Our march upon Condeixa—Tom Crawley again—Hot and cold—Affair of Casal Nova—Death of Major Stewart—The French continue retreating—The two brothers—Night scene—The French continue their havoc—The CaÇadore—The pet goat—Lord Wellington again—Our old Colonel—The promise of the Staff—The Recruits—British enthusiasm inspired—The two French prisoners—Particulars of Massena’s retreat and state of his troops—St. Patrick’s Day—If I had a donkey—The river Caira—Our distressing privations—O’Brien and the old Patrone—Arrival at Friexedas—Adjutant Stewart killed—Sabugal—Carrying of the enemy’s position—Encomiums of our Colonel—Death of Lieut. Arbuthnot—Disagreeable bed-fellow—A light on the subject—Evacuation of Portugal by the French, Almeida excepted—The British follow into Spain—Arrival at Gallegos—The enemy active in Rodrigo—The skulker—Poor Burke—Expedition and disappointment in search of a convoy.

The French got under arms before the dawn of the morning, and we as usual followed, keeping them well on before us.

In the course of the noon we passed through the pretty little town of Condeixa, which the enemy had fired in several places. The main street was completely blocked by the flames darting across the road from the opposite houses. To enable the troops to pass, we were obliged to “break” a way through some dry walls. This caused a temporary halt, during which the chief part of the division gallantly employed themselves extricating the unfortunate inhabitants, from the burning houses. Tom Crawley (forgetful of the coach) made use of his great strength to some purpose, and chucked some five or six old people, whom he had brought forth on his shoulders, over a wall as he supposed, out of immediate danger. Tom, however, who should have “looked,” before he made the old ones “leap,” was not aware that close to their descent was a large well, into which, to their great terror, he had very nearly dropped the terrified and screeching sufferers.

Having cleared the houses “a way,” we proceeded to Casal Nova, where we came up with the incendiaries, whom we found perfectly prepared to receive us. The country all about was greatly intercepted by old walls, and afforded excellent facilities for skirmishing. In a few seconds some of our division was observed moving upon our right, and we were ordered instantly to extend, and at it we went. After several hours’ hard fighting, kept up with great spirit on both sides, we compelled the enemy to retire, but not before we had lost an excellent officer in the person of Major Stewart, who received a shot through the body. He was led by two buglers to the rear, where he died shortly after. The death of this officer gave a step to my old Captain O’Hare, who obtained the majority.

In this skirmish Lieutenant Stroud also received a severe wound. This officer in action, always carried a rifle, for the skilful use of which he was celebrated.^[9] A man of our company named Pat Mahon, received three balls on the hip at the same instant, and so close together that a dollar might have covered the three holes they made.

The enemy still continued the retreat, their skirmishers, at times, making short stands to keep our rifles in check, and a few of their rear sections occasionally pouring a running fire into us. We drove them, however, through the village of Casal Nova. Some of the French for a few minutes here availed themselves of pieces of dilapidated walls, but as soon as we commenced outflanking them, they all retreated, with the exception of one man, who, to our surprise, remained loading and firing as if he had a whole division to back him. I scarcely know what could have induced me to fire at this poor fellow alone, and exposed as he was to at least twenty other shots; but my blood was up, through his having once aimed at me, his ball whizzing close by as I approached. Be that as it may, I had got within fifty yards when I fired. In an instant I was beside him, the shot had entered his head, and he had fallen in the act of loading, the fusil tightly grasped in his left hand, while his right clutched the ramrod. A few quick turns of the eye as it rolled its dying glances on mine, turned my whole blood within me, and I reproached myself as his destroyer. An indescribable uneasiness came over me, I felt almost like a criminal. I knelt to give him a little wine from a small calabash, which hung at my side, and was wiping the foam from his lips, when a heavy groan drew my attention aside, and turning round my head I beheld stretched near him and close to the wall, another wounded Frenchman, a sergeant. “HÉlas,” exclaimed the wounded man, the big tears suddenly gushing down his sun-burnt countenance, as he pointed with his finger to my victim, “vous avez tuÉ mon pauvre frÈre,” (you have killed my poor brother,) and indeed such was the melancholy fact.

