The French in their retreat from Santarem had either consumed or destroyed every particle of food that came within their reach, so that the country was a spacious desert. During a sharp day’s march in pursuit, a horrible calamity was unexpectedly disclosed. While passing over a desolate mountain, a large house standing alone, and apparently deserted, was discovered near the line of our route. Prompted by curiosity, several men turned aside to inspect the interior, where they found a number of famished wretches crowded together, for no other conceivable purpose but to die in company. Thirty women and children had perished for want of food, and lay dead upon the floor; while about half that number of survivors sat watching the remains of those who had fallen. Of those who thus perished the bodies were not much emaciated, but the muscles of the face were invariably drawn transversely, giving the appearance of a smile, and presenting the most ghastly sight imaginable. Most of the living were unable to move; and it had been by great exertion that they had crawled to a little distance from the group of death. The soldiers offered some refreshment to these unfortunate persons; but one man only had sufficient strength to eat. The women seemed patient and resigned, and even in this distress had arranged the bodies of those who first died with decency and care.
The blockade of Cadiz was now prosecuted with unusual vigour by the French forces. The chain of forts they had built was perfected. The batteries at the Troccaderos were powerful, and the flotillas ready for action. Soult repaired in person to San Lucar; and in the last night of October thirty pinnaces and gunboats slipped out of the Guadalquivir, eluded the allied fleet, passed along the coast to Rota, and from thence, aided by shore-batteries, fought their way to Santa Maria and the San Pedro. The flotilla was afterwards transported over-land; and in the ensuing month one hundred and thirty armed vessels and transports were assembled in the Troccadero Canal. At that celebrated point there were immense batteries and some notable pieces of ordnance, called cannon-mortars, or Villantroys, after the inventor. These huge engines were cast in Seville, and, being placed in slings, threw shells with such prodigious force as to range over Cadiz, a distance of more than five thousand yards; but to obtain this flight, the shells were partly filled with lead, so that the charge of powder was proportionately of less effective explosion. While Cadiz was thus begirt, a furious engagement took place at Cerra de Puerco, called by the English the heights of Barossa, about four miles from the sea-mouth of the Santa Petri. Barossa is a low ridge creeping in from the coast about a mile and a half, and overlooking a high and broken plain of small extent.
Graham, who commanded the British, was extremely desirous of holding the Barossa height, as the key both to offensive and defensive movements. Our Spanish allies on this occasion behaved scandalously; indeed, nothing but the unflinching firmness and courage of the English troops could have saved the army from entire ruin. Major Brown, seeing the general confusion arising from the defeat of the Spaniards, and being unable to stem the torrent, slowly retired into the plain, sending notice of what was passing to Graham, and demanding orders. That general, being then near Bermeja, answered that he was to fight; and instantly facing about himself, regained the plains with the greatest celerity, when, to his surprise, he beheld the Spanish rearguard and baggage flying in confusion, the French cavalry between the summit and the sea, and Laval close on his own left flank. In this desperate situation he felt that to retreat upon Bermeja, and thus bring the enemy pell-mell with the allies on that narrow bridge, must be disastrous; hence, without a moment’s hesitation, he resolved to attack, although the key of the field of battle was already in the enemy’s possession. Ten guns, under Major Duncan, instantly opened a terrific fire against Laval’s column, while Colonel Barnard, with the riflemen and the Portuguese companies, running out to the left, commenced the fight. The remainder of the British troops, without any attention to regiments or brigades, so sudden was the affair, formed two masses, one of which, under General Dilkes, marched hastily against Ruffin, and the other, under Colonel Wheatley, against Laval. Duncan’s guns ravaged the French ranks; Laval’s artillery replied with spirit; Ruffin’s batteries took Wheatley’s columns in flank; and the infantry on both sides pressed forward eagerly and with a pealing musketry; and when near together, a fierce, rapid, prolonged charge of the British overthrew the first line of the French, and, notwithstanding its extreme valour, drove it in confusion over a narrow dip of ground upon the second, which was