STORMING OF CIUDAD RODRIGO.
The allies now plunged into the streets from all quarters; after which, throwing off the restraints of discipline, frightful excesses were committed. The town was fired in three or four places; the soldiers menaced their officers, and shot each other; many were killed in the market-place; intoxication soon increased the disorder; and at last, the fury rising to an absolute madness, a fire was wilfully lighted in the middle of the great magazine, when the town, and all in it, would have been blown to atoms, but for the energetic courage of some officers and a few soldiers, who still preserved their senses. Three hundred French had fallen, fifteen hundred were made prisoners; and beside the immense store of ammunition, above one hundred and fifty pieces of artillery were captured in the place. The whole loss of the allies was about twelve hundred soldiers, and ninety officers; and of these above six hundred and fifty men, and sixty officers, had been slain or hurt in the breaches. General Crauford and General Mackinnon were killed. With these died many gallant men, and amongst others, a captain in the regiment to which I belonged. Of him it was felicitously said, that ‘three generals and seventy other officers had fallen; but the soldiers fresh from the strife only talked of Hardyman.’ Unhappily, the slaughter did not end with the battle; for the next day, as the prisoners and their escort were marching out by the breach, an accidental explosion took place, and numbers of both were blown into the air. The personal sufferings of the soldiers were severe, as the service had been unusually dangerous. While in the front ditch near the glacis, a live shell exploded within a few paces of the spot on which I stood. We threw ourselves flat on the ground, but though nearly suffocated by the dust it threw around, no material injury was inflicted either on myself or comrades.
The station I was ordered to take on the following day was of a melancholy cast. It was in the ditch, among the unburied dead. Nothing struck me more forcibly than the conduct of a soldier’s widow. Suspecting that her husband had fallen, she traversed this vale of death to seek him. Never shall I forget the anguish of her soul when she discovered the much-loved remains. The brave man had fallen covered with wounds; his countenance was sadly disfigured, and suffused with blood. She fell upon his face, and kissed his faded lips; she then gazed at the lifeless form, repeated her embraces, and gave way to the wild and ungovernable grief which struggled for expression. Sin! what hast thou done? Nor can I forbear observing, that a noble disregard for suffering, and fortitude of no common kind, were frequently shown both by officers and men, though severely hurt and disabled. None retired to the rear, until compelled by stern necessity. This resolute disposition to surmount, and if possible forget all surmountable difficulties, reminds me of a French royalist officer, in the late revolutionary war. Being engaged in a desperate action, he had the misfortune to have both his legs carried away by a cannon-ball. While lying on the ground, a wounded soldier indulged in loud and clamorous complaints: ‘Peace, friend,’ said the officer, ‘our God died upon the cross; our king perished on the scaffold; and I have lost my limbs. Revere the Almighty, and be patient.’
The siege of Ciudad Rodrigo lasted twelve days. When the commander-in-chief terminated his order for the assault, with this sentence, ‘Ciudad Rodrigo must be stormed this evening,’ he knew well that it would be nobly understood. The difficulties we had to encounter were great. The principal breach was cut off from the town by a perpendicular descent of sixteen feet; and the bottom was planted with sharp spikes, and strewed with live shells. The houses behind were all loop-holed and sprinkled with musketeers.
The French had left their temporary bridges, but behind were parapets so powerfully defended, that it was said the third division could never have carried them, had not the light division taken the enemy in flank. To recompense an exploit so boldly undertaken and so nobly finished, Lord Wellington was created Duke of Ciudad Rodrigo, by the Spaniards, Earl of Wellington, by the English, and Marquis of Torres Vedras, by the Portuguese.
CHAPTER VII.
PRIZE MONEY—SIEGE OF BADAJOS—THE AUTHOR WOUNDED BY A MUSKET BALL—JOURNEY TO ELVAS—DESERTERS SHOT—RETURN TO ENGLAND—VISIT TO RELATIONS IN IRELAND—REJOINS AT MAIDSTONE—THE DROWNING MAN’S GRATITUDE.
Soon after the close of the siege just described, I received, in conjunction with others who were similarly entitled, my share of prizemoney on account of the property captured some years before at Copenhagen. Some arrears of pay were also supplied by the hands of Major Wells. A little good advice was kindly subjoined. We were exhorted to save our money, to avoid excesses, and spend with economy. But alas! how hardly shall they that are rich keep in the path of moderation and humility. The cash burnt in our pockets. The intimations so civilly given were altogether wasted, and might as well have been addressed to our knapsacks. No sooner did opportunity offer, than the wine-houses washed away, not only all our good advices, but the whole of our hard-earned pittance so recently distributed. When a man is determined to indulge in liquor, he is almost sure to find some justification for it. It is commonly of Dean Aldrich’s sort, more wordy than wise: