We encamp near Puebla, on the road to Vittoria—Battle of Vittoria—A man obliged to hold his jaw—Affair of Bayonets—The 88th—Blanco—Daly—French defeated—A prisoner rescued—The carriage of Joseph Napoleon—His wife, &c.—His bÂton—A prize—Attempt to rob me—Sergeant Lee—Night scenes after the battle—The sale of the spoils—I distribute my money for safety—We march on Salvatierra—Halt at Pampeluna—Another brush wanted—Lesaca—The enemy on the heights of Santa Barbara dislodged—The French attempt to relieve Pampeluna—The Bidassoa—The French too late for the “fare”—We also—A race back by way of “hurry”—The Regiment’s birth-day—Sergeant Fawfoot’s loss and re-instalment—My treasure—My comrade—His good faith—Siege and storm of San Sebastian—The four hundred gallant Frenchmen—Their charge and escape—The 52nd and their badges—Remarks, &c.

On the 20th we remained encamped near Puebla, a town within ten or twelve miles of Vittoria. On the following morning we fell in rather earlier than usual, when a general rumour among the ranks augured we should have a busy day. We were, indeed, on the eve of the memorable battle of Vittoria. We marched along the left of the high road towards the previously mentioned city, leaving Puebla a little to the right. Our battalion, as the advanced-guard, preceded by the remainder of the division until we came in sight of the enemy on the other side of the river Zadora. We commenced a smart brush with their voltigeurs, who slowly retreated, and took up a position in the rear of some rocks, from whence their fire swept a bridge in our immediate front. While thus occupied in skirmishing, we heard a loud cheering on our left, where we beheld the third division charge over a bridge much lower down the stream. Fired by the sight, we instantly dashed over the bridge before us in the face of a galling discharge from the enemy. We then drove them from the rocks, and in our turn had to sustain a heavy fire from several guns mounted upon a hill that commanded our position. The rocks were splintered round us in every direction from this fire, and many of our men were killed or wounded by shot or fragments of stone.

We were soon joined by the remainder of our division, and pushed forward up a hill, from the summit of which we could clearly discern the city of Vittoria. By this time the action had become pretty hot and general with the other divisions, as well as our own. The chief scene of conflict was on an extended plain within a mile or two of the city on the left. Continuing to advance, we arrived near a small village on the main road, from which we were annoyed by a furious fire, until, rushing in, we drove them out, and captured a howitzer in the market-place, the first that was taken. We were doomed however, to have it but a short time in our possession, as a whole regiment of the enemy came charging upon us, and our force, consisting of only two companies, had to retreat with precipitation, when, turning round, however, we beheld our favourite third division coming double quick down the main road to our assistance—with Picton, who was never absent in time of need, at their head.

After retiring for about a hundred yards, this sight encouraged us, and we were at them again. While thus engaged, a grape or round-shot struck my pouch with such violence that I was hurled by the force a distance of several yards. From the sudden shock I thus experienced, I imagined myself mortally wounded; but, on being picked up, I found the only damage I had sustained was the partial destruction of my pouch, which was nearly torn off.

A man of the name of Hudson, who was one of the pardoned deserters at Rodrigo, while running to my assistance as I afterwards learned, was struck by a bullet in his mouth, which knocked out several of his teeth, and came out at the back of the ear. From this wound, severe as it was, he however recovered.

Placing some of the ammunition in my haversack and the remainder in my cap, we were at them again, and recaptured the howitzer in the village, by the assistance of part of the third division.

Still pursuing them, the chief part of my company kept on the right of the main road. In all my military life, this sight surpassed anything I ever saw: the two armies hammering at each other, yet apparently with all the coolness of field-day exercise—so beautifully were they brought into action.

At this moment I noticed a regiment, which by its yellow facings I think was the 88th or Connaught Rangers, marching in close column of companies to attack a French regiment which was drawn up in line on the verge of a hill with a small village in its rear.

The 88th, although at the time under a heavy cannonade from the enemy’s artillery, continued advancing gallantly onwards, which, we skirmishers perceiving, took ground to the left close to the road, in order to enable them to oppose this line in front.

