CHAPTER XLI. BATTLES OP THE PYRENEES.
“If I begin the battery once again,
I will not leave the half-achieved Harfleur,
Till in her ashes she lie buried.”
King Henry V.
The exultation of the French garrison at the reported victories which had crowned the efforts of Soult for the relief of Pampeluna was but a short-lived triumph—for an attempt vauntingly commenced, and certainly very gallantly carried out, had been signally defeated.
Picton, followed closely by Soult, had retreated through the valley of the Zuberi before day-break. On nearing Pampeluna, the English general found that the fourth division had already passed Villalba; the garrison of Pampeluna had sallied and spiked a battery—the blockading Spaniards were in terrible confusion—and every thing bore the appearance of disaster. With a stern hardihood, which formed the best point in Picton’s military character, he determined at once to turn and offer battle to the pursuers—and accordingly, formed in battle order upon the ridges of Miguel, Escova, and Christoval; thus masking the fortress he came to relieve from Soult’s view as he issued from the valley of the Zuberi.
The French marshal felt little doubt that the object of his previous efforts was now about to be realized. Within two leagues of Pampeluna he followed a retiring army, and in another hour would be in communication with that fortress. What, then, was his surprise, when on emerging from the valley, he found the third division and Morillo’s Spaniards in position on the bold and rocky chain rising in front of Huarte, and Cole more immediately advanced, in possession of the heights near Zabaldica which command the Huarte road? Hastily he adopted and executed a bold movement to form a line of battle; but, while that was in progress, another and a greater actor appeared suddenly upon the stage; and when he came, the tide of Soult’s fortune turned, and defeat followed in his footsteps.
On quitting the Bastan on the 27th, Lord Wellington learned at Ostiz, that Picton had retired on Pampeluna, and, riding at speed to Sauroren, he perceived Clausel’s divisions in full march, and with an eagle-glance discovered from the direction taken by the French columns, that the allied movement through the Lanz must certainly be intercepted. There was not a moment to be lost; an order was despatched that the troops should move bodily by the right towards Oricain, a village nearly in the rear of the mountain position taken up by Sir Lowry Cole.
In issuing this hurried order, one of war’s romantic incidents occurred. The despatch was written on the parapet of the bridge; and as the staff-officer who carried it, rode out of one extremity of the village, the French cavalry galloped in at the other; while the allied commander dashed quickly up the hill, and joined the allied troops who held it. His appearance was sudden, unexpected, and electrical. A Portuguese battalion raised an exulting cheer—the name of Wellington! passed from regiment to regiment, accompanied by a thundering huzza; while, by a strange coincidence, Soult was at the moment so immediately in front, that the rival commanders were pointed out distinctly to each other. The evening passed without any striking effort. Soult examined the allied position under the fire of his light troops—a thunder-storm ended the skirmish, and both sides determined on a trial of skill and strength to-morrow.
The 28th, a day ever memorable in peninsular history, found both sides prepared for action. Soult, intending to crush the left of the fourth division, and ignorant of the march of the sixth, made dispositions to enable him to attack Cole’s left and front together, while Reille, at the same time, should carry the height held by the Spaniards and the British 40th. The former effort turned out a fatal experiment; and the blow intended to crush the allied brigade before it could be assisted met with a tremendous counter-stroke. “Striving to encompass the left of the allies, the French were themselves encompassed.” Suddenly a Portuguese brigade appeared upon their right; the sixth division showed itself as unexpectedly in front; the fourth turned fiercely on their left; and, scourged at the same time by a front and flanking fire, the French columns were driven back, men falling fast on both sides; for the French fought desperately, but in vain.
The struggle for the mountain produced still bloodier combats. A hermita crowned the height, and the chapel was held by a regiment of Portuguese Caçadores. Against it a column issued from Sauroren, and, heedless of a sweeping fire that fell upon it with deadly violence, as in close order it steadily pushed up the hill, the ridge was crowned, and the Caçadores obliged to abandon the hermita. But Ross’s brigade were at hand, and with a headlong charge the heights were cleared, and the chapel recovered with the bayonet. A second time the French rallied, advanced, and were repulsed—but other columns were coming into action. The right flank of Ross’s brigade became exposed—for a Portuguese battalion gave way—a heavy column of the enemy pressed on, and the British regiments retired for a time, but was only to return more fiercely to the attack. “Charge succeeded charge, and each side yielded and recovered by turns.” At that moment, Byng’s brigade rapidly advanced; while two noble regiments of Anson’s—the 27th and 48th—rushed from the centre, bore down everything before them, and the French were literally pushed down the heights by close and murderous fighting, which Wellington termed “bludgeon work.” On the hill occupied the 40th and Spaniards, Reille’s attack had failed for, although the regiment of El Pravia gwe way, flanked by a Portuguese battalion, the 40th held its ground immovably. Four times the French topped the height—four times they were pushed down by the bayonet; each charge heralded by a cheer, and each repulse bloodier than the preceding one; until, at last, strength and spirit equally exhausted, they refused to follow their officers and gave up the trial in despair.