almost immediately broken in the same manner, and only the chosen battalion, hitherto posted on the right, remained to cover the retreat. Meanwhile Brown, receiving his orders, had marched headlong against Ruffin. Nearly half of his detachment went down under the enemy’s last fire; yet he maintained the fight until Dilkes’ column, which had crossed a deep hollow and never stopped even to reform the regiments, came up, with little order indeed, but in a fierce mood, when the whole ran up towards the summit. There was no slackness on any side, and at the very edge of the ascent their opponents met them. A dreadful and for some time a doubtful fight ensued. Ruffin and Chaudron Rousseau, commanding the chosen Grenadiers, both fell, mortally wounded. The English bore strongly onward; and their incessant, slaughtering fire forced the French from the hill, with the loss of three guns and many brave men. The defeated divisions retired concentrically, and having soon met, they endeavoured with great energy to reform and renew the action; but the fire of Duncan’s guns, close, rapid, and destructive, rendered the attempt vain. Victor was soon in full retreat; and the British, having been twenty-four hours under arms, were too exhausted to pursue. In this brief but desperate fight upwards of twelve hundred British soldiers, and more than two thousand Frenchmen, were killed or wounded; from the latter, six guns, an eagle, and two generals, both mortally wounded, were taken, together with four hundred other prisoners.
The activities of this spirited campaign were maintained in other places. Badajos was sorely pressed by the French. Early in March, the second parallel being completed, and the Pardaleras taken into the works, the approaches were carried by sap to the covered way; mines were also prepared to blow in the counterscarp, and yet Rafael Menacho, the governor, was not dismayed. His sallies were frequent and vigorous; he constructed new entrenchments where necessary; and everything went on prosperously till the evening of the 2nd, when in a sally, in which the nearest French batteries were carried, the guns spiked, and trenches partly ruined, Menacho was killed, and the command fell to Imas, a man so unworthy that a worse could not be found. At once the spirit of the garrison died away, for cowardice is often contagious. The besiegers’ works rapidly advanced, the ditch was passed, a lodgment was made on one of the ravelines, the rampart was breached, and the fire of the besieged being nearly silenced, on the 10th of March the place was summoned in a peremptory manner. Not that there was the least need to surrender. A strong body of British and Portuguese were in full march for the relief of the place. This information had been communicated by telegraph, besides which Imas had been informed by a confidential messenger that Masséna was in full retreat. The breach was not practicable, provisions were plentiful, the garrison above eight thousand strong, the French army reduced by sickness and the previous operations to fewer than fourteen thousand men. Imas, however, instantly surrendered, but he also demanded that his Grenadiers should march out of the breach. This was granted, and he was obliged to enlarge the opening before they could do so. Yet this man, so overwhelmed with opprobrium, was never punished.
Masséna continued to retreat; and a skirmish, attended with some loss on both sides, unexpectedly took place at Pombal. The commander just named was so closely followed by our division, that, the streets being still encumbered, Ney drew up a rearguard on a height behind the town, and threw a detachment into the old castle. He had, however, waited too long. The French army was moving in some confusion, and in an extended column of march, by a narrow defile between the mountains and the Soire river, which was fordable, while the British divisions were in rapid motion on the left bank, with the design of crossing lower down, and cutting Masséna’s line of retreat; but darkness came on, and the operation terminated in a sharp conflict at Pombal, whence the 95th and the 3rd Cacadores drove the French from the castle and town with such vigour, that the latter could not destroy the bridge, though it was mined for the purpose. Daybreak on the 12th saw both armies in movement, and eight miles of march brought the head of the British into a hollow way leading to a high tableland, on which Ney had disposed five thousand infantry, a few squadrons of cavalry, and some light guns. His centre was opposite to the hollow road, his wings were covered by the woody heights which he occupied with light troops. Behind him arose the village of Redhina, situated on low ground, in front of which were posted a division of infantry, a regiment of cavalry, and a battery of heavy guns, all so skilfully disposed as to give the appearance of considerable force.
