I was now well broke down by what I had been in my first campaign with Moore. How different was Tom marching to school with his satchel on his back, from Tom with his musket and kitt[6], a private soldier, an atom of an army, unheeded by all, his comforts sacrificed to ambition, his untimely death talked of with indifference, and only counted in the gross with hundreds, without a sigh.
We halted on the first night at a palace belonging to the Queen of Portugal, called Safrea, where we were joined by the Honourable Henry Cadogan, our Colonel. Next day, the 14th October, 1810, we joined the army at Sabral de Monte Agraco, a small town surrounded by hills. On the front is a hill, called by our men Windmill Hill, from a number of windmills which were upon it; in the rear, another they called Gallows Hill, from a gibbet standing there. We had not been three hours in the town, and were busy cooking, when the alarm sounded. There were nine British, and three Portuguese regiments in the town. We were all drawn up, and remained under arms, expecting every moment to receive the enemy, whose skirmishers covered Windmill Hill. In about an hour, the light companies of all the regiments were ordered out, alongst with the 71st. Colonel Cadogan called to us, at the foot of the hill, “My lads, this is the first affair I have ever been in with you; show me what you can do, now or never.” We gave a hurra, and advanced up the hill, driving their advanced skirmishers before us, until about half-way up, when we commenced a heavy fire, and were as hotly received. In the mean time, the remaining regiments evacuated the town. The enemy pressed so hard upon us, we were forced to make the best of our way down the hill, and were closely followed by the French, through the town, up Gallows Hill. We got behind a mud wall, and kept our ground in spite of their utmost efforts. Here we lay upon our arms all night. Next morning, by day-break, there was not a Frenchman to be seen. As soon as the sun was fairly up, we advanced into the town, and began a search for provisions, which were now become very scarce; and, to our great joy, found a large store-house full of dry fish, flour, rice, and sugar, besides bales of cloth. All now became bustle and mirth; fires were kindled, and every man became a cook. Scones[7] were the order of the day. Neither flour nor sugar were wanting, and the water was plenty; so I fell to bake myself a flour scone. Mine was mixed and laid upon the fire, and I, hungry enough, watching it. Though neither neat nor comely, I was anticipating the moment when it would be eatable. Scarce was it warm, ere the bugle sounded to arms. Then was the joy that reigned a moment before turned to execrations. I snatched my scone off the fire, raw as it was, put it into my haversack, and formed. We remained under arms until dark; and then took up our old quarters upon Gallows Hill, where I ate my raw scone, sweetly seasoned by hunger. In our advance to the town, we were much entertained by some of our men, who had got over a wall, the day before, when the enemy were in the rear, and now were put to their shifts to get over again, and scarce could make it out.
Next morning, the French advanced to a mud wall, about forty yards in front of the one we lay behind. It rained heavily this day, and there was very little firing. During the night, we received orders to cover the bugle and tartans of our bonnets with black crape, which had been served out to us during the day, and to put on our great-coats. Next morning, the French seeing us thus, thought we had retired, and left Portuguese to guard the heights. With dreadful shouts, they leaped over that wall before which they had stood, when guarded by British. We were scarce able to withstand their fury. To retreat was impossible; all behind being ploughed land, rendered deep by the rain. There was not a moment to hesitate. To it we fell pell-mell, French and British mixed together. It was a trial of strength in single combat; every man had his opponent, many had two. I got one up to the wall on the point of my bayonet. He was unhurt; I would have spared him, but he would not spare himself. He cursed and defied me, nor ceased to attack my life, until he fell, pierced by my bayonet; his breath died away in a curse and menace. This was the work of a moment: I was compelled to this extremity. I was again attacked, but my antagonist fell, pierced by a random shot. We soon forced them to retire over the wall, cursing their mistake. At this moment I stood gasping for breath, not a shoe on my feet; my bonnet had fallen to the ground. Unmindful of my situation, I followed the enemy over the wall. We pursued them about a mile, and then fell back to the scene of our struggle. It was covered with dead and wounded, bonnets and shoes trampled and stuck in the mud. I recovered a pair of shoes: whether they had been mine or not I cannot tell; they were good. Here I first got any plunder. A French soldier lay upon the ground dead; he had fallen backwards; his hat had fallen off his head, which was kept up by his knapsack. I struck the hat with my foot, and felt it rattle; seized it in a moment, and in the lining found a gold watch and silver crucifix. I kept them; as I had as good a right to them as any other. Yet they were not valuable in my estimation. At this time, life was held by so uncertain a tenure, and my comforts were so scanty, that I would have given the watch for a good meal and a dry shirt. There was not a dry stitch on my back at the time, nor for the next two days.
In a short time the French sent in a flag of truce, for leave to carry off their wounded, which was granted. They advanced to their old ground, and we lay looking at each other for three days, the two first of which the rain never ceased to pour; the third day was good and dry. During this time, the French withdrew their lines, and left only picquets. On the third day, an officer and twelve men went to the wall, as the French sentinels were become very remiss. He looked over, and saw a picquet of fifty men playing cards and amusing themselves. Our party levelled their muskets, and gave them a volley. They took to their heels, officers and all. There was no further attack made that day, and we retired behind the line batteries at night, quite worn out with hunger and fatigue. For five nights I had never been in bed, and, during a good part of that time, it had rained hard. We were upon ploughed land, which was rendered so soft, that we sunk over the shoes at every step. The manner in which I passed the night was thus: I placed my canteen upon the ground, put my knapsack above, and sat upon it, supporting my head upon my hands, my musket between my knees resting upon my shoulder, and my blanket over all—ready to start in a moment at the least alarm. The nights were chill: indeed, in the morning I was so stiff, I could not stand or move with ease for some time; my legs were benumbed to the knees. I was completely wet three nights out of the five. A great number of the men took the fever and ague, after we retired behind the lines. I was not a whit the worse.