The 29th passed quietly—both sides required rest—and to each some time was necessary to get their dispersed brigades again together. Not a shot was interchanged that day; but never did a more ominous tranquillity forerun the hurricane of war. It was now evident that all idea of re-entering Spain must be abandoned. The front displayed by Lord Wellington was not to be forced; and the French cavalry and artillery—only encumbrances in a mountain-country—were ordered to fall back and retire to the Bidassao. While waiting for D’Erlon to come up, Soult received intelligence which induced him to change his original plans, and he determined to throw himself between the allies and the valley of the Bastan, thus securing a close communication with the French frontier, and falling back on his reserves, while, by a bold and well-combined movement, he might fortunately effect one great object of his advance into the passes of the Pyrenees,—the relief of San Sebastian.
Although unhappily non-combatant, still the operations of the contending armies which, day after day were severely engaged, or placed in the immediate presence of each other, to us were of absorbing interest. The first reports that reached the fortress were sadly disheartening; but on the fourth morning, a striking alteration was visible on the countenance of our friend Cammaran, when he called to announce “tidings from the host.” His mercurial temperament, yesterday in the very ascendant of fever heat, had sank almost to zero, and it was very amusing to observe the ingenuity with which, while admitting stubborn facts, he still endeavoured to apply palliatives to his disappointment—
“Ah—sacre! what a country to operate in! Legs were of no use among those accursed Pyrenees,—men should have wings. What splendid combinations were those of the Emperor’s lieutenant! Only for broken roads, ruined bridges, infernal gullies, and inaccessible mountains, the Duc’s movement would have been a march of victory. He would have been at Vittoria on the 16th.”
“Pshaw!” I said, breaking in on the detail with a laugh—“He would never be contented to stop there. Why not push for Madrid at once?”
“Ah, you smile,” my friend replied Cammaran, with a sigh. “But, peste! the d——d fogs confused the general movements. One division went astray—another was obliged to halt—columns marching over precipices could not keep time. Ah! those accidents saved my Lord Wellington; the delay enabled him to collect his scattered corps, and when the Marshal cleared those infernal valleys and defiles with scarcely half the corps d’armée disposable, there—Sacre Dieu! was your general in front of Pampeluna with all his divisions up and in position!”—
“And honest Jack Soult discovered that all his magnificent combinations and previous success, had ended in his catching a Tartar!—Ah! Cammaran, I feel for you, my poor friend. But out with it at once—or I’ll compassionately do it for you. The upshot is, you have got a confounded thrashing”—
“No—no—no;” exclaimed the Voltigeur. “The plan of operations is only changed—”
“And the Emperor’s lieutenant has postponed the birth-day entertainment; and, in place of resting on the Zodorra, he will be over the Bidassao in a day or two. Well, I can feel for you. But custom reconciles people to contingencies; and latterly you have been so regularly beaten that it is a novelty no longer.”
The Voltigeur smiled, shrugged his shoulders, pleaded duty in excuse for a brief visit, and hurried away—I suspect to avoid my badinage, which, at the time, was anything but agreeable.
Indeed, judging from the scanty information I received, the deductions I had drawn of ulterior consequences proved correct. As yet the French Marshal had only witnessed the complete miscarriage of all he had designed and hoped for: but now, the penalty of the failure was about to be exacted.
In pursuance of his altered plans, on entering the valley of Ulzema, where he overtook D’Erlon, who had already reached it at the head of five divisions, and with a sixth (Martinier’s) in his rear, the French. Marshal instantly determined to crush the corps under Sir Rowland Hill posted on the ridge of Buenza. All was in his favour—the allies were scarcely half his strength, and the left of their position was vulnerable. The attack was fiercely made, as fiercely repulsed, and every effort against the allied flanks was unsuccessful. Finally, numbers enabled the French marshal to turn the position: but Hill steadily retired on Equaros, and there, joined by Campbell’s Portuguese brigade and Morillo’s Spaniards, he again boldly stood his ground and offered battle. But Soult declined an action—and, contented with having gained the Isurzun road, he determined to force his way to San Sebastian; but it was decreed that, like Pampeluna, the fortress on the Urumea should be abandoned to its fate.