After examining the enemy’s position for a short time, Lord Wellington first directed the light division to attack the wooded slopes covering Ney’s right; and in less than an hour these orders were executed. The woods were presently cleared, and our skirmishers advanced even to the open plain beyond. Just then, the French battalions, supported by four guns, opened a heavy rolling fire, and at the same moment Colonel Farrière, of the 3rd French Hussars, charged and took fourteen prisoners. This officer, during the whole campaign, had never failed to break in upon the skirmishers in the most critical moments, sometimes with a squadron, sometimes with only a few men; he was, however, sure to be found in the right place. The British light division, commanded by Sir William Erskine, consisted of five battalions of infantry and six guns, and was formed so that it outflanked the French right. It was also reinforced with two regiments of dragoons. Meanwhile Picton seized the woody heights protecting the French left, and thus Ney’s position was exposed. Nevertheless, that marshal, observing that Lord Wellington, deceived as to his real numbers, was bringing the mass of the allied troops into line, far from retreating, even charged Picton’s skirmishers, and continued to hold his ground with astonishing confidence. In this posture both sides remained for about an hour, when three shots were fired from the British centre as a signal for a forward movement, and a most splendid spectacle of war was exhibited. The woods seemed alive with troops, and in a few moments thirty thousand men, forming three gorgeous lines of battle, were stretched across the plain, but bending on a gentle curve, and moving majestically forward, while horsemen and guns springing simultaneously onward from the centre and left wing, charged under a volley from the French battalions. The latter were instantly hidden by the smoke; and when that cleared away, no enemy was to be seen. Ney keenly watched the progress of this grand formation, and having opposed Picton’s foremost skirmishers with his left, withdrew the rest of his people with such rapidity that he gained the village before the cavalry could touch him. The utmost efforts of Picton’s skirmishers and of the horse artillery scarcely enabled them to gall the hindmost of the French. One howitzer was, indeed, dismounted close to the bridge, but the village of Redhina was in flames. The marshal was hard pressed, for the British were thundering at his rear, and the light troops of the 3rd division, chasing like heated bloodhounds, passed the river almost at the same time with the French. Ney at length fell back upon the main body at Condeixa.
The mind is sometimes impressed by trifling occurrences, especially when they take place unexpectedly, or are at all out of the common way. I remember that in the midst of the clangor and firing just described, a hare emerged from the woods, and for some time amused herself by sundry doubles and evolutions between the hostile lines; at length, as if satisfied that enough had been seen, she suddenly disappeared. The other event is, that the tallest man I ever saw had been a private in the French ranks at Redhina. He was lying dead on the road side.
Our forces continued to drive the enemy. Masséna, in repairing to Fonte Coberta, had left orders to fire Condeixa at a certain hour. These gentlemen left nothing willingly behind them, but ruin and desolation. In a few days we came up with the rear. Picton contrived to wind round the bluff side of a mountain about eight miles distant. As he was already beyond the French left, instant confusion pervaded their camp. The British immediately pushed forward; their advance was extremely rapid, and it is affirmed that the Prince of Essling, who was on the road, only escaped capture by taking the feathers out of his hat, and riding through some of the light troops. Condeixa being thus evacuated, the British cavalry pushed towards Coimbra, and cutting off Montbrun, captured part of his horsemen. The rest of the army kindled their fires, and the light division, in which, as usual, I was stationed, planted piquets close up to the enemy; but about ten at night the French divisions, whose presence was unknown to Lord Wellington, stole out, and passing along the front of the British posts, made for Miranda de Corvo. The noise of their march was heard, but the night was dark; it was imagined to be the moving of the French to the rear, and being so reported to Sir William Erskine, that officer put the light division in march at daylight on the 14th. Our movements partook of extraordinary rashness, and, what increased the danger, we were insensible of it. The morning was so obscured that nothing could be distinguished at the distance of a hundred feet, but the sound of a great multitude was heard on the hills in front, and it being evident that the French were there in force, many officers represented the impropriety of thus advancing without orders, and