Though hotly engaged at the time, I determined to watch their movements. The 88th next deployed into line, advancing all the time towards their opponents, who seemed to wait very coolly for them. When they had approached to within three or four hundred yards, the French poured in a volley or I should say a running fire from right to left. As soon as the British regiment had recovered the first shock, and closed their files on the gap it had made, they commenced advancing at double time until within fifty yards nearer to the enemy, when they halted and in turn gave a running fire from their whole line, and without a moment’s pause cheered and charged up the hill against them. The French meanwhile were attempting to reload. But being hard pressed by the British, who allowed them no time to give a second volley, came immediately to the right about, making the best of their way to the village.^[16]

As I have before observed, we had several Spaniards in our regiment. These men were generally brave; but one in particular, named Blanco, was one of the most skilful and daring skirmishers we had in the battalion. His great courage, however, was sullied by a love of cruelty towards the French whom he detested, and never named but with the most ferocious expressions. In every affair we had since the advance from Portugal, he was always in the front; and the only wonder is how he managed to escape the enemy’s shot, but his singular activity and intelligence frequently saved him. His hatred to the French was, I believe, occasioned by his father and brother, who were peasants, having been murdered by a French foraging party. On this day he gave many awful proofs of this feeling by mercilessly stabbing and mangling the wounded French he came up to. In this massacre he was, however, stopped by a veteran of our regiment, who, although suffering from a severe wound in the face, was so exasperated at the Spaniard’s cruelty, that he knocked him down with a blow from the butt of his rifle. It was only by force we could prevent the Spaniard from stabbing him on the spot.

I now observed the Duke come riding up with some of his staff; and, seeing the confusion the enemy were in, cried out to one of his aides-de-camp, “Send up a few of Ross’s guns; here is work for them:” saying to us at the same time, “That’s right, my lads; keep up a good fire,” as he galloped in our rear to the right. In an instant up came Ross’s guns, and commenced peppering them at the distance of not more than three hundred yards. Here the whole seemed blocked together in a mass, while we stuck to them like leeches.

When we arrived close to the barriers of Vittoria, we found them blocked up by a great portion of the French waggons, bearing the matÉriel of their army. After passing the gates, we were still engaged through the town skirmishing with their rear-guard; but, notwithstanding the street-firing, many of the inhabitants threw open their windows, and, appearing at their balconies, welcomed us with vivas, while the ladies, according to the established mode threw flowers into the streets on us, as we passed along.

In following up the enemy, a few other men and myself had left the company a little in the rear. While going through the square I was fortunate enough to save the life of a French soldier who had been wounded. He was endeavouring, poor fellow! to follow in the route of the French, when observing me coming up, he dropped his musket, with which he had been assisting himself, and intimated that he surrendered; a Spanish vagabond, however, observing him, brandished a club, evidently intending to give the Frenchman the “coup de grace,” when he was knocked down. The poor Frenchman expressed his gratitude, but we were obliged to leave him, probably after all to the same fate he had just been rescued from, unless he fell into the hands of our troops who were coming up at the time.

A few minutes after this, some of the 10th Hussars and a party of the Life Guards came dashing through the town, sword in hand, shouting as if they had taken it by storm.

When I had passed the gates, and forced my way through the immense quantity of baggage that blocked up the further end of the town, and through which the cavalry could scarcely pass, I beheld a French mounted officer, sword in hand, escorting a carriage and four out of the town. My comrade and myself immediately fired, when the officer fell. At the same moment the carriage stopped. On rushing up to the vehicle we perceived it contained two ladies, evidently of high rank. They seemed much alarmed as the balls kept whisking round them from both sides. We desired them not to entertain any fears for their safety, as we would not harm them. While thus engaged an officer of the 10th Hussars came galloping up, flourishing his sword over his head. Not knowing his uniform at first, I cocked my rifle, upon which he exclaimed “I am an English officer, Sir.” Hearing this, I stepped on one side of the carriage, but in withdrawing I observed a small but exceedingly heavy portmanteau that was carried by a Spanish muleteer in the French service. He was in the act of conveying it towards the town, and as I thought I contributed more towards its capture, I made him lay it down—not, indeed, before I was compelled to give him a few whacks of my rifle in the ribs. My comrades had gone in another direction, so that I had no one to claim a portion of my booty, which on inspection I found to consist of several small bags filled with gold and silver in doubloons and dollars. Although I never knew exactly the amount, I should think it not less than £1000. I afterwards learnt that the lady in the carriage was no other than the Queen of Spain, the wife of Joseph Bonaparte.^[17] The officer of hussars, I also heard, obtained possession of the bÂton of Joseph^[18] himself from the same carriage.

