Crauford, much pleased at his frank offer, instantly answered, “You are very good, Rifleman; let him have it,” and Tom proceeded to strip. Meanwhile more of the Frenchmen were marched in, many worse off than their officer. One of them, a sergeant, and a smart looking fellow, as soon as he perceived the officer, ran to embrace him, and leaning his head on his shoulder, burst into tears over their mutual misery. Captain Smith, now Sir Harry, the General’s aide-de-camp, being present, generously pulled forth his pocket-handkerchief and wrapped it round the sergeant’s totally naked person, till further covering could be obtained.
The night of this occurrence came on remarkably cold, and when expecting to be marched back to our quarters at El Bodon, we were suddenly ordered to break ground by commencing to throw up intrenchments in the face of the city. In executing this task, being unsheltered from the enemy’s shot, their grape and canister occasionally played in among us, so that although it was freezing hard at the time, we had no reason to complain of not having a good fire.
Now was the time to cure a skulker, or teach a man to work for his “life.” There we were, in twos, each provided with a pick-axe and shovel; now digging with a vengeance into the frozen mould, and then watching the glances of the shot and shell; and again sticking to work like devils, or perhaps pitching ourselves on our bellies to avoid their being “purged” with grape or cannister.
CHAPTER XIII.
Cold reception—Preparation to storm Rodrigo—I join the “Forlorn-Hope”—The breaches—General Crauford killed—Uniacke mortally wounded—Major Napier wounded—Taking of the town—A rough customer—Wilkie again—Death of Wilkie—A gift—The left breach after the battle—Wilkie’s grave—Horrors of a storm—This is my niece, Sir—The right breach—Captain Uniacke—The Light Division leave Rodrigo in disguise—Who the devil are those fellows?—We enter El Bodon.
The following day we were relieved by the third division, and marched back to our quarters, cold, hungry, and fatigued enough. One great annoyance we experienced at this time, was having to cross the Agueda in going to and returning from the trenches. Pieces of ice that were constantly carried down this rapid stream bruised our men so much, that, to obviate it, the cavalry at length were ordered to form four deep across the ford, under the lee of whom we crossed comparatively unharmed, although by the time we reached our quarters, our clothes were frozen into a mass of ice.
Our divisions continued relieving each other in the trenches for some days, until two breaches were considered practicable for an assault. On the 18th, at night, an order came that we were to proceed to the works the next morning. As this took us out of our turn of duty, we all naturally supposed that something unusual was to be done. At daylight we joined the third division in the works, and then heard that the city was to be stormed. Volunteers were immediately required from the different regiments of our division. Many of our men came forward with alacrity for this deadly service. With three others I had, as I then considered, the good fortune to be chosen from our company.[[11]] This was an occasion, as may be believed, momentous and interesting enough in the life of a soldier, and so we seemed to consider it. We shook hands with a feeling of friendly sincerity, while we speculated as to the chances of outliving the assault. We were at this time in the trenches in front of the city, from whence proceeded a very smart fire of shot and shell, probably to give us an idea of the warm reception we might expect on our visit at night, and here the entire company gathered round our little party, each pressing to have a sup from his canteen. I gave my father’s address to my comrade before starting, in case of accident.
Darkness had no sooner closed over the devoted city, and our imaginations awakened to the horrors of the coming scene, than the “stormers” were immediately ordered to “fall in” and “form.” We were four or five from each company, and in all about a hundred and twenty men. The volunteers of our regiment were led by Captain Mitchell and Lieutenants Johnson and Kincaid; the whole of the storming division being commanded by Major George Napier of the 52nd regiment. The forlorn-hope, or stormers, moved to a convent, occupied by the 40th, the walls of which protected us from the enemy’s shot. General Crauford, who led us in person, while we stood formed under the wall, addressed us upon the nature of the duty assigned us. It was the last enterprise his gallant spirit was ever destined to direct. On this memorable occasion his voice was more than ordinarily clear and distinct. His words sunk deep in my memory, and although the shock of many a battle has rolled over my grey locks since that period, I remember some of his language as follows:—
“Soldiers! the eyes of your country are upon you. Be steady,—be cool,—be firm in the assault. The town must be yours this night. Once masters of the wall, let your first duty be to clear the ramparts, and in doing this keep together.”
We were now waiting only for the signal, while our division was formed immediately in our rear, ready to second the effort. I could not help remarking at this awful crisis, when all most probably were on the brink of being dashed into eternity, a solemnity and silence among the men deeper than I had ever witnessed before. With hearts beating, each was eagerly watching the expected signal of the rocket, when up it went from one of our batteries.