During this time we had succeeded in fortifying our position at Fuentes d’Onoro so strongly as to resist any new attack, and Lord Wellington now turned his whole attention to the blockade of Almeida, which, by Massena’s retreat, was abandoned to its fate.
On the morning of the 10th I accompanied General Crawfurd in a reconnoissance of the fortress, which, from the intelligence we had lately received, could not much longer hold out against our blockade. The fire from the enemy’s artillery was, however, hotly maintained; and as night fell, some squadrons of the Fourteenth, who were picketed near, were unable to light their watch-fires, being within reach of their shot. As the darkness increased so did the cannonade, and the bright flashes from the walls and the deep booming of the artillery became incessant.
A hundred conjectures were afloat to account for the circumstance; some asserting that what we heard were mere signals to Massena’s army; and others, that Brennier was destroying and mutilating the fortress before he evacuated it to the allies.
It was little past midnight when, tired from the fatigues of the day, I had fallen asleep beneath a tree, an explosion, louder than any which preceded it, burst suddenly forth, and as I awoke and looked about me, I perceived the whole heavens illuminated by one bright glare, while the crashing noise of falling stones and crumbling masonry told me that a mine had been sprung; the moment after, all was calm and still and motionless; a thick black smoke increasing the sombre darkness of the night shut out every star from view, and some drops of heavy rain began to fall.
The silence, ten times more appalling than the din which preceded it, weighed heavily upon my senses, and a dread of some unknown danger crept over me; the exhaustion, however, was greater than my fear, and again I sank into slumber.
Scarcely had I been half an hour asleep, when the blast of a trumpet again awoke me, and I found, amidst the confusion and excitement about, that something of importance had occurred. Questions were eagerly asked on all sides, but no one could explain what had happened. Towards the town all was as still as death, but a dropping, irregular fire of musketry issued from the valley beside the Aguada. “What can this mean; what can it be?” we asked of each other. “A sortie from the garrison,” said one; “A night attack by Massena’s troops,” cried another; and while thus we disputed and argued, a horseman was heard advancing along the road at the top of his speed.
“Where are the cavalry?” cried a voice I recognized as one of my brother aides-de-camp. “Where are the Fourteenth?”
A cheer from our party answered this question, and the next moment, breathless and agitated, he rode in among us.
“What is it? Are we attacked?”
“Would to Heaven that were all! But come along, lads, follow me.”