The subaltern

by G. R. Gleig

CHAPTER III.

Day had fully dawned when the general stir of the troops around me put an end to my repose. I opened my eyes, and remained for half a minute in a state of entire bewilderment, so new and so splendid was the prospect which met them. We had bivouacked upon a well-wooded eminence—standing, as it were, in the very centre of an amphitheatre of mountains. Behind us lay the beautiful little bay of Passages, tranquil and almost motionless, under the influence of a calm morning, though rendered more than usually gay by the ships and boats which covered its surface. In front, and to the right and left, rose, at some little distance off, hill above hill, not rugged and barren, like those among which we afterwards took up our abode, but shaggy with the richest and most luxuriant groves of plane, birch, and mountain-ash. Immediately beneath was a small glen, covered partly with the stubble of last year's barley, and still loaded with an abundant crop of unreaped Indian corn; whilst a little to the rear from the spot where I had slept, stood a neat farmhouse, having its walls hidden by the spreading branches of a vine, and studded with clusters of grapes approaching rapidly to perfection. In a word, it was a scene to which the pencil might perhaps do justice, but which defies all the powers of language adequately to describe.

I arose in the same enthusiastic frame of mind with which I had gone to sleep, and assigned myself willingly to the task of erecting huts for our own accommodation and that of the men—no tents having as yet been issued to us. This was speedily effected. Large stakes were felled and driven into the earth, between which, in order to form the walls, thinner and more leafy branches were twisted, and these being covered with twigs so closely wedged as to prove impervious to any passing shower, formed a species of domicile not perhaps very commodious, but extremely habitable. Such was our occupation during the greater part of the morning; and at night the corps lay down comfortably sheltered against dews and damps.

The following day was spent chiefly in purchasing horses and mules, which were brought in great abundance by the country people into the camp. For these we of course paid considerably more than their just value; but it was necessary to procure them without delay, as we were in hourly expectation of a move. Nearly a week elapsed, however, and we still remained in the same situation; nor was it till the evening of the 27th that the long-expected route arrived.

In the meanwhile I had not been idle, nor had I confined myself with any strictness within the bounds of the camp. Much of my time was spent in seeking for game of various kinds among the stupendous cliffs around—a quest in which I was not always unsuccessful. On other occasions I mounted my newly-purchased horse, and rode from point to point, wherever the hope of obtaining a better view of the glorious scenery of the Lower Pyrenees invited. Nor was the camp before St Sebastian neglected; to it I paid repeated visits, and perhaps I cannot do better, at this stage of my narrative, than give some account of the state in which I found it.

In a former chapter I stated that St Sebastian occupies a neck of land which juts into the sea, being washed on two sides by the waters of the Bay of Biscay, and on the third by the river Urumea. This stream, though inconsiderable in respect of width, cannot be forded, at least near the town, except at low tide. It therefore adds not a little to the general strength of the place. But the strength of the place depends far more on the regularity and solidity of its fortifications than on its natural situation. Across the isthmus, from the river to the bay, is erected a chain of stupendous masonry, consisting of several bastions and towers, connected by a well-sheltered curtain, and covered by a ditch and glacis; while the castle, built upon a hill, completely commands the whole, and seems to hold the town, and everything in it, at its mercy.

The scenery round St Sebastian is in the highest degree interesting and fine. As has been already mentioned, the ground, beginning to rise on all sides about a mile and a half from the glacis, soon becomes broken into hill and valley, mountain and ravine. Numerous orchards cover the lowest of these heights, with here and there a vineyard, a chateau, and a farmhouse intervening; whilst far away, in the background, are seen the rugged tops of the Quatracone and other gigantic mountains which overhang the Bidassoa, and divide Spain from France.

The tents of the besiegers were placed upon the lower range of hills, about two miles and a half distant from the town. They were so pitched as that they should, as far as possible, be hidden from the enemy; and for the attainment of that end the uneven nature of the country gave great facilities. They stood, for the most part, among the orchards and in the valleys and ravines with which the place abounds. Leading from them to the first parallel were cut various covered-ways—that is to say, roads so sunk in the ground as that troops might march along without exposing themselves to the fire of the enemy; and the parallel itself was drawn almost upon the brow of the ridge. Here, or rather in the ruined convent of St Bartholome, was established the principal magazine of powder, shot, working-tools, and other necessaries for the siege; and here, as a matter of course, the reserve or main body of the picket-guard was stationed.

The first parallel extended some way beyond the town, on both sides, and was connected with the second, as that again was with the third, by other covered-ways, cut in an oblique direction towards the enemy's works; but no sap had been attempted. The third parallel, therefore, completed the works of the besiegers, and it was carried within a hundred yards of the foot of the rampart. In each of these batteries were built, as well as on the brows of all the surrounding heights. As yet, however, they were masked by slight screens of sand and turf, though the guns were placed once more in many of them, and the rest were rapidly filling.

There is no species of duty in which a soldier is liable to be employed so galling or so disagreeable as a siege. Not that it is deficient in causes of excitement, which, on the contrary, are in hourly operation, but it ties him so completely down to one spot, and breaks in so repeatedly upon his hours of rest, and exposes him so constantly to danger, and that too at times and in places where no honour is to be gained, that we cannot greatly wonder at the feelings of bitterness which generally prevail, among the privates at least of a besieging army, towards the garrison which does its duty by holding out to the last extremity. On the present occasion I found much of that tone of mind among the various brigades which lay before St Sebastian. They could not forgive the French garrison, which had now kept them during six weeks at bay, and they burned with anxiety to wipe off the disgrace of a former repulse; there was, therefore, little mention made of quarter, when the approaching assault chanced to be alluded to.