My chief anxiety now was how to secure my prize; and, when all who had an opportunity were employed in reaping some personal advantages from our victory, I determined not to be backward, but this was a difficult thing to accomplish. As I could not well carry the portmanteau from its weight, I soon found means, taking one of the many mules that were blocking up the road to bear the valuable load; but being at a loss how to fasten the portmanteau, I resorted for aid to a sergeant and two men of the 10th Hussars, who were passing. For this service I, perhaps, incautiously rewarded them too liberally, by giving them several handfuls of dollars. In doing this they got a glimpse of the gold, half of which they demanded. Perceiving the probability of being thus deprived of the only prize I had made after years of hardship and suffering—and particularly by those new-comers, as this regiment had newly joined from England, made it still worse—I inwardly resolved to forfeit it but with my life. So catching up my loaded rifle, which I had leant against a gun-carriage, I instantly cocked, and, retiring three or four paces, brought it to my shoulder, swearing I would shoot the first man dead that placed his hands upon my treasure. My determined air, and the ferocity of my appearance—my face being completely covered with perspiration and gunpowder—induced them to pause, and finally to desist. Taking the sergeant’s word not to attempt molesting me, with his assistance I completed the strapping of my treasure, and departed for the camp.^[19]

I had not proceeded far with the intention of gaining the battalion, when I observed the Duke of Wellington forcing his way, with some of his staff, through gun-carriages and waggons into Vittoria. To my great relief, however, he took no notice of myself and mule. In fact, his Grace was too much occupied in securing the brilliant results of our victory in the capture of the entire matÉriel of the French army which fell into our hands.

Almost all our men at this time, I must remark, to use a phrase much in vogue among us, were endeavouring to see what they could make—in other words take. I reached our camp, however, in safety.

This night we encamped amidst the wreck of the French army, every man bringing into his camp ground whatever he fancied—for the unfortunate enemy were compelled to leave everything behind them, even to their women and children—so that, if our fellows were inclined to be honest, their good fortune would not allow them. The ground occupied by our regiment was near a small village, a little off the main road that leads to Pampeluna.

As soon as our fires were lighted, the men, who had been under arms from three o’clock in the morning until eleven at night, and consequently had not tasted food for the whole of the day, began to fill their hungry maws from the luxuries of the French camp. Roast fowls, hams, mutton, &c. were in abundance, and at midnight the wine and brandy went round in horn tots which we generally carried about us. The men mostly lay stretched on the ground, their feet towards the fires, and elbows resting on their knapsacks; as soon as the grog began to rouse up their spirits from the effects of the day’s fatigue, each one commenced inquiries about their absent comrades, for Riflemen in action being always extended, seldom know who falls until the affray is over.

“Blood an ounds,” said Dan Kelly, bouncing up from his reclining posture; “don’t drink all the wine, boys, until we hear something about our absent messmates. Does any of you know where Jack Connor is?”

“He was shot through the body, when we took the first gun in the little village near the main road,” was the reply.

“Where is Will John,” asked Bob Roberts, with a sudden glance of suspense.

“The ball passed through his head,” said another, “I saw poor Will fall.”

“Musha, boys! is there any hope of poor Jemmy Copely getting over his wounds?” said Tom Tracy, earnestly, lifting his head from his knapsack.

“Poor Copely!” replied another; “both his legs were knocked off by a round shot.”

Tracy laid his head on his kit again, and was silent. Here each man gave a short account of his fallen comrade.

“Why, by Jasus!” exclaimed Tracy, who had been eagerly listening all the while, “by Jasus, they have kilt half our mess. But never mind, boys, fill a tot, fill a tot, and may I be d——d but here’s luck:” he placed the wine to his mouth, but took it away untasted, and laid it on the ground. “Poor Jemmy Copely! poor Jemmy! they had drilled him well with balls before, damn them, now they have finished him. The best comrade I ever had, or ever will have.”

