An English Soldier's View of Defeat.
A graphic pen-picture of the chaotic and wretched condition of the English army after the crushing defeat of the eighth, and until its final return to the fleet, is given by Gleig in his "Narrative of the Campaigns." It will be read with all the more interest because it is the frank admission of a brave though prejudiced officer, giving an enemy's view of the great disaster that befell the British arms, in which he fully shared:
General Lambert prudently determined not to risk the safety of his army by another attempt upon works evidently so much beyond our strength. He considered that his chances of success were in every respect lessened by the late repulse. An extraordinary degree of confidence was given to the enemy, while our forces were greatly diminished in numbers. If again defeated, nothing could save our army from destruction; it could only now retreat in force. A retreat, therefore, was resolved upon while the measure appeared practicable, and toward that end all our future operations were directed.
One great obstacle existed; by what road were the troops to travel to regain the fleet? On landing, we had taken advantage of the bayou, and thus come within two miles of the cultivated country, in our barges. To return by the same route was impossible. In spite of our losses there were not enough boats to transport above one half of the army at one time. If we separated, the chances were that both divisions would be destroyed; for those embarked might be intercepted, and those left behind might be attacked by the whole American army. To obviate the difficulty, it required that we should build a passable road through the swamp, to Lake Borgne, some twenty miles away. The task was burthened with innumerable difficulties. There was no firm foundation on which to work, and no trees to assist in forming hurdles. All we could do was to bind together large quantities of swamp weeds and lay them across the quagmire. It was but the semblance of a road, without firmness and solidity.
To complete this road, bad as it was, occupied nine days, during which our army lay in camp, making no attempt to molest the enemy. The Americans, however, were not so inactive. A battery of six guns, mounted on the opposite bank, kept up a continued fire upon our men. The same mode of proceeding was adopted in front, and thus, night and day we were harassed by danger, against which there was no fortifying ourselves. Of the extreme unpleasantness of our situation, it is hardly possible to convey an adequate conception. We never closed our eyes in peace, for we were sure to be awaked before the lapse of many minutes, by the splash of a roundshot or shell in the mud beside us. Tents we had none, but lay some in open air, and some in huts of boards, or any material we could procure. From the moment of our landing, December 23d, not a man had undressed, except to bathe; many had worn the same shirt for weeks. Heavy rains now set in, with violent storms of thunder and lightning, and keen frosts at night. Thus we were wet all day, and nearly frozen at night. With our outposts there was constant skirmishing. Every day they were attacked by the Americans, and compelled to maintain their ground by dint of hard fighting. No one but those who belonged to this army can form a notion of the hardships it endured, and the fatigue it underwent.
Nor were these the only evils which tended to lessen our numbers. To our soldiers every inducement was held out by the enemy to desert. Printed papers, offering lands and money as the price of desertion, were thrown into the pickets, while individuals would persuade our sentinels to quit their stations. It could not be expected that bribes so tempting would always be refused. Many desertions began daily to take place, and ere long became so frequent, that the evil rose to be of a serious nature. In the course of a week, many men quitted their colors, and fled to the enemy.
Meanwhile, the wounded, except such as were too severely hurt to be removed, were embarked in the boats and sent off to the fleet. Next followed the baggage and stores, with the civil officers, commissaries, and purveyors; and last of all such of the light artillery as could be drawn without risk of discovery. But of the heavy artillery, no account was taken. It was determined to leave them behind, retaining their stations. By the 17th, no part of the forces was left in camp but the infantry. On the evening of the 18th, it also began the retreat. Trimming the fires, and arranging all in the order as if no change were to take place, regiment after regiment stole away, as soon as darkness concealed their motions, leaving the pickets to follow as a rear guard, with injunctions not to retire till daylight appeared. Profound silence was maintained; not a man opened his mouth, except to issue necessary orders in a whisper. Not a cough or any other noise was to be heard from the head to the rear of the column. Even the steps of the soldiers were planted with care, to prevent the slightest echo. Nor was this precaution unnecessary. In spite of every endeavor to the contrary, a rumor of our intention had reached the Americans; for we found them of late very watchful and prying.
