I have been in many actions, but I never witnessed such a complication of horrors as surrounded me on the forlorn-hope at Badajoz.
I remained three days in camp before there was a possibility of my being conveyed into the hospital at Badajoz, during which I had an opportunity of hearing of the casualties that occurred. The number of men killed, wounded, and absent was such, that the company could not muster a dozen men on parade for three days afterwards. Parties were sent to the breaches to bury the dead, which now began to smell most dreadfully; but we could not collect men enough to perform that duty. My poor old Captain, Major O’Hare, was amongst the slain, and had received not less than ten or a dozen balls through his body.
While in hospital, here as in other places, we were intermingled with the French prisoners who, sick and wounded, were placed indiscriminately in the wards with the British. In that in which I myself lay, and in the next bed, there was a smart young fellow, a Frenchman, with whom I became intimately acquainted. Indeed, he could speak a little English, which he had acquired during a short stay as prisoner in England, whence he had been exchanged to be again captured. He was recovering fast from a gun-shot wound he had received in his shoulder.
During one of our evening chats, he gave me an account of his escape from Almeida, which he had assisted in defending, and afterwards in blowing up and evacuating.
“A few evenings,” said he, “previous to our determination to evacuate the fortress, an officer from Massena entered the town, under the disguise of a peasant, with orders to the Governor to undermine and blow up the walls, and cut his way with the garrison through the British lines. The distresses of the besieged had been so excessive, that the message was received with delight. We had seen and felt innumerable hardships, and had been so reduced by famine, as to have been obliged, for food, to slaughter even the horses and mules. On receipt of the order, General Bernier, who commanded, and who had already escaped from the British, he having broken his parole while prisoner with the English some years before, was even more anxious than ourselves, as he well knew had he been retaken, in all probability he would have been shot. In our dilemmas, he drew from us an oath to die or effect our purpose. As a first step, we were for several days employed undermining the walls, which were soon hollowed and loaded in fourteen different places, all communicating with each other by trains of gunpowder.
“The evening of the evacuation, the whole garrison, to the number of seven or eight hundred men, after destroying the stores and spiking the guns, assembled in one of the squares and at about midnight slowly moved through the gates. The first to oppose our progress was a picquet of Portuguese, whom we bayoneted in an instant, and just as the mines commenced exploding—a low grumbling, as if of an earthquake, followed, and in a few seconds the whole citadel rose, as it were, in the air, and descended in shivered and blackened masses. The noise of the explosion brought the whole British division to their arms, and our forlorn body dashed through your closing columns. The moment was desperate, but starved as we were, the French soldiers gained new strength from each reverse, and despite the well-fed numbers of the British, cut their way through the living wall, and gained the approach to San Felice. Here the inequalities of the ground fortunately and effectually kept off your cavalry, and after a few more trifling encounters, we reached the grand army. We had no sooner arrived within hail of our comrades than the whole locality rung with one universal shout of enthusiasm. Our General was carried about on the men’s shoulders, and the day became one of joy throughout the camp.”
The relation was given in the most spirited manner, just as we might expect it from a soldier of the Emperor, whose very name took the place of every other feeling. He spoke also of Marshal Ney, who in his estimation was second only to Napoleon.
The foregoing, and many others equally entertaining, but which the lapse of years have blotted from my memory, he would relate to me, generally finishing his relations with, “Eh bien, c’est égal, les écoliers sont dignes de leurs maîtres. Les Français vous ont enseignés de terribles leçons, et vous comprenez enfin l’art de faire la guerre comme il faut.” Well, well, it is all the same; the pupils are worthy of their teachers. The French have taught you some terrible lessons, and you understand, at length, the art of making war as it is—as it should be.
CHAPTER XVI.
I recover from my wounds and rejoin my regiment at Ituera—“Nine holes”—March for Salamanca—Sergeant Battersby—The grenadier and the murder of his wife, &c., &c.—Marmont out-manœuvred—Assault of Fort St. Vincent—Retreat of the enemy—We arrive at Rueda—The wine-vaults—My descent into one—Fright, &c.—Manœuvring of the two armies—Skirmishing—A gallant Frenchman—Pratt and his prisoner.