ he knew well that it would be nobly understood. The difficulties we had to encounter were great. The principal breach was cut off from the town by a perpendicular descent of sixteen feet; and the bottom was planted with sharp spikes, and strewed with live shells. The houses behind were all loop-holed and sprinkled with musketeers.

The French had left their temporary bridges, but behind were parapets so powerfully defended, that it was said the third division could never have carried them, had not the light division taken the enemy in flank. To recompense an exploit so boldly undertaken and so nobly finished, Lord Wellington was created Duke of Ciudad Rodrigo, by the Spaniards, Earl of Wellington, by the English, and Marquis of Torres Vedras, by the Portuguese.