The last part of the sentence was uttered in a broken accent as he wiped his eye, then commenced filling a wooden pipe, the bowl made from a tailor’s thimble, his head stooping all the while as if to hide the large drops that unconsciously rolled over his nose; a short pause took place among the group until Tracy, recovering himself a little, took up the tot of wine and drank it off, and, jumping up at the same moment, with a loud voice, he called out to all, “Hear me, boys, hear me! hear what I am going to say.” A deep silence followed. He knelt on his knapsack, his hands squeezed together in the attitude of prayer. “May the Lord God,” ejaculated Tracy, “grant that those fellows in yonder camp remain where they are until we have the pleasure of thrashing them for the gap they have this day made in our mess.”

“Amen! amen!” responded a dozen voices, with an emphasis that would have done credit to a clerk in a country church, and I am certain with a better inclination for the desired object.

Tracy laid himself at his length once more, and after recapitulating their different losses, and the good qualities of their fallen comrades, but taking care not to mention any of their bad ones, every man gradually relaxed into a sleep, from which nothing could arouse him, save the sound of the bugles, or the hard cracking of the rifle, which ever brings the soldier on his legs again, ready to advance or retreat, or as the night closed over the column, to lament or be lamented, as one of the fallen or absent messmates.

Those unacquainted with a camp-fire, after a hard-fought battle, can have little idea of its true sublimity, while leaning on my rifle, surveying the scene at this dead hour of night; it impressed me with more awe than any that I had before witnessed. Here I stood, as it were, a solitary sentinel in the midst of twenty thousand men, yet so silent, you might have thought yourself secreted within the walls of a cloister; while, by the moon, now and then hiding itself behind a cloud, might be observed the faint light of the French out-post fires that occasionally caught the eye like meteors. Again emerging from her mantle, by her clear light might here and there be seen the dead bodies of French soldiers, not yet interred, ever distinguished by their large red shoulder-knots. Turning the eye to my comrades, whose happy repose I envied, might be seen blood oozing from the furrow made by a French bullet, while the perforated cap lay beside its owner. How sweet is the soldier sleep when such repose is earned by the fatigue of eighteen hours hard fighting. That gave each man a double relish for repose, knowing it was his own courage gained the spot of ground on which he laid. The crackling of the fires soon ceased for want of fuel, and nothing remained but the embers; the whole camp was as still as the grave; nothing to disturb the soldiers’ repose, but the casual braying of the donkeys, that answered each other from camp to camp, and gradually died away in the echo of the distant woods.

I quietly walked round the fires to see that none of the men’s pouches were near it; but, no—there was each man with his rifle loaded, and leaning on his arm, close to his breast, hugged with all the affection a fond lover would press to his bosom the girl of his heart—this was our usual custom, as riflemen seldom pile arms; yet with all, I never knew an accident to occur by the rifles going off.

The next morning the sale of the spoils, which fell into our hands, took place in the village, near the camp-ground, where our battalion lay. The Spaniards were in general the purchasers, and property late belonging to the French, such as uniforms, horses, camp-equipage, &c., was sold in abundance at about one-tenth of its value. Mules worth thirty or forty dollars brought on an average three. As I had no means of conveyance for the spoil I had obtained, I set about depositing it where I thought it would be safe: three hundred pounds I intrusted to our quarter-master, and several sums to other officers of the battalion, distributing nearly the remainder of the silver, to the amount, I suppose, of about one hundred pounds, among the men of my own squad, who undertook to carry it for me; very little of the latter, however, I ever received back. But after all money, as may be imagined, was of very little use during some of the hardships we afterwards endured, when I state, that I frequently offered a doubloon for a single glass of rum, and was not always able to obtain it.

About twelve o’clock we marched in pursuit of the enemy through the town of Salvatierra, many of our men gibing me for my wealth, saying, among other agreeable things, that if I fell they would take care of my knapsack for me. To tell the truth, I was not now over anxious to go much to the front, as I began to look upon my life as of some value.

On our second day’s march we came up with the rear-guard of the enemy, who made a stand in the road, assisted by the only gun they had carried from Vittoria. The first shot fired from this piece took off the arm of one of our corporals at the socket. But on our dashing at them they soon abandoned their gun, which we took, making the first and last piece of ordnance we had captured from them on this retreat.

