Excesses and sufferings of the French during their retreat—Combats of Foz d'Aronce and Sabugal—Battle of Fuentes d'OÑoro—Sir E. Pakenham, Colonel Wallace, and the 88th Regiment.

The retreat of the French army from Portugal commenced on the night of the 5th of March 1811, and was marked by acts more suited to a horde of barbarians than a European army. On the fact being ascertained at our headquarters, we were put in their track, which, when once found, it would have been a difficult matter to lose, the whole country through which they passed being a vast extent of burning ruins. Not a town, not a village, and rarely a cottage escaped the general conflagration. The beautiful town of Leyria was left a heap of ruins; Pombal shared the same fate; and the magnificent convent of AlcobaÇa was burned to the ground. Two of the finest organs in Europe were destroyed by this wanton act; and a century will be insufficient to repair the evils which a few months inflicted on this unfortunate country.

Scenes of the most revolting nature were the natural attendants on such a barbarous mode of warfare, and scarcely a league was traversed by our army, in its advance, without our eyes being shocked by some frightful spectacle. The French army was doubtless much exasperated against the Portuguese nation, in consequence of the manner in which they destroyed what would have contributed to the comforts of men who had been half-starved for six months. And now, after so many privations, having a long retreat before them, with a scanty allowance of provisions in their haversacks, it is more to be lamented than wondered at, that the march of the French troops was accompanied by many circumstances which were disgraceful to them.

On the 9th of March our advance-guard came up with the rear of the enemy, commanded by Marshal Ney, in the neighbourhood of Pombal. The Light Division was warmly engaged, and some charges of cavalry took place on the high ground near the castle; but the infantry of our division (the 3rd) arrived too late to support the Light, and no decisive result was the consequence. MassÉna continued his retreat that night and next day; but on the 11th we found him posted on a rising ground near the village of Redinha; our army formed in line on the plain, and an action of some consequence was expected; but the French marshal was so pressed in front, while his left was vigorously attacked, that it was not without sustaining a severe loss he effected his passage across the river Redinha.

On the 15th we surprised their covering division while in the act of cooking near the village of Foz d'Aronce. They retreated in the greatest hurry, leaving several camp kettles full of meat behind them. As we approached the town, the road leading to it was covered with a number of horses, mules, and asses, all maimed; but the most disgusting sight was about fifty of the asses floundering in the mud, some with their throats half cut, while others were barbarously houghed or otherwise injured. What the object of this proceeding meant I never could guess; the poor brutes could have been of no use to us, or indeed any one else, as I believe they were unable to have travelled another league. The meagre appearance of these creatures, with their backbones and hips protruding through their hides, and their mangled and bleeding throats, produced a general feeling of disgust and commiseration.

The village of Foz d'Aronce was warmly contested, and more than once taken and retaken. Night put a stop to this affair, in which we sustained a loss of about four hundred men. The enemy lost nearly a thousand hors de combat;^[10] and, as usual, taking advantage of the night, got off, and continued their retreat upon Guarda, having destroyed the bridge on the river Ceira as they retired.

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The army did not lose any officer of rank in the affair of Foz d'Aronce, but the service sustained a loss in Lieutenant Heppenstal—a young man who, had he lived, would have been an ornament to a profession for which Nature seemed to have destined him. He was known to be one of the bravest men in the army, but on this occasion his usual spirits deserted him. He moved along silent, inattentive, and abstracted—a brisk firing in our front soon roused all his wonted energy, and he advanced with his men apparently cheerful as ever; turning to a brother officer he said, “You will laugh at what I am going to say; you know I am not afraid to die, but I have a certain feeling that my race is nearly run.”—“You jest,” said his friend. “No, I don’t,” was his reply; they shook hands, the light troops advanced, and in a few minutes the brave Heppenstal was a corpse. His presentiment was too just, and though I had heard of instances of the kind before, this was the first that came under my immediate observation. I ran up to the spot where he lay; he was bleeding profusely; his breast was penetrated by two bullets, and a third passed through his forehead. His death was singular, and it appeared as if he was resolved to fulfil the destiny that he had marked out for himself. Our light troops were gradually retreating on their reinforcements, and were within a few paces of the columns of infantry; his men repeatedly called out to him to retire with the rest, but he, either not hearing, or not attending to what they said, remained, with his back against a pine-tree, dealing out death at every shot. Pressed as we were for time, we dug him a deep grave at the foot of the tree where he so gallantly lost his life, and we laid him in it without form or ceremony.