On our arrival behind the lines, our brigade, consisting of the 50th, 71st, and 92d, commanded by Major-General Sir William Erskine, was quartered in a small village called Sabreira. Our first care was to place outposts and sentinels between the batteries, about twenty yards distant from each other. We communicated with the Foot Guards on our right, and the Brunswick infantry on our left. Those off duty were employed throwing up batteries and breast-works, or breaking up the roads. The day after we fell into the lines, the French placed sentinels in front of us without any dispute. There was a small valley and stream of water between us.
We remained thus for five weeks; every day, when off duty, forming defensive works, or breaking up the roads; it being a place that no army could pass, save upon the highway. The advanced picquet of the French lay in a windmill: ours, consisting of one captain, two subalterns, and 400 men, in a small village. There was only a distance of about 150 yards between us. We learned, from the deserters, that the French were much in want of provisions. To provoke them, our sentinels, at times, would fix a biscuit to the point of their bayonets, and present to them. One day the French had a bullock, in endeavouring to kill which their butcher missed his blow, and the animal ran off right into our lines. The French looked so foolish. We hurraed at them, secured the bullock, brought him in front, killed him in style. They looked on, but dared not approach to seize him. Shortly after an officer and four men came with a flag of truce, and supplicated, in the most humble manner, for the half of the bullock, which they got for godsake.
On the evening of the 14th November the French made their outposts stronger than they had yet been, and kindled great fires after dark. We were all under arms an hour before day, expecting to be attacked; but when the day dawned there was not a Frenchman to be seen. As soon as the sun was up, we set off after them. When we arrived at Sobral, we found a great number of our men, who had been wounded on the 14th and 15th October, besides a greater proportion of French wounded and sick. We were told by our men, that the weakly men, and the baggage of the French army, had been sent off eight days before. We were halted at Sobral until provisions came up; when three days allowance was served out to each man. We again commenced our advance. The weather was very bad. It rained for a great part of the time without intermission. On the fourth day we took about 100 prisoners, who had concealed themselves in a wood.
This retreat brought to my mind the Corunna race. We could not advance 100 yards without seeing dead soldiers of the enemy stretched upon the road, or at a little distance from it, who had lain down to die, unable to proceed through hunger and fatigue. We could not pity them, miserable as they were. Their retreat resembled more that of famished wolves than men. Murder and devastation marked their way; every house was a sepulchre, a cabin of horrors! Our soldiers used to wonder why the Frenchmen were not swept by heaven from the earth, when they witnessed their cruelties. In a small town called Safrea, I saw twelve dead bodies lying in one house upon the floor! Every house contained traces of their wanton barbarity. Often has a shade of doubt crossed my mind, when reading the accounts of former atrocities; often would I think—they are exaggerated—thank God we live in more civilized times. How dreadfully were my doubts removed. I cease to describe, least I raise doubts similar to my own.
At this time I got a distaste I could never overcome. A few of us went into a wine-store, where there was a large tun, with a ladder to get to the top, in which was a hole about two feet square. There was not much wine in it, so we buckled our canteen straps together, until a camp-kettle attached to them reached the liquor. We drew it up once,—we all drank: down it went again—it got entangled with something at the bottom of the tun—a candle was lowered;—to our great disappointment, the corpse of a French soldier lay upon the bottom! Sickness came upon me, and for a long time afterwards I shuddered at the sight of red wine. The Portuguese soldiers never would drink red wine, if white could be got. When I asked the reason, their reply was, they knew how it was made.
We continued our pursuit, every day taking more or less prisoners who were unable to keep up with the main army, until we came in front of Santarem. Here we piled arms upon the sandy ground: the French were in possession of the heights. Colonel Cadogan made the smartest of the men run races, in front, for rum. From this sport we were suddenly called to form line for attack: but the French position was too strong for us. By this time it was quite dark, and we had a large plain to cross, to a village where we were to halt all night. In our march we were put into confusion, and a good number of the men knocked over by a flock of goats, of which we caught a few, which made a delicious supper for us. On our arrival at the village we were forced to break up the doors, as the inhabitants would not let us in. Next morning was very wet. The following evening we halted at a village; but two Portuguese regiments had been before us, and swept all away. We sent out parties to forage, and got some Indian corn, which we ground, ourselves, at a mill; the inhabitants having all fled. We were then quartered in a convent in Alcanterina, where we lay from the beginning of December, until 5th March, 1811. Provisions were very scarce. Fatigue parties were sent out every day for Indian corn and pot herbs. We had beef, but we could not subsist upon beef alone, which was seldom good, being far driven, very tough, and lean. An accident procured us a short relief: some of our men, amusing themselves in piercing the ceiling with their bayonets, discovered a trap door, and found a great concealed store of food and valuables. We fared well while it lasted. Having very little duty, our time was spent at foot-ball. We were very badly off for shoes, but, by good luck, discovered a quantity of leather in a tan-yard. Those who found it helped themselves first, and were wasting it. The Colonel then ordered each man a pair of soles and heels, to be put up in his knapsack.