The stillness that followed was the prelude to one of the strangest scenes that could be seen. Soon after ten a little whisper went round that the forlorn hope were stealing forward, followed by the storming parties, composed of 300 men.
In two minutes the division followed. One musket shot (no more) was fired near the breaches by a French soldier who was on the look-out. Still our men went on, leisurely but silently. There were no obstacles. The 52nd, 43rd, and 95th closed gradually up to column of quarter distance. All was hushed; the town lay buried in gloom. The ladders were placed on the edge of the ditch, when suddenly an awful explosion took place at the foot of the breaches, and a burst of light disclosed the whole scene. The very earth seemed to rock and sway under their feet. What a sight!
The ramparts stood out clear, crowded with the enemy. French soldiers stood on the parapets, while the short-lived glare from the barrels of powder and stuff flying into the air gave to friends and foes a look as if both bodies of troops were laughing! A tremendous fire now opened upon the English, and for an instant they were stationary; but the troops were no ways daunted. The ladders were found exactly opposite the centre breach, and the whole division rushed to the assault with amazing resolution. The soldiers flew down the ladders into the ditch, and the cheering from both sides was loud and full of confidence. Fire-balls were rising, lighting up the scene. The ditch was very wide, and when they arrived at the foot of the centre breach eighty or ninety men were clustered together. One called out, “Who will lead?”
Death and the most dreadful sounds and cries encompassed all. It was a volcano! Up they went: some killed, others impaled on the bayonets of their own comrades, or hurled headlong amongst the crowd.
The chevaux-de-frise atop looked like innumerable bayonets.
“When I was within a yard of the top I felt half strangled, and fell from a blow that deprived me of all sensation. I only recollect feeling a soldier pulling me out of the water, where so many men were drowned. I lost my cap, but still held my sword. On recovering, I looked towards the breach. It was shining and empty! Fire-balls were in plenty, and the French troops, standing upon the walls, were taunting us and inviting our men to come up and try it again. What a crisis! what a military misery! Some of the finest troops in the world prostrate—humbled to the dust.”
Colonel McLeod was killed while trying to force the left corner of the large breach. He received his mortal wound when within three yards of the enemy. A few moments before he fell he had been wounded in the back by a bayonet of one of our men who had slipped. It was found out afterwards that the woodwork of the cheval-de-frise was heavy, bristling with short, stout sword-blades and chained together. It was an obstacle not to be removed, and the French soldiers stood close to it, killing every man who drew near. To get past such obstacles by living bodies pushing against it up a steep breach, sinking to the knees every step in rubbish, while a firm and obstinate enemy stood behind—it was impossible.
Round shot alone could have destroyed these defences, which were all chained together and vastly strong. Had it not been for this, the divisions would have entered like a swarm of bees. It was fortunate that Lord Wellington had made arrangements for assaulting the town at other points.
“Next morning I was searching for my friend Madden. At last I found him lying in a tent, with his trousers on and his shirt off, covered with blood, and bandaged across the body to support his broken shoulder, laid on his back and unable to move. He asked for his brother.