in such a fog. But Erskine, with what is deemed astounding negligence, sent the 52nd forward in a simple column of sections, without a vanguard or other precaution, and even before the piquets had come in from their posts. The road dipped suddenly, descending into a valley, and the regiment was immediately lost in the mist, which was so thick that the troops, unconsciously passing the enemy’s outposts, had nearly captured Ney himself, whose bivouac was close to the piquets. The riflemen followed in a few moments, and the rest of the division was about to plunge into the same gulf, when the rattling of musketry and the booming of round shot was heard, and when the vapour slowly rose, the 52nd were seen on the slopes of the opposite mountain engaged, without support, in the midst of the enemy’s army. At this moment Lord Wellington arrived, and the whole of the light division were pushed forward to sustain the 52nd. The enemy’s ground was so extensive, and his skirmishers so thick and so easily supported, that in a little time the division was necessarily stretched out in one thin thread, and closely engaged in every part without any reserve; nor could it even thus present an equal front, until Picton sent the riflemen of the 60th to prolong the line. The fight was vigorously maintained amidst the numerous stone enclosures on the mountain side; some advantages were gained, and the right of the enemy was partially turned, yet the main position could not be shaken until Picton and Cole had turned it by the left. Ney then commenced his retreat, retiring from ridge to ridge with admirable precision, and for a long time without confusion and with very little loss. Towards the middle of the day, however, the British guns and the skirmishers got within range of his masses, and the retreat became more rapid and less orderly; yet he finally gained the strong pass of Miranda de Corvo, which was secured by the main body of the French. The loss in the light division this day was eleven officers and a hundred and fifty men, and about a hundred prisoners were taken.
On the 15th the weather was so obscure that the allies could not reach the Ceira before four o’clock in the afternoon, and the troops as they came up proceeded to kindle fires for the night. The French right rested on some thick and wooded ground, and their left on the village of Fons d’Aronce; but Lord Wellington, having cast a rapid glance over it, directed the light division, who were seldom forgotten when honour was to be obtained, to hold the right in play, and at the same moment the horse artillery, galloping forward to a rising ground, opened with great and sudden effect. Ney’s left wing, being surprised and overthrown by the first charge, dispersed in a panic, and fled in such confusion towards the river that some, missing the fords, were drowned, and others, crowding on the bridge, were crushed to death. On the right the ground was so rugged and close that the action resolved itself into a skirmish; and thus Ney was able to use some battalions to check the pursuit of his left; but meanwhile darkness came on, and the French troops in their disorder fired upon each other. Only four officers and sixty men fell on the side of the British; the enemy’s loss was not less than five hundred, of which one-half were drowned, and an eagle was afterwards found in the bed of the river when the waters had subsided.
Ney maintained the left bank of the Ceira until every encumbrance bad passed, and then, blowing up seventy feet of the bridge, sent his corps on. Thus terminated the first part of the retreat from Santarem, in which, though the ability of the French commander was conspicuous, it revealed much that savoured of a harsh and ruthless spirit. Almost every horror that could make war hideous attended this dreadful march. Death was dealt out in all modes. Unpitying vengeance seemed to steel every breast. Lives were lost by wounds, by fatigue, by fire, by water, besides the numerous victims of famine. One of my comrades going out at dusk in search of provisions, on turning a corner stumbled over the body of a recently murdered man. The natives were of course excited to retaliate, and Colonel Napier once saw a peasant cheering on his dog to devour the dead and dying; the spirit of cruelty once unchained smote even the brute creation. On the 15th, the French general, in order to diminish the encumbrances on his march, ordered a number of beasts of burden to be destroyed. The inhuman fellow charged with the execution, who, if known, would have long since been hooted from society, ham-stringed five hundred asses, and left them to starve; and thus they were found by the British army. The acute but deep expression of pain visible in these poor creatures’ looks wonderfully aroused the fury of the soldiers; and so little weight has reason with the multitude, when opposed by momentary sensation, that had prisoners been taken at that moment, no quarter most assuredly would have been given.