ALMEIDA.

On the morning of the 7th we perceived, from a movement in the French camp, that the wounded were being sent to the rear, and shortly afterwards the main body of their army commenced its retreat. They moved with slow, and as it were, reluctant steps; and BessiÉres, who commanded the Imperial Guard, turned his eyes more than once to that position which all the bravery of his troops was unavailing to capture. Although our cavalry lay in force to the front of our line, no attempt was made to molest the retreating French; and Massena, having retired beyond the Aguada, left a strong force to watch the ford, while the remainder of the army fell back upon Cuidad Rodrigo.

During this time we had succeeded in fortifying our position at Fuentes d’Onoro so strongly as to resist any new attack, and Lord Wellington now turned his whole attention to the blockade of Almeida, which, by Massena’s retreat, was abandoned to its fate.

On the morning of the 10th I accompanied General Crawfurd in a reconnoissance of the fortress, which, from the intelligence we had lately received, could not much longer hold out against our blockade. The fire from the enemy’s artillery was, however, hotly maintained; and as night fell, some squadrons of the Fourteenth, who were picketed near, were unable to light their watch-fires, being within reach of their shot. As the darkness increased so did the cannonade, and the bright flashes from the walls and the deep booming of the artillery became incessant.

A hundred conjectures were afloat to account for the circumstance; some asserting that what we heard were mere signals to Massena’s army; and others, that Brennier was destroying and mutilating the fortress before he evacuated it to the allies.

It was little past midnight when, tired from the fatigues of the day, I had fallen asleep beneath a tree, an explosion, louder than any which preceded it, burst suddenly forth, and as I awoke and looked about me, I perceived the whole heavens illuminated by one bright glare, while the crashing noise of falling stones and crumbling masonry told me that a mine had been sprung; the moment after, all was calm and still and motionless; a thick black smoke increasing the sombre darkness of the night shut out every star from view, and some drops of heavy rain began to fall.

The silence, ten times more appalling than the din which preceded it, weighed heavily upon my senses, and a dread of some unknown danger crept over me; the exhaustion, however, was greater than my fear, and again I sank into slumber.

Scarcely had I been half an hour asleep, when the blast of a trumpet again awoke me, and I found, amidst the confusion and excitement about, that something of importance had occurred. Questions were eagerly asked on all sides, but no one could explain what had happened. Towards the town all was as still as death, but a dropping, irregular fire of musketry issued from the valley beside the Aguada. “What can this mean; what can it be?” we asked of each other. “A sortie from the garrison,” said one; “A night attack by Massena’s troops,” cried another; and while thus we disputed and argued, a horseman was heard advancing along the road at the top of his speed.

“Where are the cavalry?” cried a voice I recognized as one of my brother aides-de-camp. “Where are the Fourteenth?”

A cheer from our party answered this question, and the next moment, breathless and agitated, he rode in among us.

“What is it? Are we attacked?”

“Would to Heaven that were all! But come along, lads, follow me.”

“What can it be, then?” said I again; while my anxiety knew no bounds.

“Brennier has escaped; burst his way through Pack’s Division, and has already reached Valde Mula.”

“The French have escaped!” was repeated from mouth to mouth; while, pressing spurs to our horses, we broke into a gallop, and dashed forward in the direction of the musketry. We soon came up with the 36th Infantry, who, having thrown away their knapsacks, were rapidly pressing the pursuit. The maledictions which burst from every side proved how severely the misfortune was felt by all, while the eager advance of the men bespoke how ardently they longed to repair the mishap.

Dark as was the night, we passed them in a gallop, when suddenly the officer who commanded the leading squadron called out to halt.

“Take care there, lads!” cried he; “I hear the infantry before us; we shall be down upon our own people.”

The words were hardly spoken, when a bright flash blazed out before us, and a smashing volley was poured into the squadron.

“The French! the French, by Jove!” said Hampden. “Forward, boys! charge them!”

Breaking into open order, to avoid our wounded comrades, several of whom had fallen by the fire, we rode down among them. In a moment their order was broken, their ranks pierced, and fresh squadrons coming up at the instant, they were sabred to a man.

After this the French pursued their march in silence, and even when assembling in force we rode down upon their squares, they never halted nor fired a shot. At Barba del Puerco, the ground being unfit for cavalry, the Thirty-sixth took our place, and pressed them hotly home. Several of the French were killed, and above three hundred made prisoners, but our fellows, following up the pursuit too rashly, came upon an advanced body of Massena’s force, drawn up to await and cover Brennier’s retreat; the result was the loss of above thirty men in killed and wounded.

Thus were the great efforts of the three preceding days rendered fruitless and nugatory. To maintain this blockade, Lord Wellington, with an inferior force, and a position by no means strong, had ventured to give the enemy battle; and now by the unskilfulness of some, and the negligence of others, were all his combinations thwarted, and the French general enabled to march his force through the midst of the blockading columns almost unmolested and uninjured.

Lord Wellington’s indignation was great, as well it might be; the prize for which he had contested was torn from his grasp at the very moment he had won it, and although the gallantry of the troops in the pursuit might, under other circumstances, have called forth eulogium, his only observation on the matter was a half-sarcastic allusion to the inconclusive effects of undisciplined bravery. “Notwithstanding,” says the general order of the day, “what has been printed in gazettes and newspapers, we have never seen small bodies, unsupported, successfully opposed to large; nor has the experience of any officer realized the stories which all have read, of whole armies being driven by a handful of light infantry and dragoons.”