The sergeant, a stout heavy man, had fallen, his thigh broken by a shot. The younger brother, unable to carry him off the field, had remained, apparently with the intention of perishing by his side.

We halted for the night on an adjacent hill, about a mile in advance. The French also took up their position opposite us. The picquets of both armies occupied a beautiful ravine, that sloped between us. I took advantage of the few moments’ leisure our position afforded to return to the French sergeant. But I found him and his brother both as naked as they were born, perforated with innumerable wounds, no doubt administered by the Portuguese. I turned back to the camp, but in a very poor humour with myself, though I could not well close my eyes to the magnificent scene around me. The sun had set, its light had been supplanted by burning villages, and fires that on vale and mountain correctly pointed out where the hostile divisions were extended.

The following morning, the French continued their march of havoc, and we closed after them, village after village giving flaming proofs of their continued atrocities. Passing through one which had been fired, by reason, as we were informed, of its having been the quarters of Marshal Ney and staff,—an appalling instance of vengeance here occurred. The parents of one of our CaÇadores had lived in this village, and immediately we entered, he rushed to the house where they resided. On reaching the doorway, the soldier hesitated a few seconds, but the door was open, and stretched across the threshold he beheld the mangled bodies of his father and mother, the blood still warm and reeking through the bayonet stabs, while an only sister lay breathing her last, and exhibiting dreadful proofs of the brutality with which she had been violated. The unhappy man staggered, frenzied with grief, and stared wildly around him; till suddenly burying all other feelings in the maddening passion of revenge, he rushed forth from what had probably been once a happy home. His first act was to dash at some French prisoners that unfortunately were near the spot, guarded by some of our dragoons. These he attacked with the fury of a madman. One he shot and another he wounded, and he would have sacrificed a third, had not the guard made him prisoner. On the circumstances being made known to the General, he was liberated.

Outside the village, and on a gentle slope, we came to the enemy’s camp ground, which they had been obliged to quit so precipitately as to have left their fires lighted. We noticed a goat, which, by its frisking and jumping about, I supposed to have been a pet of some French officer. Whenever we went near, it would step aside, until some of the men levelled their rifles and shot it; swords were out in a moment, and the little animal, skin and all, dissected. I was just apportioning the hind quarter, when who should ride near, but Lord Wellington and staff; for a while I felt as if the noose were already round my neck, until the Colonel coming up, re-established my serenity, and congratulated us on our lucky chance; for this kindness we shared our booty with him that same night.

We had suffered dreadfully throughout the previous week; many of our men from weakness, and through want of rations, having been unable to keep up with their regiments, Colonel Beckwith, in the hearing of many of us, took this opportunity of making it known to the Commander-in-chief, who immediately promised we should have the first rations that came up. We then marched to some high ground, from whence we could distinctly see the French camp at a place called Foz d’Aouce, their fires lighted preparatory to passing the night there. It was determined, however, that they should not enjoy it so easily. Our battalion was instantly ordered to the attack, before proceeding to which, I will introduce to my readers a squad of “gentlemen,” who joined us a few evenings preceding. We had been reinforced by a fresh batch of recruits from England, a number of whom had been drafted into our company. These fellows’ rosy cheeks and plump appearance, with their new dresses, formed a bright relief and amusing contrast to our fierce embrowned visages, covered with whisker and mustachio, as we then were, and our clothing patched and of all colours. As these new-comers were now about to go through the ordeal of fire, for the first time in their lives, Major O’Hare thought proper to say a few words by way of advice to them, on so momentous an occasion; accordingly, he gave the command, “Recruits to the front.”