Nothing particular occurred after the action of Foz d'Aronce until our arrival at Guarda. As usual, we met with groups of murdered peasantry and of French soldiers. At the entrance of a cave, amidst these rocky mountains, lay an old man, a woman, and two young men, all dead. This cave, no doubt, had served them as an asylum the preceding winter, and appearances warranted the supposition that these poor creatures, in a vain effort to save their little store of provisions, fell victims to the ferocity of their murderers. The clothes of the two young peasants were torn to atoms, and bore ample testimony that they did not lose their lives without a struggle to preserve them; the hands of one were dreadfully mangled, as if in a last effort to save his life he had grasped the sword which ultimately despatched him. Beside him lay his companion, his brother perhaps, covered with wounds; and a little to the right was the old man. He lay on his back with his breast bare; two large gashes were over his heart, and the back part of his head was beaten to pieces. Near him lay an old rusty bayonet fixed on a pole, which formerly served as a goad for oxen, and one of his hands grasped a bunch of hair, torn, no doubt, from the head of the assassin; the old woman was in all probability strangled, as no wound appeared on her body.

At some distance from this spot were two French soldiers belonging to the 4th LÉger; their appearance was frightful. They had been wounded by our advance, and their companions either being too much occupied in providing for their own safety to think of them, or their situation being too hopeless to entertain an idea of their surviving, they were abandoned to the fury of the peasants, who invariably dodged on the flanks or in the rear of our troops. These poor wretches were surrounded by half a dozen Portuguese, who, after having plundered them, were taking that horrible vengeance too common during this contest. On the approach of our men they dispersed, but, as we passed on, we could perceive them returning like vultures that have been scared away from their prey for the moment, but who return to it again with redoubled voraciousness. Both the Frenchmen were alive, and entreated us to put an end to their sufferings. I thought it would have been humane to do so, but Napoleon and Jaffa flashed across me, and I turned away from the spot.^[11]

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On the 30th of March General Picton arrived before Guarda. His approach to that town was not only unperceived, but seemed unexpected, having advanced to within two gun-shots of the town without meeting a vedette. Such conduct on the part of the French general was not only culpable in the extreme, but showed the greatest presumption and confidence, because, had we a brigade of guns with us, and a few hundred cavalry, the five thousand men that occupied Guarda would have been forced to lay down their arms. Fortunately for them, we had neither the one nor the other; and instead of being in a condition to attack the town, we had the mortification to witness the French getting out of it, bag and baggage, as quick as they could. The scene of confusion that the streets presented was great; infantry, artillery, and baggage, men, women, and children, all mixed pell-mell together, hurrying to the high road leading to Sabugal. Our cavalry came up shortly after the enemy had evacuated the place, but too late to do much good. Some prisoners and baggage and a few head of cattle were captured, and we took up our quarters in the town for the night.

On the 3rd of April we again, and for the last time in Portugal, encountered the enemy at Sabugal. The Light Division had a gallant affair with the corps of General Reynier, and though greatly outnumbered, they not only succeeded in forcing the position, but captured a howitzer and several prisoners. The 3rd Division soon after reached the ground, and its leading battalions, especially the 5th Regiment, had deployed, and having thrown in a heavy fire, were advancing with the bayonet, when a violent hail-storm came on and completely hid the two armies from each other. Reynier hurried his divisions off the field; and this unlooked-for event snatched a brilliant exploit from us, as the total overthrow of this corps would have been in all probability the result.

The French suffered severely, but they never fought better; so rapidly did they fire that, instead of returning their ramrods, they stuck them in the ground for expedition, and continued to fight until overpowered by our men, who are certainly better at close fighting than long shot.

The enemy fought their howitzer well, and almost all the gunners lay dead about it. A young artillery officer was the first I took notice of—his uniform was still on him, an unusual thing; he wore a blue frock-coat; across his shoulder hung his cartouche-box; and the middle of his forehead was pierced by a musket ball. His features, which were beautiful, showed, nevertheless, a painful distortion, and it was evident that the shock which deprived him of life, though momentary, was one of excruciating agony. Beside him lay one of the gunners, whose appearance was altogether different from that of his officer. A round shot had taken off his thigh a few inches below the groin, and his death, though not as instantaneous, seemed to be void of pain. The bare stump exhibited a shocking sight—the muscles, arteries, and flesh, all hanging in frightful confusion, presented the eye with a horrid sample of the effects of those means made use of by man for his own destruction; the ramrod of the gun was near him; his back rested against one of the wheels; and there was that placid look in his countenance which would lead you to think he had sat himself down to rest.

The wounded having been all removed, and the enemy continuing their retreat, we bivouacked on the ground they had occupied at the commencement of the action, and the next day we went into cantonments. The French recrossed the Agueda, and Portugal was, with the exception of Almeida, freed from their presence, after they had occupied it for nearly eight months, and had inflicted on the inhabitants every misery it is possible to conceive.

