The subaltern

by G. R. Gleig

My friend and myself having seen a little to the comforts of our men, and added in an important degree to our own by a change of habiliments, walked forth with no other view than that of whiling away certain hours, which might have otherwise hung heavy on our hands. We took the direction of the river's mouth, because there a dark pine-wood promised to shelter us from the blast, and because we were anxious to see how far the engineers had proceeded in the construction of the bridge. At this time we were quite in the dark as to the sort of bridge which was about to be formed. We knew not so much as that it was to consist of sailing vessels at all, but concluded that pontoons would be anchored, as had been the case at the Bidassoa. Our astonishment may therefore be conceived when, on mounting an eminence, we beheld a squadron of some thirty craft bearing down, with all sail set, towards the bar, over which the waves were dashing in white foam, being driven inwards by a strong gale from the north-east. But we were not the only anxious spectators of this animating show. The bank of the river, and all the heights near, were crowded with general and staff officers, conspicuous among whom were Sir John Hope, and, if my memory fail me not, Lord Wellington himself. The groups were, one and all of them, speechless. The squadron and its manœuvres involving, as they did, the lives of the gallant men who executed them, seemed to engross the attention of the lookers-on, who all faced in the same direction, and stood silent and motionless as statues.

Down came the boats before the breeze with amazing velocity. The surf, however, ran so high, and there seemed to be so little water upon the sands, that I for one felt as if a weight had been removed from my heart, when I beheld them suddenly put up their helms and tack about again. The prospect from the sea must have been appalling; and even British sailors hesitated, for once in their lives, whether they could face the danger. But the hesitation was not of long continuance. A row-boat, Spanish built, but manned by Lieutenant Cheyne and five seamen from the Woodlark, threw herself with great judgment upon a wave. The swell bore her clear across the shoal; and loud and reiterated were the shouts with which she was greeted as she rushed proudly through the deep water. The next which came was a prize—a large French fishing-lugger—manned by seamen from a transport, closely followed by a gunboat, under the command of Lieutenant Cheshire. They, too, were borne across; but the fourth was less fortunate. It was a schooner-rigged craft, full of people, and guided by Captain Elliot. I know not how it came about, whether a sudden change of wind occurred, or a rope unfortunately escaped from its fastening, but at the instant when the schooner took the foam, the mainsail of her hinder mast flapped round. In one second her broadside was to the surf, in another she was upset, and her gallant captain, with several of his crew, perished among the breakers. The rest were dashed by an eddy towards the bank and happily saved.

Our horror at contemplating this event, though extreme, was necessarily brief, because our attention was immediately attracted to other vessels which, one after another, drew near. Of these, all except one, a chasse-marée, succeeded in making good the passage. It shared the fate of the schooner: it was upset upon the curl of a wave, and went down with the whole crew. This last was even a more awful spectacle than the former. The little vessel, after being tossed round, rocked for a moment, as it were, upon the surf, just long enough for us to see the despairing gestures of the sailors, and to hear their shriek of consternation; and then a huge wave striking her, she fell, not upon her broadside, but with bottom upwards. Not a man escaped of all who had conducted her, and several fine promising midshipmen were among them.

Five-and-twenty vessels having now entered the Adour, besides four or five gunboats destined to protect them, no time was lost in running the whole up to their proper stations, and in bringing them securely to anchor at equal distances from one another. They were then strongly bound together by cables, the ends of which were made fast to winches prepared for the purpose on each bank, and which, running both by the bows and sterns, kept the craft tolerably steady, notwithstanding the violence of the current. I need not add that no economy was exercised in the matter of anchors, of which two were dropped from each bow, and a like number from each stern.

The boats being thus rendered sufficiently secure, half-a-dozen strong ropes were extended along their centres, at equidistances of about two feet from one another. These were so disposed as not to bear any continuous weight upon the smaller vessels. They were steadied, indeed, as they passed over each, by being fastened to capstans, and so kept from swinging too widely; but it was upon four or five of the largest class only that they were made to lean, the intervals between being in reality so many hanging bridges. Across these ropes were laid down planks, made fast by ties only; and the whole was so nicely balanced that though the tread of a single passenger caused it to swing backwards and forwards, an entire army might pass with perfect safety. Such was the famous bridge of boats across the Adour, which connected the two banks of the river, where it measures eight hundred yards in width, and which, in itself, including groundwork on both sides, covered a space little short of nine hundred yards.

