Cold reception—Preparation to storm Rodrigo—I join the “Forlorn-Hope”—The breaches—General Crauford killed—Uniacke mortally wounded—Major Napier wounded—Taking of the town—A rough customer—Wilkie again—Death of Wilkie—A gift—The left breach after the battle—Wilkie’s grave—Horrors of a storm—This is my niece, Sir—The right breach—Captain Uniacke—The Light Division leave Rodrigo in disguise—Who the devil are those fellows?—We enter El Bodon.

The following day we were relieved by the third division, and marched back to our quarters, cold, hungry, and fatigued enough. One great annoyance we experienced at this time, was having to cross the Agueda in going to and returning from the trenches. Pieces of ice that were constantly carried down this rapid stream bruised our men so much, that, to obviate it, the cavalry at length were ordered to form four deep across the ford, under the lee of whom we crossed comparatively unharmed, although by the time we reached our quarters, our clothes were frozen into a mass of ice.

Our divisions continued relieving each other in the trenches for some days, until two breaches were considered practicable for an assault. On the 18th, at night, an order came that we were to proceed to the works the next morning. As this took us out of our turn of duty, we all naturally supposed that something unusual was to be done. At daylight we joined the third division in the works, and then heard that the city was to be stormed. Volunteers were immediately required from the different regiments of our division. Many of our men came forward with alacrity for this deadly service. With three others I had, as I then considered, the good fortune to be chosen from our company.^[11] This was an occasion, as may be believed, momentous and interesting enough in the life of a soldier, and so we seemed to consider it. We shook hands with a feeling of friendly sincerity, while we speculated as to the chances of outliving the assault. We were at this time in the trenches in front of the city, from whence proceeded a very smart fire of shot and shell, probably to give us an idea of the warm reception we might expect on our visit at night, and here the entire company gathered round our little party, each pressing to have a sup from his canteen. I gave my father’s address to my comrade before starting, in case of accident.

Darkness had no sooner closed over the devoted city, and our imaginations awakened to the horrors of the coming scene, than the “stormers” were immediately ordered to “fall in” and “form.” We were four or five from each company, and in all about a hundred and twenty men. The volunteers of our regiment were led by Captain Mitchell and Lieutenants Johnson and Kincaid; the whole of the storming division being commanded by Major George Napier of the 52nd regiment. The forlorn-hope, or stormers, moved to a convent, occupied by the 40th, the walls of which protected us from the enemy’s shot. General Crauford, who led us in person, while we stood formed under the wall, addressed us upon the nature of the duty assigned us. It was the last enterprise his gallant spirit was ever destined to direct. On this memorable occasion his voice was more than ordinarily clear and distinct. His words sunk deep in my memory, and although the shock of many a battle has rolled over my grey locks since that period, I remember some of his language as follows:—

“Soldiers! the eyes of your country are upon you. Be steady,—be cool,—be firm in the assault. The town must be yours this night. Once masters of the wall, let your first duty be to clear the ramparts, and in doing this keep together.”

We were now waiting only for the signal, while our division was formed immediately in our rear, ready to second the effort. I could not help remarking at this awful crisis, when all most probably were on the brink of being dashed into eternity, a solemnity and silence among the men deeper than I had ever witnessed before. With hearts beating, each was eagerly watching the expected signal of the rocket, when up it went from one of our batteries.

General Crauford, calling out, “Now, lads, for the breach!” led the way. We started off in double time, and got under fire, in turning the left corner of the wall. As we neared the breach, canister, grape, round-shot and shell, with fire-balls to show our ground, came pouring on and around us, with a regular hail-storm of bullets. General Crauford fell almost immediately, mortally wounded. Without a pause, however, we dashed onwards to the town, and precipitated ourselves into the ditch before the walls, never waiting for the ladders, which were carried by Portuguese, who ran away and never made their appearance until their use had been superseded by a series of jumps made by our men into a trench some sixteen feet deep; at length one or two ladders having been procured, they were instantly placed against the scarp of the trench, and up we mounted to attack the breach. The fire kept up there was most deadly, and our men for some minutes, as they appeared in small bodies, were swept away; however they still persevered, and gradually formed a lodgment. At this time on our right, where the third division were storming the second breach, we could hear a loud cheering which had a magical effect. Regardless of the enemy’s fire and every other impediment, the men dashed in over the breach carrying everything before them. I had got up among the first, and was struggling with a crowd of our fellows to push over the splintered and broken wall that formed the breach, when Major Napier, who was by my side encouraging on the men, received a shot, and, staggering back, would in all probability have fallen into the trench, had I not caught him. To my brief inquiry if he were badly hurt, he squeezed my hand, whilst his other arm hung shattered by his side, saying, “Never mind me—push on, my lads, the town is ours!” And so indeed it was, our men entering it pell-mell.