Wellington had penetrated the designs of his able opponent, and, with characteristic decision, prepared to meet them with a counterstroke. With him, to decide and execute were synonymous; and in the second conflict at Sauroren, the intended blow was hewily delivered. It will be enough to say that, in the conflicts which ensued, the French were completely beaten. On the allied side the loss of men was heavy in killed and wounded, amounting to eighteen hundred. On the French it was enormous—two divisions—those of Maucune and Couroux were almost destroyed—the general disorganization was complete—Foy cut off from the main body altogether—three-thousand men were prisoners—and nearly as many more rendered hors de combat. It was not the severe losses he had sustained which alone embarrassed the French commander. The allies everywhere were gathering around him in strength—his troops were overmarched and dispirited—his position untenable—all idea of advancing on San Sebastian abandoned—and the only door open for retreat was to gain the pass of Dona Maria, and by forced marches fall back on San Estevan. Accordingly, at midnight, his troops were put in motion to reach this dangerous defile, and thence, by ascending or descending the Bidassao, regain the French frontier. How painful this retrogressive movement must have been, may well be fancied. Now “the leader of a broken host,” and smarting the more keenly from defeat, because he had too presumptuously affirmed a certainty of success, and assured his troops of victory.
Nothing could be more critical than Soult’s position; and while Wellington supposed that he intended entering the Bastan by the pass of Villate, the French marshal was too close to Buenza to hazard a retreat by the valley of the Lanz. Indeed, his situation was so dangerous, that a less determined commander might have despaired. His only means of egress from these mountains was by a long and perilous defile leading to an Alpine bridge, and both were overlooked by towering precipices; while, from holding a shorter and easier line of march, the chances were considerable that Wellington would anticipate his movements, and reach Elizondo—Graham seize Yanzi before he could arrive there—Hill fall on his flanks and rear, if obliged, as he should be in these events, to take the route of Zagaramundi—and, in the end, even if he fought his way to Urdax, he might find that position preoccupied, and his retreat finally intercepted. Fortune averted the great calamity; but still safety was to be purchased at a heavy sacrifice.
As he had dreaded, Soult’s rear-guard was overtaken near Lizasso—was attacked—defeated—and saved only by a fog which opportunely covered a hurried retreat. At Elizondo a large convoy with its guard was captured; but the crowning misfortune was impending, when, ignorant of Lord Wellington’s proximity, Soult halted in the valley of San Estevan. Behind the ridges which overlook the town four allied divisions were halted—the seventh held the mountain of Dona Maria—the light, with a Spanish division, were in hasty march to seize the passes at Vera and Echallar.—Byng had reached Maya, and Hill was moving on Almandon. Every arrangement to enclose the retreating army was complete, and never, in military calculations, was the destruction of an enemy more certain, than that which awaited Soult. Unconscious of his danger, the French marshal gave no indications of alarm. With him, there was no appearances to excite suspicion,—no watch-fire indicated the presence of an enemy—no scouting-party was seen upon the heights. Two hours more, and the fate of the Emperor’s lieutenant would have been sealed, when one of those trifling incidents occurred, which in war will render the most studied and scientific efforts unwailing, and extricate from perilous results, those who have dared too much, but to whom despair is happily a stranger. Possibly, in the varied fortunes of a life “crowded with events,” never did accident tax the Great Captain’s philosophy more severely.
Unseen himself, Wellington with an eagle’s glance watched from a height the progress of his combinations. The quarry in the valley rested in false security, even when the falcon on the rock was pluming his feathers and preparing for a fatal stoop. A few French horsemen carelessly patroled the hollow, and although a hundred eyes were turned upon them, they saw nothing which could betray the presence of an enemy or excite alarm. At that moment three plunderers crossed their path. They were seized, carried off; presently the alarm was beaten, and in a few minutes the French columns were under arms and in full retreat: and “Thus,” to quote Napier’s words, “the disobedience of these plundering knaves, unworthy of the name of soldiers, deprived our consummate commander of the most splendid success, and saved another from the most terrible disaster.”
Although its total déroute was narrowly werted, no army suffered for a time more severely than the retiring columns of the French. Cumbered with baggage, embarrassed with the transport of the wounded, confined to a strait and difficult mountain-road, no wonder that the whole mass of fighting and disabled men were occasionally in terrible confusion. The light troops of the fourth division appeared upon their right flank, and, moving by a parallel line, maintained a teasing fusilade. The bridge leading to that of Yanzi was strongly occupied by a battalion of Spanish sharp-shooters. D’Erlon, profiting by the inaction of Longa and Bareenas, forced the pass; but Reille was not so fortunate. The light division, by an unequalled exertion, crossed forty miles of mountain-country by one incessant march; and they had already crowned the summit of the precipice which overhangs the pass to Yanzi at the perilous moment when Reille’s exhausted column was struggling through the “deep defile.” Never was a worn-out enemy placed in a more terrible position. On one side, a deep river with rugged banks; on the other, an inaccessible precipice, topped by an enemy secure from everything but the uncertain effect of vertical fire. The scene which ensued was frightful. Disabled men were thrown down, deserted, and ridden over. The feeble return to the British musquetry produced no reaction. The bridge of Yanzi could not be forced; and night came opportunely, permitting the harassed column to escape by the road of Echallar, leaving, however, the wounded and the baggage to the victors.
