The subaltern

by G. R. Gleig

The approach of day among the Pyrenees in the month of September is a spectacle which it falls not to the lot of every man to witness, and it is one which can hardly be imagined by him who has not beheld it. For some time after the grey twilight breaks, you behold around you only one huge sea of mist, which, gradually rising, discloses, by fits, the peak of some rugged hill, and gives to it the appearance of a real island in a real ocean. By-and-by the mountains become everywhere distinguishable, looming, as a sailor would say, large through the haze; but the valleys continue long enshrouded, the fogs which hang upon them yielding only to the rays of the noonday sun. Along a valley immediately beneath our present position a considerable column of French infantry made their way during one of the late actions; and so perfect was the cover afforded by the mist, that, though the sun had risen some time, they penetrated, wholly unobserved, to the brow of the hill. On the present occasion no such attempt was made; but we were kept at our post till the fog had so far dispersed as to render objects half-way down the gorge distinctly visible. As soon as this occurred the column was dismissed, and we betook ourselves each to his favourite employment.

For myself, my constant occupation, whenever circumstances would permit, was to wander about, with a gun over my shoulder, and a dog or two hunting before me, not only in quest of game, but for the purpose of viewing the country to the best advantage, and making, if possible, my own observations upon the different positions of the hostile armies. For this purpose I seldom took a direction to the rear, generally strolling on towards the advanced pickets, and then bending my course to the right or left, according as the one or the other held out to me the best prospect of obtaining an accurate survey of both encampments. On the present occasion I turned my steps toward the heights of San Marcial. This was the point which Soult assailed with the greatest vigour, in his vain attempt to raise the siege of St Sebastian, at the time when the assault of that city was proceeding. It was defended on that day by Spaniards, and Spaniards only, whom Lord Wellington's despatch represented as having repulsed the enemy with great gallantry. For my own part, I could not but admire the bravery of the troops who, however superior in numbers, ventured to attack such a position. The heights of San Marcial rise so abruptly over the bed of the Bidassoa, that it was only by swinging myself from bough to bough that I managed, in many places, to descend them at all; yet a column of fifteen thousand Frenchmen forced their way nearly to the summit, and would have probably succeeded in carrying even that, but for the opportune arrival of a brigade of British Guards. These latter were not, indeed, engaged, but they acted as a reserve; and the sight of them inspired the Spanish division with courage enough to maintain their ground, and check the farther progress of the assailants.

From the brow of these heights I obtained a tolerably distinct view of the French encampment, for a considerable distance, both to the right and left. The range of hills which it occupied was in some points less lofty, in others even more rugged and more lofty, than that on which I now stood. Between me and it flowed the Bidassoa, through a valley, narrow indeed—not more, perhaps than a gunshot across—but rich and beautiful in the extreme; not only on account of the shaggy woods which in a great measure overspread it, but because of the luxuriant corn-fields, meadows, and farmhouses, which lay scattered along both banks of the river. The outposts of the French army occupied their own side of this glen, their sentinels being posted at the river's brink: ours—that is, the Spanish pickets—were stationed about half-way down the hill, and sent their vedettes no farther than its base. For the white tents of the British army I looked round in vain. These were generally pitched in woody hollows, so as to screen them entirely from the gaze of the enemy, and to shelter their inmates as much as might be from the storms; but the well-built huts of the French soldiers were in many places distinguishable. Certainly a Frenchman is far more expert in the art of hutting himself than a soldier of any other nation. The domiciles upon which I now gazed were not like those lately occupied by us, composed of branches of trees only, covered over with twigs and withering leaves, and devoid of chimneys by which smoke might escape. On the contrary, they were good, substantial cottages, with clay walls and regularly-thatched roofs, which the builders had erected in long straight streets; the camp of each brigade and battalion presenting rather the appearance of a settled village than of the temporary abiding-place of troops in active service. By the aid of my telescope I could distinguish French soldiers, some at drill, others at play, near their huts; nor could I but admire the perfect light-heartedness which seemed to pervade men who had been so lately beaten.

At this period the right of the French army occupied the high ground above the village of Handaye, and rested upon the sea; while our left, taking in the towns of Irun and Fontarabia, rested upon the sea also. The French left was stationed upon a mountain called La Rhune, and was supported by a strongly-fortified post upon the hill, or rather the rock of the Hermitage. Our right, on the other hand, was posted in the pass of Roncesvalles, and along the mountains beyond it; but from the spot which I now occupied, it could not be descried. Thus the valley of the Bidassoa alone separated us from one another, though that may appear a barrier sufficient when the extreme steepness of its banks is considered.

Having remained here long enough to satisfy my curiosity, I turned my steps homewards, taking the direction of the deep valley which lay beneath our camp. It was not without considerable difficulty that I succeeded in reaching its base; and when there, I was particularly struck with the extreme loneliness, the more than usual stillness, of all things about me. I looked round in vain for game. Not a living creature seemed to tenant the glen: there was not a bird of any kind or description among the branches; but a deathlike silence prevailed, the very breezes being shut out, and the very leaves motionless. I sat down by the edge of a little stream, somewhat weary, and oppressed with thirst, yet I felt a strong disinclination to drink; the water looked so slimy and blue, I could not fancy it. I rose again and pursued its course, hoping to reach some linn, where it might present a more tempting appearance. At length thirst overcame me; and, though there was no improvement in the hue of the water, I had stooped down and applied my lips to its surface, when, accidentally casting my eye a little to the right, I beheld a man's arm sticking up from the very centre of the rivulet. It was black and putrid, and the nails had dropped from some of the fingers. Of course I started to my feet without tasting the polluted element; nor could I resist a momentary squeamishness at the idea of having narrowly escaped drinking this tincture of human carcasses.