Although dark, among the first I saw, on mounting the ramparts was my own Captain, Uniacke, rushing along with a few men to the right of the breach. Though not on the forlorn-hope, this gallant soldier was determined to be first in the town. This was the last time he was doomed to be at our head. A few moments afterwards the French sprung a mine, by which the whole party were killed or maimed. With a few others I had taken a direction to the left. The French as they retired kept up an occasional fire along the ramparts; while running forward I came against a howitzer, and with such force that it actually tumbled me over, and I found myself prostrate across the body of a wounded French officer; beside him was a cannonier of his own in the act of assisting him. The latter instantly seized me, and a fearful struggle ensued, till bent almost double by the height and heavy person of the Frenchman, I began to think that after all my escapes my game was over; at this crisis a few of our men came rushing up, one of which was my old “chum” Wilkie. The cannonier in his turn was fastened on, and tripped instantaneously by the side of his master. But poor Wilkie the next minute, himself staggered against the howitzer mortally wounded! I flew to his support. But seizing me hastily by the hand, and giving it a deadly squeeze, “Ned,” he articulated, “it’s all up with me” and relaxing his grasp, he fell back and expired.^[12] The officer perceiving my agitation, and fearful of my retaliating on him, handed me over his gold watch.

Finding I could be of little use to my comrade, and as our division was fast entering the breach, I proceeded with the stormers, clearing the walls of the enemy as we went. Turning to the right we entered a large square or plaza, where we were in a short time joined by some of every regiment in the two divisions, all like ourselves helter skelter, subject to everything but order. However in a short time one regiment of the third division entered the square, commanded by their officers; something like order then prevailed; while planting the British colours in the centre, three cheers were then given by the whole, proclaiming the town to be taken: when this was over they commenced firing in the air, as well as at windows where any light appeared. Seeing the confusion, a number broke into squads, and went in different directions and entered different streets according to the fancy of their leaders. Myself and about a score others took a large street to the right. The night being dark and the city not being lighted, we were obliged to grope our way, but had not proceeded far before we got mixed amongst a quantity of French muskets thrown on the ground with their bayonets fixed. One or two of the men getting pricked in the leg by one of the bayonets, swore they had come to a chevaux-de-frise, and groping about came across the body of a wounded French soldier, who told us in Spanish that we were close to the barracks.

Knowing the French would not resign their liberty without a struggle, I fully expected a volley to be sent amongst us every minute from the barracks, and begun to retrace my steps towards the square, and had only got a short distance when I saw another party with a lighted candle advancing towards me. On hearing the noise of the first party in their front, they commenced firing as they advanced. Squeezing myself edgeways against a door, I waited their arrival and begged them to desist, there being some of their own men lower down. I then went with them and joined the first party. The French wounded soldier pointing to a large gateway, told us there were the barracks. Still having a light we entered, and mounting a large stone staircase, found ourselves in the midst of a French hospital full of sick and wounded; those who were able sitting up in bed supplicating mercy, but they had no occasion to do so, as our fellows not only kindly tapped them on the shoulder but wrapped the bed-clothes round them; but this kindness was of short duration, for a third party coming down seeing a light in our window commenced firing, and the poor fellow who held the candle was shot through the head, and one or two others wounded; one more daring than the rest flew to the window, crying out that they were firing on their own men, the rest lying down while the firing continued. This panic being over, I came down stairs, being anxious to meet some of my own company to know how things were. I found a few outside, and we started in another direction. The next place was a large white house that had been used as a commissary’s store by the French: here a crowd had assembled to break it open, when they were warned off by a sentinel, a German, who was posted to guard the premises. Not heeding his threat, the throng rushed at the door. The poor sentry, true to his trust, attempted to oppose their entrance, and the following minute was run through the body by a bayonet.