The last struggle was at hand. Soult, with an indomitable courage which even in defeat established his military superiority, by powerful and personal exertions, rallied his broken troops, and once more formed in order of battle on the Puerto of Echallar, with Clausel’s diminished corps in advance on a contiguous height. But that stand gave but a breathing-time. Two British divisions were already pushed on to re-occupy Roncesvalles and Alduides—Byng was at Fadax, Hill on the Col de Maya—and the light, fourth, and seventh divisions in hand, and ready to fall on.
The affairs which followed were very singular, and mark the moral effect which success and disaster exercise upon the best soldiers in their turn. The light division was pointed on Santa Barbara to turn the right of the enemy, the fourth were desired to make a front attack by Echallar, and the seventh moved from Sumbilla to operate against Soult’s left. Outmarching the supporting columns, Harness brigade, boldly assailed the strong ridges occupied by Clausel’s division: and, with a daring courage worthy of the good fortune which crowned it, actually drove from its mountain-position a corps of four-fold numbers to his own. It is true that Clausel’s troops had been beaten, overmarched, and dispirited. Already they had been thrice bloodily defeated; but that six thousand tried and gallant soldiers should be forced from a rugged height by a brigade not exceeding sixteen hundred bayonets, is an anomaly in war which seems difficult to resolve to common causes.
The last affair was that of Ivantelly. On that strong mountain the French rear-guard had taken its stand, and although evening had set in, the soldiers fasted two days, and a mist obscured the heights, the light troops mounted the rugged front and drove the enemy from that, the last ridge, which, in the course of nine days’ operations, had been assailed or defended.
In the course of those sanguinary and continued combats, known by the general designation of the Battles of the Pyrenees, the Allies lost seven thousand hors de combat. The French casualties were infinitely greater; and a moderate estimate, framed from the most impartial statements, raises it to the fatal amount of fifteen thousand men.
It was with feelings of unqualified delight I listened to Cammaran’s doleful admission that Soult was over the Bidassao, and the battering guns, which, under an alarm, had been embarked at Passages, had been again re-landed, and the siege was to commence again. Sufficient proof of this intention was quickly manifested, for the trenches were repaired, San Bartolomeo armed anew, and the convent of Antigua furnished with heavy guns to sweep the beach and bay, if necessary.
Whatever might have been the feelings of the governor and his garrison when the tidings of Soult’s failure were confirmed, still, like gallant soldiers, they showed no lack of confidence in themselves, but redoubled, their exertions to increase all the means within their power of defence, and repel the second assault as effectually as they had repulsed the former one. On the anniversary of the Emperor’s birth, the inhabitants of the city and the troops who invested it, were apprised of the event by frequent salvos of artillery; and when night came, the castle exhibited a splendid illumination, surmounted by a brilliant legend, “Vive Napoleon le grand!” visible distinctly at the distance of a league.
On the 19th, the long-expected siege-train arrived from England, and on the 22nd, fifteen heavy guns were placed in battery. On the 23rd another train was landed. On the 25th all the batteries were armed and reported ready to commence their fire; and on the 26th fifty-seven pieces opened with a thundering crash, and in one unabated roar played on the devoted city, until darkness rendered the practice uncertain and ended this deafening cannonade.
The result of the siege was what might have been anticipated, when Wellington, with adequate means, had issued his order that the place should fall. On the morning of the 31st the assault was delivered, and after a long, bloody, and doubtful struggle, the fortress was carried.
Would that with the fall of that well-defended city the sad detail of “siege and slaughter” closed! “At Ciudad Rodrigo intoxication and plunder had been the principal object; at Badajoz, lust and murder were joined to rapine and drunkenness; but at San Sebastian the direst, the most revolting cruelty was added to the catalogue of crimes.” * Thank God! from witnessing that horrid scene, the fosterer and I were exempted. In accordance with Mark Antony’s advice, I had determined to give General Key “leg-bail” and on the night of the 27th, Dame Fortune behaving towards us like a real gentlewoman, we contrived to get clear of San Sebastian before our friends the besiegers could manage to get in.
* Napier.
But that event, in this my hurried but “eventful history,” requires another chapter.