While our route lay alongside the river, the march was agreeable enough, but as soon as we entered the marsh, all comfort was at an end. Our roadway, constructed of materials so slight, and resting on a foundation so infirm, was trodden to pieces by the first corps. Those who followed were compelled to flounder on the best way they could. By the time the rear of the column gained the morass, all trace of a way had disappeared. Not only were the reeds torn asunder and sunk by the pressure of those in front, but the bog itself was trodden into the consistency of mud. Every step sunk us to the knees, and sometimes higher. Near the ditches, we had the utmost difficulty in crossing at all. There being no light, except what the stars supplied, it was difficult to select our steps, or follow those who called to us that they were safe on the other side. At one of those ditches, I myself beheld an unfortunate wretch gradually sink until he totally disappeared. I saw him flounder, heard his cry for help, and ran forward with the intention of saving him; but before I had taken a second step, I myself sunk to my breast in the mire. How I kept from smothering is more than I can tell, for I felt no solid bottom under me, and sank slowly deeper and deeper, till the mud reached my arms. Instead of rescuing the poor soldier, I was forced to beg assistance for myself. A leathern canteen strap being thrown to me, I laid hold of it, and was dragged out, just as my fellow-sufferer was buried alive, and seen no more.
All night we continued our journey, toiling and struggling through this terrible quagmire; and in the morning reached the Fishermen's Huts, mentioned before as standing on the brink of Bayou Bienvenue, near Lake Borgne. The site is as complete a desert as the eye of man was ever pained by beholding. Not a tree or a bush grew near. As far as the eye could reach, an ocean of weeds covering and partially hiding the swamp presented itself, except on the side where a view of the Lake changed, without fertilizing, the prospect. Here we were ordered to halt; and perhaps I never rejoiced more sincerely at any order than at this. Wearied with my exertions, and oppressed with want of sleep, I threw myself on the chilly ground, without so much as pulling off my muddy garments; in an instant all my cares and troubles were forgotten. After many hours, I awoke from that sleep, cold and stiff, and creeping beside a miserable fire of weeds, devoured the last morsal of salt pork my wallet contained.
The whole army having come up, formed along the brink of the Lake; a line of outposts was planted, and the soldiers commanded to make themselves as comfortable as possible. But there was little comfort. Without tents or shelter of any kind, our bed was the morass, and our sole covering the clothes which had not quitted our backs for a month. Our fires, so necessary to a soldier's happiness, were composed solely of weeds, which blazed up and burned out like straw, imparting but little warmth. Above all, our provisions were expended, with no way to replenish in reach. Our sole dependence was the fleet, nearly one hundred miles away, at anchor. It was necessary to wait until our barges could make the trip there, and return. For two entire days, the only provisions issued to the troops were some crumbs of biscuit and a small allowance of rum. As for myself, being fond of hunting, I determined to fare better. I took a fire-lock and went in pursuit of wild ducks, of which there seemed plenty in the bog. I was fortunate enough to kill several, but they fell in the water, about twenty yards out. There was no other alternative. Pulling off my clothes, and breaking the thin ice, I waded out and got my game, and returned to shore, shivering like an aspen. As I neared the shore, my leg stuck fast in the mire, and in pulling it out my stocking came off, a loss that gave me great discomfort, until we went aboard the fleet. I request that I may not be sneered at when I record this loss of my stocking as one of the disastrous consequences of this ill-fated expedition.
As the boats returned, regiment after regiment set sail for the fleet. But, the wind being foul, many days elapsed before all could be got off. By the end of January, we were all once more on board our former ships. But our return was far from triumphant. We, who only seven weeks ago had set out in the surest confidence of glory, and I may add, of emolument, were brought back dispirited and dejected. Our ranks were woefully thinned, our chiefs slain, our clothing tattered and filthy, and our discipline in some degree injured. A gloomy silence reigned throughout the armament, except when it was broken by the voice of lamentation over fallen friends. The interior of each ship presented a scene well calculated to prove the misadventures of human hope and human prudence. On reaching the fleet, we found that a splendid regiment, the 40th Foot, of one thousand men, had just arrived to reinforce us, ignorant of the fatal issue of our attack. But the coming of thrice their number could not recover what was lost, or recall the fateful past. There was no welcome, nor rejoicing; so great was the despondency that no attention was given to the event. A sullen indifference as to what might happen next seemed to have succeeded all our wonted curiosity, and confidence of success in every undertaking.
On the 4th of February, the fleet weighed anchor and set sail, though detained by adverse winds near the shore of Cat Island until the 7th, when it put to sea. Our course, towards the east, led to the conjecture that we were steering towards Mobile. Nor was it long before we came in sight of the bay which bears that name.