Ahead of the bridge, with their broadsides towards the town, were moored five gunboats, each armed with six long twenty-four pounders. These, in their turn, were in part defended by a slight boom; whilst a boom infinitely stronger, capable of repelling any substance which might be floated down by the tide, hung between them and the bridge. A boom somewhat similar, but more in the shape of a breakwater, was placed behind the bridge, to shelter it from any sudden swell of the sea, such as might be apprehended during spring-tides; and each boat being manned by a party of seamen well skilled in the management of such craft, the fabric was justly regarded as abundantly secure. To complete its construction, however, gave employment to the artificers of the army during two whole days, though they contrived to render it passable for infantry in less than half that space of time.

Meanwhile, neither the right nor the centre of the Allied army was inactive. The operations of the 23d—of which I have already said as much, and perhaps more than one who professes not to speak from personal observation is entitled to say—having been concluded, Soult, alarmed at the determined advance of his enemies, and confounded by the celerity of their movements, retired, in the night of 24th, from Sauveterre across the Gave du Pau, and, destroying all the bridges in his flight, assembled the strength of his army, on the morning of the 25th, near the village of Orthes. Thither Lord Wellington immediately followed. Pushing forward a numerous body of Spaniards, so as to cut off all communication between the French Marshal and Bayonne, he manœuvred with the third, fourth, fifth, sixth, and seventh British divisions during that and the succeeding days; and finally, on the 27th, fought the glorious battle of Orthes, of which, as I had no share in it, I shall attempt no description. The result of it, as everybody knows, was the hasty and disastrous retreat of Marshal Soult upon Toulouse, the capture of Bourdeaux, and the first public declaration which had yet been made, by any part of the French nation, of the renewal of their allegiance to the house of Bourbon.

Whilst these great events were in progress elsewhere, a corps, consisting of the first and fifth British divisions, of two or three brigades of Portuguese, and a crowd of Spaniards, proceeded, under the command of Sir John Hope, to invest the town and citadel of Bayonne. As the rest of my journal will consist entirely of such occurrences as befell during the progress of the siege, it may not be amiss if I endeavour to convey to the mind of my reader something like a correct idea of the important city against which our efforts were turned, and of the general face of the country immediately around it.

The city of Bayonne stands upon a sandy plain—the citadel upon a rock or hill which closely overhangs it. Between them runs the river Adour with a sluggish current, resembling, in the darkness of its water and the sliminess of its banks, the Thames near Gravesend or Blackwall, but considerably narrower and more shallow. Both town and fortress are regularly and strongly fortified; and on the present occasion a vast number of field-works, of open batteries, fleches, and redoubts, were added to the more permanent masonry which formed the ramparts. Nor was the erection of these the only method adopted by the enemy to give unusual strength to this most important place. Various sluices were cut from the river, by means of which, especially in our immediate front, the whole face of the country could be inundated at pleasure to the extent of several miles; whilst ditches, deep and wide, were here and there dug, with the view of retarding the advance of troops, and keeping them exposed to a heavy fire from the walls, as often as the occurrence of each might cause a temporary check. The outer defences began in all directions, at the distance of a full mile from the glacis. The roads were everywhere broken up and covered with abattis and other encumbrances. Nothing, in short, was neglected which promised in any degree to contribute to the strength of a place which is justly regarded as the key of the southern frontier of France.

Such was the condition of the works about Bayonne. With respect to the country commanded by them, it varied considerably, both in its nature and general appearance, the soil being in some directions tolerably fruitful, in others little better than sand. It was, however, universally flat, and very slightly wooded or broken to the distance of three or four miles in every direction from the ditch. A few hamlets were, indeed, scattered here and there (and wherever there is a French hamlet a certain quantity of foliage will be found), the largest of which was Anglete, where we had spent the night of the 23d, and through which runs the great road to Bourdeaux and Paris; but in general the desolate aspect of things seemed to indicate that the labours of the builder and planter were prohibited, lest a village or a grove might shelter an enemy, or furnish a point for the establishment of a hostile post within cannon-shot of the walls. In the direction of the sea, and parallel with the left bank of the river, deep sands prevailed. These were, for large patches, totally bare of verdure; but thick woods of dark short pine more frequently overspread them, which, rising and falling, as the sands had broken up into little eminences and valleys, gave a very striking and romantic appearance to that side of the panorama. As I afterwards learned, the Landes—those vast forests which stretch all the way to Bourdeaux, and which, according to the tradition of the natives, were originally planted to render firm what had previously been a huge moving quicksand—begin here.