About the beginning of October we had an opportunity of witnessing the gallantry of our third battalion. Although they had not seen our service in the country, yet on this occasion they showed themselves “old hands,” and worthy of their green jackets. They had to dislodge the enemy, then holding possession of a high hill behind Vera. This they did in most excellent style, in the sight of our division and the fourth. Our battalion was not suffered to remain idle, and we soon joined in pursuit of the enemy, who took refuge in the valleys of France. On taking possession of their camp ground we found a whole range of huts, constructed in the most ingenious manner, of turf and stone. One of our men came in for rather a novel prize: this was a large monkey, which we kept in the regiment for some time. One strange antipathy this animal was remarkable for, was his utter dislike to the sight of a woman.
On the morning of the 9th, the day after the preceding skirmish of Vera heights, we took ground considerably to the right, marching along the summit of the Pyrenees until we came to a very high hill, on the top of which stood the remains of an ancient castle. Our men styled the hill the “father of the Pyrenees,” as it was by far the highest mountain we had ever seen, and was called La Rhune by the French, who had possession of it. On our arrival we had the satisfaction of compelling them, after a smart skirmish, to evacuate their lofty tenement. Of the difficulty of this enterprize some notion may be entertained when it is known that our men had, in most instances, to crawl up the mountain on their hands and knees, in consequence of its steepness. The French, fortunately for them, had a less precipitous side to retreat down, or they must all have been destroyed.
My curiosity, after this, led me to explore the old building, in company with one or two comrades. It was originally the ruin of a very strong fortress or castle, in which, I subsequently heard, the Spaniards used formerly to keep state prisoners. After searching about for some time we discovered a narrow pathway that conducted us to a cellar or cavern, which, to our surprise, we found tenanted by an old gentleman with a venerable beard, and who received us very courteously. He seemed a hermit from his appearance, but how he managed to maintain his residence against the dominion of eagles, vultures, and owls, as well as the occasional jar of contending parties, was a wonder he did not condescend to explain. The only gift we could obtain was a little spring water, which, after our scramble, was refreshing. The splendid view from our elevated position, however, made ample amends for our work.
Our battalion at this time was stationed about a mile below La Rhune, and greatly exposed to the storms of wind and rain that we experienced at this period, together with scarcity of provisions. Few of the country people visited us, so that even those in possession of money found little or no benefit from it. Meanwhile the French army, who were encamped about three-quarters of a mile in our front, we had reason to believe, were more fortunate, as they were plentifully supplied with provisions. Occasionally, too, some of our officers were visited by a supply that was smuggled past the French lines.
A general attack upon the enemy was now daily expected, as Lord Wellington with his staff had been observed inspecting the enemy’s position with more than ordinary care for the last two or three mornings. On the 9th of November every disposition having been made for attack, the following morning ushered in the battle of the Nivelle. The company I belonged to being this night on picquet, we had orders on the first dawn of light to attack and drive in the enemy’s picquet opposed to us; and as we were preparing for the task, to our surprise we beheld the whole of our division about a hundred yards in our rear waiting to support us. As soon as our attack commenced we could hear the alarm given by at least a hundred drums and bugles; and as the light dawned more clearly, we could see the French columns all in motion. The remainder of our battalion and division coming up, we were soon hotly engaged, a valley only partially separating us from the main body of the enemy.
After we had routed them from their first line, and were getting close to their second, an incident occurred that fell under my observation, and I may say, of the greater part of our company. There was a man of the name of Mauley, a shoemaker, who fell shot through the head. This man, nearly the whole time we had been in Spain, lived with a Spanish woman, who was tenderly attached to him. She always got as near to her lover as possible during action, generally on a donkey. On this occasion some of our wounded men passing, informed her Mauley was killed. The poor girl was almost distracted; leaving her donkey and stores behind her (for she acted in some degree as one of the suttlers to our regiment), she rushed down to the spot where Mauley had fallen. We were then in the thick of the fight, and our only safety was cover, as the balls came as thick as hail, so that every moment I expected to see the poor woman shot. She, however, seemed callous to every danger: throwing herself on the blood-stained body of her lover, she commenced giving way to the most appalling ebullition of grief, tearing her hair and wringing her hands.
The gallantry of Blanco, the revengeful Spaniard, whom I have previously mentioned at Vittoria, was conspicuous on this occasion. He had been an intimate friend of Mauley. Seeing the danger his countrywoman was exposed to, he rushed boldly from his cover, and placing himself in front of her, continued loading and firing at the enemy, loudly swearing all the time such oaths only as a Spaniard can do justice to. Notwithstanding the real horrors of the scene, it was impossible to resist the impulse of laughter at the fierce grimaces and oaths of Blanco, who escaped as it were almost by a miracle.
A part of our division at this time were endeavouring to enter the French lines on our right. But the enemy seemed determined to defend their huts, which they had doubtless been at considerable trouble to construct, and the action there was close and sanguinary; part of our battalion taking them on the right flank, they were eventually obliged to yield. As soon as we had arrived at the huts, which they had arranged in most excellent order, and from which they had reluctantly been compelled to retreat, in passing along a row of them I heard a scuffle going on in one, and on entering it I beheld a huge French grenadier, with red wings, and my old acquaintance Tom Crawley struggling together on the ground. The Frenchman had been surprised, but was getting the better of Tom, when my appearance at once determined the matter, and the grenadier surrendered.
It appeared from what I could make out that the Frenchman in his hasty retreat from the hut had forgotten some of his needfuls, and on his return for them, was met at the doorway by Tom, who, according to his old custom, was preparing to explore its interior. Crawley was immediately attacked by the grenadier with fixed bayonet. Poor Tom, in his attempt to parry off a thrust, received the blade through his right hand, and bled profusely. We did not kill the Frenchman but left him to the mercy of the Caçadores, who were following close behind us. Tom went to the rear, and I never saw him afterwards, nor can I say I have since heard of him. Many an anxious inquiry was made, many an old scene was revived, and passed current amongst us, and Tom Crawley will live in our recollections as long as we can enjoy the good company of a comrade.
The enemy, although retreating, did so in an orderly manner, keeping up a tolerably brisk fire. I had no sooner regained the line of skirmishers than I received a severe hit just about the centre of my waist, that nearly knocked me down, and for the moment I imagined myself mortally wounded through the body; however, on my examining, I found myself only slightly bruised. A ball had actually stuck in the serpent[[21]] of my waistbelt, from whence it was afterwards taken out with difficulty.