Some ten or twelve immediately stepped forward, wondering, no doubt, what they were wanted for. “Do you see those men on that plain?” asked the Major, as he pointed to the French camp. On several of the men answering “Ees, Zur!” Major O’Hare, with a dry laugh, continued, “Well then, those are the French, and our enemies. You must kill those fellows, and not allow them to kill you. You must learn and do as these old birds here do,” pointing to us, “and get cover where you can. Recollect, recruits, you come here to kill, and not be killed. Bear this in mind: if you don’t kill the French they’ll kill you.”—“Ees, Zur!” said they again.

The Major’s logic, although it elicited roars of laughter from the old soldiers, I believe had more effect with the recruits than if Demosthenes had risen for the purpose. Immediately after this out went our muzzle stoppers, and sallying down the slope on which we had been drawn up, at the enemy we went. Our battalion was soon hotly engaged, assisted by some light companies of the guards, belonging to the first division. The night was fast setting in, but we soon succeeded in beating the enemy out of their camp ground, and we dashed at them as they retired crowding with precipitation over a bridge which crossed the river in their rear. Before two-thirds of their force had accomplished this, the bridge, by some irregularity, was blown up, and great numbers also were drowned in attempting to ford the stream.

At their camp ground many of our men came in for a bit of a wind-fall, as the French, in their hurry to place the river between us and them, had left their meat and pots on the fires. This afforded a happy regale to some of our unfortunate hungry stomachs, the more especially as the food thus come by, was eaten with a sense of having been fairly earned.

During the foregoing skirmish and while very closely engaged, I perceived a horse, gaily bedizened with French trappings, galloping about, as though looking for an owner, and I managed to catch it by the bridle. A minute afterwards my prize received a shot, probably intended for myself, but which stretched the poor animal dead beside me.

The night was passed on the French camp ground. At the fire round which we thronged, were two wounded Frenchmen; it was a satisfaction to mark the care and attention which they received at the hands of our men. One of the prisoners, whom I found to be a very intelligent fellow, gave me interesting accounts of the state and proceedings of Massena’s troops, which, as it much amused us at the period, possibly may prove equally entertaining to the reader.

“At the time that Massena and his troops,” said he, “lay at Santarem, we had encouraged hopes of driving the English into Lisbon, or the sea; but finding these unavailing, it was given up in despair, and the army prepared, at about the beginning of the spring of 1811, to retire back through the country into Spain.

“The batteries and other works which for several months our men had been erecting, were destroyed, and leaving behind us a great number of our sick, whom we had no means of conveying away, we shared the last of our provisions, amounting to about ten biscuits each man amongst us, and we prepared to retreat.

“The troops were in a most distressed state, reduced to half their numbers almost naked and without provisions, for most of them consumed in a few days the whole of their scanty allowance. They could not expect aid from any of their comrades, for all were without, and the country around us devastated by both parties; our wants, however, urged us to plunder, and we wandered in strong parties from the regiment, and meeting with every species of resistance, gave blow for blow.

“The guerillas followed us everywhere; they fled in the front and harassed us on our flanks, so that not an hour passed but we were obliged to be on the alert to save our lives; out of this arose every cruelty which ensued, and made our retreat almost unparalleled for devastation and bloodshed. Meanwhile the British troops came on in our rear, their light divisions harassing us night and day, and completing the wreck that never will be forgotten while Portugal retains its name.”

We continued to occupy the same spot the whole of the following day, waiting very anxiously for the promised supply of rations; one day’s rations, however, to our exceeding joy, made their appearance in the evening of the 16th. The following being the morning of St. Patrick’s Day, the whole of our battalion, English and Irish, duly celebrated the event by a proper attention to greens, and not having shamrocks, leaves, grass and boughs of trees were substituted: thus ornamented we commenced our march.

Just before we arrived at the river Caira, the waters of which flowed over the body of many an unfortunate French soldier, we came upon a sight which was enough to make the “Humane Society,” declare eternal war against the men of the wooden shoes.