The house contained several puncheons of spirits, which the men present immediately tapped, by striking in the heads. A number soon became madly drunk; and several wretches, especially those mounting the steps that had been placed against the butts, to enable them to obtain the rum, fell into the liquor head-foremost and perished, unnoticed by the crowd. Several fights took place, in which drunkenness of the parties alone prevented mischief; and to crown the whole, a light falling into one of the barrels of spirits, the place was set on fire, and many poor wretches, who from the quantity of liquor they had swallowed, were incapable of moving, were consumed in the flames.

Turning from this scene of horrors, hardened as I then was, I went with a comrade, to look for a house where we might obtain refreshment and take up our quarters for the night. This, after some search, we found in the domicile of a doctor, whom we took from under a bed clasped in the arms of a very pretty girl whom he called his niece, like himself, almost

This, however, we soon dispelled, and were rewarded for our pains with a good supper crowned by a bowl of excellent punch that at the time, in our own minds, compensated for all the sufferings we had endured in the trenches during the siege.

The next morning I was anxious to visit the left breach, to look for the body of Wilkie. I found him, at length, cold and stiff, the bullet having entered his breast close under the left shoulder. He was stripped! But I easily distinguished him by the likeness he bore to his sister; old times then burst vividly over my recollection, and as I stood over his prostrate remains, a few moments brought to mind all the scenes in which he had been so active a coadjutor, my quondam recruit, bed-fellow, press-man, and pot companion, lay stretched before me clotted and besmeared with his blood, a single drop of which, at one time, was even more valued by me than the whole of my own more lucky current. The remembrance of his sister, much as my profession had tended to wipe her off my mind, now resumed its almost pristine freshness; my eyes dimmed for a second, and perchance one solitary proof of my weakness might have left its scalding course behind it, but I felt only as a soldier, a momentary sorrow, for I held my own life as it were in my hand, ready to part with it, at even a moment’s notice, and I presumed as much of all belonging to me.

The proceeds of the storming “business” had enabled me to gain over a few half drunken soldiers, who had been staggering near me stupidly staring at my anxiety. We buried poor Wilkie in the glacis, near the breach, the whole wreck around us displaying the veriest monument ever reared to the memory of a soldier!

I now proceeded to the right breach, which had been carried by the third division, where the mine had been sprung. The sight exhibited was heart-rending in the extreme. The dead lay in heaps, numbers of them stripped, and displaying the most ghastly wounds. Here and there, half-buried under the blackened fragments of the wall, or reeking on the surface of the ruin, lay those who had been blown up in the explosion, their remains dreadfully mangled and discoloured, and strewed about amongst dissevered arms and legs.

The 88th, or Connaught Rangers, had suffered most severely at this spot, and I observed a number of poor Irish women hopelessly endeavouring to distinguish the burnt features of their husbands.

Though heartily sick of the morning’s mournful perambulation, I yet felt anxious to see Captain Uniacke; his remains lay on the suburbs, in a house next to that where those of our brave old General were stretched out. Several of the men of his company crowded about his person, hoping—for he was still living, and sensible—that he might yet return amongst us. But his arm had been torn from the socket, and he died some few days afterwards.

Here let me pay a brief, though sincere tribute to his memory; though young in years, he was gallant, daring, and just to all whom he commanded.

During the Peninsular war our men had divided the officers into two classes; the “come on,” and the “go on;” for as Tom Plunkett in action once observed to an officer, “The words ‘go on’ don’t befit a leader, Sir.”—To the honour of the service, the latter, with us Rifles, were exceedingly few in numbers. But amongst the former, none were seen so often in the van as Uniacke; his affability and personal courage had rendered him the idol of the men of his company.

A very small portion only of the troops that had taken Rodrigo were allowed to remain in the city, and our battalion, among others, were ordered back to their former quarters. The next morning as we marched over the bridge, dressed in all the varieties imaginable, some with jack-boots on, others with frock-coats, epaulettes, &c., and some with even monkeys on their shoulders, we met the fifth division on their way to repair the breach; they immediately formed upon the left of the road, presented arms, and cheered us as we went along.

I was afterwards told by several of our men that the Duke of Wellington, who saw us on our march, inquired of his staff, “Who the devil are those fellows?”

We entered El Bodon, with songs: and welcomed by the “vivas” of the inhabitants.