Four weeks had scarcely elapsed when we were again called into action. On the 2nd of May Marshal MassÉna passed the river Agueda at Rodrigo, and moved upon Almeida in order to supply it with provisions. He had left a garrison of three thousand men in that fortress, commanded by General Brennier, in whom he placed much confidence. The French Marshal stationed his army on the river Azava, in the neighbourhood of Carpio, Espeja, and Gallegos; and next day (the 3rd) made a movement on Almeida. Lord Wellington made a corresponding movement, and our army occupied a fine line of battle—its right at Nava d'Aver, the centre at Fuentes d'OÑoro, and the left resting on the ruins of the Fort de la Conception; in our front ran the little stream of OÑoro. General Pack’s brigade of Portuguese invested Almeida.

Without waiting to ascertain the strength or weakness of the position, Marshal MassÉna, with that impetuosity which had formerly characterised him, ordered the village of Fuentes d'OÑoro to be carried; and to make his success certain the entire of the sixth corps was employed in the attack. The town was at this time occupied by some of our 1st Division, consisting of the Highland regiments, supported by others of the line, and the light companies of the 1st and 3rd Divisions, commanded by Major Dick of the 42nd Highlanders, and Colonel Williams of the 60th. The village was taken and retaken several times, and night found both armies occupying a part each.

MassÉna, perceiving that the obstacles opposed to his carrying this point, which he considered the key of our position, were too great for him to surmount, employed himself during the 4th of May in reconnoitring our line, and in making preparations for the battle which was to take place the following day. On our side we were not inactive: the avenues leading to Pozobello and Fuentes were barricaded in the best manner the moment would allow; temporary defences were constructed at the heads of the different streets, and trenches dug here and there as a protection against the impetuous attacks expected from the cavalry of General Montbrun. We lay down to rest perfectly assured that every necessary precaution had been taken by our General; and as to the result of the battle, we looked upon that as certain, a series of engagements with the enemy having taught us to estimate our own prowess; and being a good deal overcome with the heat of the weather, we lay down to rest and slept soundly.

Day had scarcely dawned when the roar of artillery and musketry announced the attack of Fuentes d'OÑoro and Pozobello. Five thousand men filled the latter village, and after a desperate conflict carried it with the bayonet. General Montbrun, at the head of the French cavalry, vigorously attacked the right of our army; but he was received with much steadiness by our 7th Division, which, though it fought in line, repulsed the efforts made to break it, and drove back the cavalry in confusion. The light troops, immediately in front of the 1st and 3rd Divisions, were in like manner charged by bodies of the enemy’s horse, but by manoeuvres well executed, in proper time, these attacks were rendered as fruitless as the main one against the right of our army. The officer who commanded this advance,^[12] either too much elated with his success, or holding the efforts of the enemy in too light a point of view, unfortunately extended his men once more to the distance at which light troops usually fight; the consequence was fatal. The enemy, though defeated in his principal attack, was still powerful as a minor antagonist; and seeing the impossibility of success against the main body, redoubled his efforts against those which were detached; accordingly he charged with impetuosity the troops most exposed, amongst whom were those I have been describing. The bugle sounded to close, but whether to the centre, right, or left, I know not; certain it is, however, that the men attempted to close to the right, when to the centre would have been more desirable, and before they could complete their movement the French cavalry were mixed with them.

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Our division was posted on the high ground just above this plain; a small rugged ravine separated us from our comrades; but although the distance between us was short, we were, in effect, as far from them as if we were placed upon the Rock of Lisbon. We felt much for their situation, but could not afford them the least assistance, and we saw them rode down and cut to pieces without being able to rescue them, or even discharge one musket in their defence.

Our heavy horse and the 16th Light Dragoons executed some brilliant charges, in each of which they overthrew the French cavalry. An officer of our staff, who led on one of those attacks, unhorsed and made prisoner Colonel La Motte of the 15th French Chasseurs; but Don Julian Sanchez, the Guerilla chief, impelled more by valour than prudence, attacked with his Guerillas a first-rate French regiment; the consequence was the total overthrow of the Spanish hero; and as I believe this was the first attempt this species of troops ever made at a regular charge against a French regiment, so I hope, for their own sakes, it was their last.

All the avenues leading to the town of Fuentes d'OÑoro were in a moment filled with French troops; it was occupied by our 71st and 79th Highlanders, the 83rd, the light companies of the 1st and 3rd Divisions, and some German and Portuguese battalions, supported by the 24th, 45th, 74th, and 88th British Regiments, and the 9th and 21st Portuguese.