We halted a couple of days in a small village opposite Pampeluna; and, as I considered that our fellows had contributed towards my greatness in money matters, I could do no less than treat them to a dinner; but unfortunately, the place afforded no other luxuries than bacon, eggs, and wine, for which the inhabitants took care to charge treble: I paid ten doubloons for three flitches of bacon, and three pig-skins of wine. This we enjoyed within the walls of a house that the French had burnt the roof off on their retreat. There were some excellent toasts given, such as—“May we have another brush with them before they get to Paris,” &c. &c.

As nothing of any interest to the reader occurred for some time, I shall merely say, that we continued in pursuit of one division of the French army night and day. During this period the fatigue we underwent was almost incredible, nor could we have supported it but for the excellent wine with which that part of the country then abounded, and which we all had plenty of money to purchase. After continuing these harassing marches for several days, we at length chased them into France. We next retraced our steps in some degree to Pampeluna, in the suburbs of which city we remained a few days, and from thence we again advanced in the direction of the Pyrenees, and took up our quarters at the pretty little town of San Estevan; here we halted some days also. Our next march was to Lesaca. The enemy had possession of the heights of Santa Barbara, from whence we dislodged them after some hard fighting. We remained upon these mountains for several days, but the enemy making an endeavour to relieve Pampeluna which some of our troops were then besieging, a part of our division were ordered to cross the Bidassoa to frustrate this attempt. This could only be done by a forced march at night. We were obliged to have torches and lighted straw to enable us to find our way over the mountains, which were in most places rugged and precipitous, and even without the semblance of a path. The fatigue incident to that night-march, I think I may say, was greater than any of the men of our battalions had before endured; and after all, you could fire a rifle-ball to where we started from.

Accidents were numerous, many of our men had severe falls, and numbers of rifles were broken. But all our hurry was of no avail, as the enemy had been already frustrated in throwing supplies into Pampeluna. We had again the agreeable task of retracing our steps, with the same hurry we had advanced. By this addition to the fatigue we had previously endured, we lost many of our men who were unable to endure it. There was a sort of rivalry between the regiments of our division who should hold out the longest, urged by this feeling many continued marching until they fell and expired by the road-side. I myself, on the second day fainted; but, on having my stock taken off, recovered sufficiently to stagger on and finish the march.

Descending from the mountains we pursued our march till we came to the bridge that crosses the Bidassoa, where we beheld the French moving along on the other side of the river. The poor fellows, like ourselves, seemed dreadfully harassed. Part of our battalion commenced firing upon them across the river, every shot telling as they retreated. To the honour of the British soldiers, however, I am happy to say, that many of our men knowing the sufferings of the French from what they had themselves endured, declined firing, while they called out to the others to spare them, as it was little better than murder. We remained encamped here this night, and the next morning marched back to the heights of Santa Barbara.

As soon as we had arrived on the hill, and were anticipating a little rest, the assembly sounded, and we were ordered to drive the enemy from a high mountain which they occupied on our right. This was a heavy task at the time; but to it we went, and in extended order mounted the hill, on the summit of which the enemy were clustered as thick as bees on a hive. After some very hard fighting we carried their position, but not before we had lost many men. While engaged I lost a friend to whom I was much attached, a sergeant named Kelly. He had just invited me to take a draught of wine out of his canteen, and was in the act of handing it to me, when he received a shot through the right temple that came out at the eye. I never before saw a man die so hard. He writhed about, poor fellow, in the greatest agony, without it being in my power to afford him the slightest relief. Some of our men raising a shout that the enemy were flying, I was obliged to leave him for a time. On my return I found him quite dead. This was a bad day’s work. Another regiment was left in charge of the hill, and we returned to our camp ground by the river-side.

