Considerable energy was displayed by the troops in the siege operations at Badajoz, notwithstanding the persistent torrents of rain which soaked the men to the skin and filled the trenches as they worked. A bridge of pontoons was carried away and the flying bridges irretrievably injured by the swollen state of the Guadiana. The place was by no means an easy one to take, for strong outworks defended it, and Philippon, the French Governor, was a most able officer in whom his troops placed every confidence. However, good fortune did not attend the first sortie made by about 2000 of the enemy on the 19th March. They were “almost immediately driven in, without effecting any object, with considerable loss, by Major-General Bowes, who commanded the guard in the trenches,” to quote from Wellington’s official dispatch.
On the 25th an attack was made on fort Picurina, an advanced post separated from Badajoz by the little river called the Rivillas. Twenty-eight guns in six batteries were brought to bear upon it, and after dark the place was carried by storm, although it was protected by three rows of palisades defended by musketry. The garrison of the outwork consisted of about 250 men. Of these ninety, including the colonel, were taken prisoners, and most of the others were either killed or drowned in the swollen stream. An attempt was made to succour the brave defenders, but the soldiers were driven back before they could come up to the Picurina. The possession of this outwork enabled Wellington to place guns within 300 yards of the body of the place, and on the following day two breaching batteries began their work of destruction, with the result that on the 6th April three breaches were declared to be practicable.
At ten o’clock that night the attempt was to be made, the 3rd Division under Picton escalading the castle, the 4th Division with General the Hon. C. Colville attacking the bastion of La Trinidad, the Light Division commanded by Colonel Barnard the bastion of Santa Maria, General Leith’s 5th Division the bastion of San Vincente. The attack on the bastions was to be made by storming the breaches. Wellington stood on rising ground facing the main breach, accompanied by the Prince of Orange and Lord March.
“When the head of the Light Division arrived at the ditch of the place (the great breach) it was a beautiful moonlight night,” Sir Harry Smith relates with the authority of a participant in the action.[72] “Old Alister Cameron, who was in command of four Companies of the 95th Regiment, extended along the counterscarp to attract the enemy’s fire, while the column planted their ladders and descended, came up to Barnard and said, ‘Now my men are ready; shall I begin?’ ‘No, certainly not,’ says Barnard. The breach and the works were full of the enemy, looking quietly at us, but not fifty yards off and most prepared, although not firing a shot. So soon as our ladders were all ready posted, and the columns in the very act to move and rush down the ladders, Barnard called out, ‘Now, Cameron!’ and the first shot from us brought down such a hail of fire as I shall never forget, nor ever saw before or since. It was most murderous. We flew down the ladders and rushed at the breach, but we were broken, and carried no weight with us, although every soldier was a hero. The breach was covered by a breastwork from behind, and ably defended on the top by chevaux-de-frises of sword-blades, sharp as razors, chained to the ground; while the ascent to the top of the breach was covered with planks with sharp nails in them.... One of the officers of the forlorn hope, lieutenant Taggart of the 43rd, was hanging on my arm—a mode we adopted to help each other up, for the ascent was most difficult and steep. A Rifleman stood among the sword-blades on the top of one of the chevaux-de-frises. We made a glorious rush to follow, but, alas! in vain. He was knocked over. My old captain, O’Hare, who commanded the storming party, was killed. All were awfully wounded except, I do believe, myself and little Freer of the 43rd. I had been some seconds at the revétement of the bastion near the breach, and my red-coat pockets were literally filled with chips of stones splintered by musket-balls. Those not knocked down were driven back by this hail of mortality to the ladders. At the foot of them I saw poor Colonel McLeod with his hands on his breast.... He said, ‘Oh, Smith, I am mortally wounded. Help me up the ladder.’ I said, ‘Oh, no, dear fellow!’ ‘I am,’ he said; ‘be quick!’ I did so, and came back again. Little Freer and I said, ‘Let us throw down the ladders; the fellows shan’t go out.’ Some soldiers behind said, ‘... if you do we will bayonet you!’ and we were literally forced up with the crowd. My sash had got loose, and one end of it was fast in the ladder, and the bayonet was very nearly applied, but the sash by pulling became loose. So soon as we got on the glacis, up came a fresh Brigade of the Portuguese of the 4th Division. I never saw any soldiers behave with more pluck. Down into the ditch we all went again, but the more we tried to get up, the more we were destroyed. The 4th Division followed us in marching up to the breach, and they made a most uncommon noise. The French saw us, but took no notice.... Both Divisions were fairly beaten back; we never carried either breach (nominally there were two breaches).... There is no battle, day or night, I would not willingly react except this. The murder of our gallant officers and soldiers is not to be believed.”
The attack on the castle was no less furious. Again and again the ladders were hurled back, but they were always put in place again, notwithstanding the fearful and continuous fire to which the assailants were subjected. Great beams of timber, stones, everything calculated to kill or maim a man were regarded as useful weapons by the defenders. Nothing came amiss to them in their determined defence. Scores of soldiers were flung down, when another minute of safety would have enabled them to secure a footing on the ramparts. They fell in the ditch, often injuring or killing others besides themselves. At last Lieutenant-Colonel Ridge managed to place two ladders at a spot which had not been used before, and where the wall was lower. The officer scaled one, followed by his men, and reached the rampart. The surprised garrison was repulsed, and very soon the castle was in the hands of the British. Poor Ridge did not live to reap his richly-deserved reward. He was killed before the conclusion of the assault.
Wellington at Badajos congratulating Colonel Watson
R. Caton Woodville
A little while previous to the successful termination of the attack Dr James McGregor and Dr Forbes approached Wellington. “His lordship,” says the former, “was so intent on what was going on, that I believe he did not observe us. Soon after our arrival, an officer came up with an unfavourable report of the assault, announcing that Colonel McLeod and several officers were killed, with heaps of men who choked the approach to the breach. At the place where we stood we were within hearing of the voices of the assailants and the assailed, and it was now painful to notice that the voices of our countrymen had grown fainter, while the French cry of ‘Avancez, étrillons ces Anglais,’ became stronger. Another officer came up with still more unfavourable reports, that no progress was being made, for almost all the officers were killed, and none left to lead on the men, of whom a great many had fallen.
“At this moment I cast my eyes on the countenance of Lord Wellington, lit up by the glare of the torch held by Lord March. I never shall forget it to the last moment of my existence, and I could even now sketch it. The jaw had fallen, the face was of unusual length, while the torch-light gave his countenance a lurid aspect; but still the expression of the face was fair. Suddenly turning to me and putting his hand on my arm, he said, ‘Go over immediately to Picton, and tell him he must try if he cannot succeed on the castle.’ I replied, ‘My lord, I have not my horse with me, but I will walk as fast as I can, and I think I can find the way; I know part of the road is swampy.’ ‘No, no,’ he replied, ‘I beg your pardon, I thought it was De Lancey.’ I repeated my offer, saying I was sure I could find the way, but he said ‘No.’