The sixth corps, which formed the centre of the French army, advanced with the characteristic impetuosity of their nation, and forcing down the barriers, which we had hastily constructed as a temporary defence, came rushing on, and, torrent-like, threatened to overwhelm all that opposed them. Every street, and every angle of a street, were the different theatres for the combatants; inch by inch was gained and lost in turn. Whenever the enemy were forced back, fresh troops, and fresh energy on the part of their officers, impelled them on again, and towards mid-day the town presented a shocking sight; our Highlanders lay dead in heaps, while the other regiments, though less remarkable in dress, were scarcely so in the numbers of their slain. The French Grenadiers, with their immense caps and gaudy plumes, in piles of twenty and thirty together—some dead, others wounded, with barely strength sufficient to move; their exhausted state, and the weight of their cumbrous appointments, making it impossible for them to crawl out of the range of the dreadful fire of grape and round shot which the enemy poured into the town. Great numbers perished in this way, and many were pressed to death in the streets.

It was now half-past twelve o’clock, and although the French troops which formed this attack had been several times reinforced, ours never had; nevertheless the town was still in dispute. MassÉna, aware of its importance, and mortified at the pertinacity with which it was defended, ordered a fresh column of the ninth corps to reinforce those already engaged. Such a series of attacks, constantly supported by fresh troops, required exertions more than human to withstand; every effort was made to sustain the post, but efforts, no matter how great, must have their limits. Our soldiers had been engaged in this unequal contest for upwards of eight hours; the heat was moreover excessive, and their ammunition was nearly expended. The Highlanders were driven to the churchyard at the top of the village, and were fighting with the French Grenadiers across the tomb-stones and graves; while the ninth French Light Infantry had penetrated as far as the chapel, distant but a few yards from our line, and were preparing to debouche upon our centre. Wallace with his regiment, the 88th, was in reserve on the high ground which overlooked the churchyard, and he was attentively looking on at the combat which raged below, when Sir Edward Pakenham galloped up to him, and said, “Do you see that, Wallace?”—“I do,” replied the Colonel, “and I would rather drive the French out of the town than cover a retreat across the Coa.”—“Perhaps,” said Sir Edward, “his lordship don’t think it tenable.” Wallace answering said, “I shall take it with my regiment, and keep it too.”—“Will you?” was the reply; “I’ll go and tell Lord Wellington so; see, here he comes.” In a moment or two Pakenham returned at a gallop, and, waving his hat, called out, “He says you may go—come along, Wallace.”

At this moment General Mackinnon came up, and placing himself beside Wallace and Pakenham, led the attack of the 88th Regiment, which soon changed the state of affairs. This battalion advanced with fixed bayonets in column of sections, left in front, in double quick time, their firelocks at the trail. As it passed down the road leading to the chapel, it was warmly cheered by the troops that lay at each side of the wall, but the soldiers made no reply to this greeting. They were placed in a situation of great distinction, and they felt it; they were going to fight, not only under the eye of their own army and general, but also in the view of every soldier in the French army; but although their feelings were wrought up to the highest pitch of enthusiasm, not one hurrah responded to the shouts that welcomed their advance. There was no noise or talking in the ranks; the men stepped together at a smart trot, as if on a parade, headed by their brave colonel.

It so happened that the command of the company which led this attack devolved upon me. When we came within sight of the French 9th Regiment, which were drawn up at the corner of the chapel, waiting for us, I turned round to look at the men of my company; they gave me a cheer that a lapse of many years has not made me forget, and I thought that that moment was the proudest of my life. The soldiers did not look as men usually do going into close fight—pale; the trot down the road had heightened their complexions, and they were the picture of everything that a chosen body of troops ought to be.

The enemy were not idle spectators of this movement; they witnessed its commencement, and the regularity with which the advance was conducted made them fearful of the result. A battery of eight-pounders advanced at a gallop to an olive-grove on the opposite bank of the river, hoping by the effects of its fire to annihilate the 88th Regiment, or, at all events, embarrass its movements as much as possible; but this battalion continued to press on, joined by its exhausted comrades, and the battery did little execution.

On reaching the head of the village, the 88th Regiment was vigorously opposed by the French 9th Regiment, supported by some hundred of the Imperial Guard, but it soon closed in with them, and, aided by the brave fellows that had so gallantly fought in the town all the morning, drove the enemy through the different streets at the point of the bayonet, and at length forced them into the river that separated the two armies. Several of our men fell on the French side of the water. About one hundred and fifty of the grenadiers of the Guard, in their flight, ran down a street that had been barricaded by us the day before, and which was one of the few that escaped the fury of the morning’s assault; but their disappointment was great, upon arriving at the bottom, to find themselves shut in. Mistakes of this kind will sometimes occur, and when they do, the result is easily imagined; troops advancing to assault a town, uncertain of success, or flushed with victory, have no great time to deliberate as to what they will do; the thing is generally done in half the time the deliberation would occupy. In the present instance, every man was put to death; but our soldiers, as soon as they had leisure, paid the enemy that respect which is due to brave men. This part of the attack was led by Lieutenant George Johnston, of the 88th Regiment.