On the 25th of August, it being the anniversary on which the regiment was raised, called among us “The Regiment’s Birth-day,” a general jollity was kept up throughout the regiment. On this occasion I have often reflected with pleasure on having assisted in saving a gallant soldier from the consequences of a pecuniary loss he had sustained, and which might have embittered the remainder of his life. I allude to a pay-sergeant of one of the companies of our battalion, who, getting rather tipsy, was robbed while in that state of £31 belonging to his company—the first money, indeed, that had ever been intrusted to his hands, having only just been appointed pay-sergeant. The circumstance had so strong an effect upon him, that on waking me up the following morning and acquainting me with his loss, he stated to me his determination of deserting, as his credit would be for ever destroyed in the regiment, and he could not endure remaining with the battalion afterwards. Having money by me, I felt much pleasure in arresting the despair that seemed to take possession of the mind of a gallant soldier, and one whom I much esteemed: I enabled him to make up his losses. Some time after, this very sergeant obtained a commission in the second battalion of our regiment: this was the late Quarter-master Robert Fairfoot.

Having by me still a very considerable sum, the remnant of my prize at Vittoria, I was naturally apprehensive respecting its safety, particularly as I had no place to keep it but in my knapsack, which I could not always carry about with me.

I was consequently obliged to intrust my treasure to the care of a comrade of the name of Bandle, who, true to his charge, never gave me reason to repent my confidence. Many were the stratagems resorted to, to persuade Bandle to relinquish his guard. Sometimes he would be suddenly warned for duty by the non-commissioned officers, as these last assured me “for fun” only, in hopes he would leave it behind him; but Bandle was always awake, and on these occasions would take my knapsack on his back and leave his own. He was wakeful as a weasel, and faithful as the dog, for both of which qualities I took good care not to be ungrateful.

San Sebastian was now closely invested by the British, and eventually, the breaches being considered practicable, preparations were made for the assault. Volunteers accordingly were required from our regiment. The duty was so “attractive” that although two only were to be selected out of each company, six stepped forward from ours. This brought on a controversy, and lots were drawn according to regulation, and decided in favour of two, named Royston and Ryan.

The reader may judge of the value attached to this service, when I tell him that the offer of £20 was made and refused for the exchange, thus illustrating the truth of the great dramatist,

The next day the town was to be attacked. Our men were all on the fidget to know the result, and every tree and hillock within sight or hearing of the scene was taken possession of.

At about twelve o’clock, A. M., the breaches were assaulted, and the place carried after a severe contest.

Three or four hundred French, unable from the great rains to ford the Bidassoa, charged fiercely upon one of our companies, and another of the second battalion, then posted at the bridge of Vera. After a sanguinary struggle they effected their purpose, and escaped. They were the remnant of the French troops that had forded the river in the morning, and whom our Spanish force distinguished themselves in repulsing. After this we remained quiet for several days in our camp ground.

It was about this time that those men of the 52nd, who were fortunate enough to have survived the “forlorn-hope” of Rodrigo and Badajoz, were distinguished with a badge of laurel on the right arm. It was given by their commanding officer as a testimonial of their gallant conduct, which was expressed by the two letters V. S. or “valiant stormer” placed beneath the wreath. Why the men of our battalion and those of the 43rd, who had equally distinguished themselves on those occasions were not similarly honoured, I know not.

For my own part, all I ever received in the way of reward, for my services as a stormer, was the sum of six dollars. This was after the taking of Badajoz. In the French service, those men who volunteered in the ranks of “Les enfants perdus” were always first in the list for commissions, and were distinguished also by a cross of the Legion of Honour, which was so respected amongst their countrymen, that even their comrades were always obliged to salute him who wore it. How must the heart of those thus distinguished beat at the possession of such a mark. How different is the case of the British soldier! This “hope” in his country remains unnoticed, and he quits its service “equally forlorn” for obscurity without distinction, save that which points him out with his empty sleeves, or wooden stump limping his way to Chelsea. Some, perhaps, may argue that an improvement took place at Waterloo. That may be, if we allude to those, who on that occasion, performed their first and last military feat, and came away unscathed. How “pleasant” then must it be to the old Peninsulars, whose battles fought and won outnumber perhaps the men of their company, to see whole squads of Waterloos strutting about with medals dangling on jackets which, as their first and last, had scarcely been on long enough to collect the dust of a “donkey’s trot.”

In this camp an order also arrived from the Horse Guards for the appointment of a colour-sergeant in each company, to be considered as senior or sergeant-major with an extra sixpence per day. As no badges (the cross swords) had arrived from England, the deficiency was supplied by our master-tailor, who formed an imitation with coloured silks worked on the arms of the men appointed.