In this manner I continued to while away four or five days, strolling about amid some of the wildest scenes which nature is capable of producing, as often as the weather would permit; and amusing myself, the best way I could, under cover of the canvas when the rains descended and the winds blew. Among other discoveries effected in the course of these rambles were two remarkable caves, having the appearance rather of deserted mines than of natural cavities. I had not, however, any opportunity of exploring them, for on the morning which I had intended to devote to that purpose we once more abandoned our camp, and moved to a new position. This was a little hill at the foot of the mountains which we had lately occupied, distant about two miles from Irun, and a mile from the highroad; and it proved one of the most agreeable posts of any which had been assigned to us since our landing. There we remained stationary till the advance of the army into France; and as the business of one day very much resembled that of another, I shall not weary my reader by going much into detail, but state, in few words, only some of the more memorable of the adventures which gave a character to the whole space of time in its progress.

In the first place, the main business of the army was to fortify its position by throwing up redoubts here and there, wherever scope for a redoubt could be found. Secondly, frequent visits were paid, by myself and others, to Irun and Fontarabia—towns of which little could be said in praise at any time, and certainly nothing then. They were both entirely deserted, at least by the more respectable of their inhabitants; indeed, the latter was in ruins, crowded with Spanish soldiers, muleteers, followers of the camp, sutlers, and adventurers. The keepers of gaming-houses had remained, it is true, and they reaped no inconsiderable harvest from their guests; but, with the exception of these, and of other characters not more pure than they, few of the original tenants of houses now occupied them. Again, there was a capital trouting stream before us in the Bidassoa, of which my friend and myself made good use. And here I cannot but again remark upon the excellent understanding which prevailed between the hostile armies, and their genuine magnanimity towards one another. Many a time have I waded half across the little river, on the opposite bank of which the enemy's pickets were posted, the French soldiers coming down in crowds to watch my success, and to point out particular pools or eddies where the best sport was to be had. On such occasions the sole precaution which I took was to dress myself in a scarlet jacket, and then I might approach within a few yards of their sentries without risk of molestation.

It fell to my lot one morning, while the corps lay here, to go out in command of a foraging party. We were directed to proceed along the bank of the river, and to bring back as much green corn, or rather ripe corn—for, though unreaped, the corn was perfectly ripe—as our horses could carry. On this occasion I had charge of twenty unarmed men, and about fifty horses and mules; and I must confess that I was not without apprehension that a troop of French cavalry would push across the stream and cut us off. Of course I made every disposition for a hasty retreat, desiring the men to cast loose their led animals should any rush be made at us, and to make the best of their way to the pickets; but happily we were permitted to cut down the maize at our leisure, and to return with it unmolested. But enough of these details—as soon as I have related the particulars of an excursion which a party of us made to St Sebastian, for the purpose of amusing, as we best could, the period of inaction.

I have already stated that the citadel, after enduring the miseries of a bombardment during a whole week, finally surrendered on the 8th of September. It was now the 15th, when I, with two or three others—who, like myself, were desirous of examining the condition of a place which had held out so long and so vigorously—mounted our horses soon after sunrise, and set forth. The road by which we travelled was both sound and level, running through the pass of Irun, a narrow winding gorge, overhung on both sides by rugged precipices, which in some places are hardly fifty yards apart. This we followed for about twelve miles, when, striking off to the left, we made our way, by a sort of cross-road, over hill and dale, till we found ourselves among the orchards which crown the heights immediately above the town. We had directed our course thither, because a medical friend, who was left in charge of such of the wounded as could not be moved, had taken up his quarters there in a large farmhouse, which he had converted into a temporary hospital; and to him we looked for beds and entertainment. Nor were we disappointed; we found both, and they proved to be greatly superior in quality to any which had fallen to our lot since we landed.

The reader will easily believe that a man who has spent some of the best years of his life amid scenes of violence and bloodshed must have witnessed many spectacles highly revolting to the more delicate feelings of our nature; but a more appalling picture of war passed by—of war in its darkest colours—those which distinguish it when its din is over—than was presented by St Sebastian and the country in its immediate vicinity, I certainly never beheld. While an army is stationary in any district, you are wholly unconscious of the work of devastation that may be going on—you see only the hurry and pomp of hostile operations; but when the tide has rolled by, and you turn to the spot over which it last swept, the effect upon your own mind is such as cannot even be imagined by him who has not experienced it. Little more than a week had elapsed since the division employed in the siege of St Sebastian moved forward. Their trenches were not yet filled up, nor their batteries demolished; yet the former had in some places fallen in of their own accord, and the latter were beginning to crumble to pieces. We passed them by, however, without much notice. It was, indeed, impossible not to acknowledge that the perfect silence was far more awful than the bustle and stir that lately pervaded them; whilst the dilapidated condition of the convent, and of the few cottages which stood near it, stripped as they were of roofs, doors, and windows, and perforated with cannon-shot, inspired us, now that they were deserted, with sensations somewhat gloomy. But these were trifles—a mere nothing when compared with the feelings which a view of the town itself excited.