This was some two or three hundred donkeys and mules, which the enemy, unable to drive off, had maimed and hamstrung. The poor animals looked up to us as if for vengeance, and every mute appeal was sternly fulfilled, for they struck home to the feelings of us all.

We continued our march for about two leagues, when the battalion halted upon a hill covered with pine-trees. At the bottom of this and near our advanced posts, flowed the river Alva, on the opposite side of which the retreating army lay encamped. We had halted, and refreshed ourselves, with the notion that we should spend the night there quietly, but we were doomed to be miserably undeceived, as a fresh order was given for us to fall in, the artillery coming up, and commenced playing on the enemy’s masses, and our division was ordered to cross the river. Lord Wellington certainly was determined to allow the French no rest if possible, and indeed, if truth be added, ourselves as little. A pontoon was thrown over the river for the division to cross, while others forded the stream a little higher up on our right. The enemy retired in excellent order, and we pursued until both halted for the night. The place we occupied was a little village called Melo, where we remained during the following day, having had one ration only for the last four days. Never let it be said that John Bull cannot fight upon an empty stomach. If ever one division of our army proved this more than another, I certainly think it was the light one. Light enough we were at this and at other periods, Heaven knows. While thus impelled by hunger, myself and Wilkie searching about for something to devour, proceeded down a lane, where we came upon the body of an elderly woman. She was lying in the middle of the road, dressed in white, and, from the hands being bound together in a praying attitude, and the general appearance of the corpse, it was evident that she had been taken out for the purpose of burial, as it is the custom in that country to inter them in full dress, and without a coffin: the arrival of the French no doubt had obliged her attendants to abandon her.

The reader is expecting perhaps, that we set to work and nibbled the old woman, but let me assure him we did nothing of the kind, though we thought many and many a time, and growled sadly that we had not provided ourselves with a bit from the donkeys.

The corpse had round its neck a set of beads with a gold cross at the end, which Wilkie very “piously” put into his pocket.

We still, however, continued our prowling, and stumbled at last on a small cottage, into which we entered, in full hopes of having made a substantial discovery.

An old emaciated half-starved looking hag, sat squatted by some extinguished embers, like the last survivor of a universal wreck. She was indeed the only living inhabitant we had seen in the village, and remained squatted by the embers, as if permitted that privilege only to recount her tale. The old soul continued a fixture, until Wilkie suspecting something, pressed her to move. “Non hai nada!” screamed the old lady, “Non hai nada!” (there is nothing.)

“Oh but there is,” replied my comrade; until growing furious, he upset the old woman from her position, and out rolled a loaf of bread from under her, as natural as if it had been an egg from under a hen. Wilkie pounced at it instantly, and the miserable old creature burst into tears, and screamed herself almost into fits. Her cries in a few seconds brought in her daughter, who unable to keep herself concealed at this agonizing appeal of her parent, rushed forward to her assistance. Never before did I see such a pitiful pair, both were almost cadaverous with want, and begged hard for the loaf. But we were all of us half starved, and at last, Wilkie and myself, unable to contain ourselves any longer, willingly shared it with them.

We were engaged daily with the enemy until we came to Friexedas, on the 28th of March, on which day we lost our gallant adjutant, Lieutenant Stewart, who fell by a musket shot.

On the 1st of April we again came up with the enemy, who held possession of the town of Sabugal, where they seemed inclined to make a final stand.

The town is situated partly upon a hill, with some woodland interspersed about, while the rapid river Coa winds between it and the Lisbon side of the country.

On the day of the 3rd an attack upon the enemy was commenced, by our battalions, when through some mistake, we were left almost unsupported; after crossing the river, we advanced up the hill, on the other side, and under a fleecy shower of rain, soon became hotly engaged with the French. They were at least four or five times our number, and compelled us to retire twice before their overwhelming masses. Led on, however, by our gallant Colonel, we fixed swords, and came to the charge and drove them up the hills before us. There a strong reserve was prepared for our reception. A third time we were obliged to give ground, until our second brigade coming to our aid, we again dashed at them, carried the position, and after a hard contest, obliged the enemy to retreat with the utmost precipitation, leaving behind them a howitzer, which had been twice taken and retaken.

No one that day could have observed our Colonel during the heat of the action, and not have admired his cool and soldier-like bearing. “Steady, lads—show no hurry,” was his cheering exhortation, accompanied by a smile when we were obliged to retreat, the blood, at the same time, flowing copiously from a wound he had received across his forehead. Never, perhaps, in any action, did the Rifles display more consummate tact and resolution than in this. Lord Wellington was too just to pass over their services on this occasion, and in general orders passed a high encomium upon the gallantry of Colonel Beckwith, and the brigade under his command. We lost a fine young fellow, an officer, Lieutenant the Honourable —— Arbuthnot, whose head was smashed by a round-shot.

At the conclusion of the battle the rain poured down in torrents, and obliged us to take such shelter as the walls and trees around afforded. The enemy, meanwhile, were in rapid retreat, and we should, in all probability, have continued in pursuit, but for the exhausted state of the men.

While endeavouring to obtain shelter, Lord Wellington rode up, and knowing the chief business of the day had fallen upon our brigade, he ordered us into the town. We arrived just in time to prevent the fifth division from supplanting us, and they consequently were obliged to retrace their steps, which they did with much grumbling and discontent. It was dark before we got into the house appropriated to us. Myself and one or two others turned into a small square room, the floor of which was covered with straw. Though wetted through to the skin I soon fell into a sound sleep, but was, however, quickly awakened by a hurried exclamation from a man who had just entered the room with a light. On looking around for the cause of his surprise, I beheld a stiff and naked corpse placed upright against the walls of the room, brutally defaced; at the same moment, and in the act of turning, I placed my hand on the clammy features of another body, partly concealed under the straw, and across which I had actually been sleeping; we found four bodies altogether, evidently Portuguese, and all of them bearing the usual proofs of French retaliation.

The next day Massena evacuated Portugal, with the exception of Almeida, and in a short time we ourselves crossed the frontiers and took up our old quarters at Gallegos; here we found many of our acquaintances of the preceding year, and the enemy having retired upon Ciudad Rodrigo, we were suffered for a while to recruit our strength.

Some weeks after our arrival at Gallegos, the battalion had orders to prepare for marching at an hour’s notice, and to leave their knapsacks behind. This was announced by Colonel Beckwith on the afternoon parade, who, at the same time, desiring those who were sick or weakly to fall out, as a forced march was to be undertaken to prevent the French throwing supplies into Rodrigo. On hearing this several skulkers in the regiment fell out of the ranks, but were obliged to fall in again.

Passing down the regiment, Colonel Beckwith, attracted by the evident looks of ill-health of a man named Burke, noted for his daring courage, very humanely advised him to remain behind, “For you look very ill, Burke,” said the Colonel. “No, Sir,” replied Burke, casting a look of contempt on the skulkers, “I certainly am not well, but I still have the heart of a man, and will keep up with my comrades as long as my legs will carry me.” The Colonel evinced a melancholy, but evident satisfaction, at this manly reply. “I am sorry,” said he, “that the sneaking propensities of others should compel a brave man to act against himself.” This brave fellow Burke was afterwards one of the forlorn hope at Ciudad Rodrigo, Badajoz, and St. Sebastian, through the successive horrors of which he lived to fall mortally wounded at Quatre Bras, just previous to the battle of Waterloo.

Our expeditionary party marched early in the morning. We took the direction of Rodrigo, fording the river Agueda in our way. We were doomed to have only our march for our trouble—the expected convoy of the enemy had escaped us; so that, harassed to death, we had the pleasure of retracing our steps not a wit wiser than we went. In recrossing the river, a poor fellow of our company, spent with fatigue, was carried off his legs and drowned. Another would have shared the same fate, but for Brigade-Major Mellish, who, by swimming his horse to his assistance, saved the man.