Here commenced that system of manœuvring on the enemy's flanks, by which, day after day, we forced him to retire from the commanding ground where he had been posted. Instead of running directly into the lion's mouth, we paid our respects in a more cautious manner. The light troops were dispatched, and, taking a widely extended circuit right and left, closed in upon the wings of the adverse party, threatening their communication with the rear. The French, instead of making any resistance in these wild and thickly wooded glens, adopted a more prudent line of conduct, and, not having any particular appetite for cold steel, scampered off to the next range of heights at the moment when we expected to have had a brush, leaving us, by way of a legacy, their half extinguished fires, their broken huts, and all the rubbish of a deserted camp.
Agreeable to this novel mode of tactics, which was the standing, or rather the chasing, order of the day, our divisions proceeded onward, the advanced guard of each leading into a difficult country, the roads winding through vast chasms and narrow defiles, by which the lower branches of the Pyrenean chain are intersected.
As we approached the more lofty range, we passed through Lanz, Erruita, Elisonda, and other clean and well inhabited places, our route still penetrating through deep ravines, and bending with the sinuous current of the Upper Bidassoa river, by which the verdant fields and pasture lands are fertilized.
The whole extent of the vale of Bastan presents, on every side, the most beautiful scenery that can be imagined. The green and richly cultivated meadows, as contrasted with the naked and inaccessible heights by which they are surrounded, produce an effect that renders the appearance of the landscape at once impressive and delightful. The lover of nature in its varied and romantic forms might here enjoy a prospect, of which it would be impossible by words to convey even a limited idea.
On the 8th of July, 1813, the 1st Brigade of the 2nd Division, marched into Elisonda, and, proceeding forward for about a league, halted on the brow of an elevated ridge, from the summit of which the ground descended in a slope, thinly covered with woods, to the extremity of our position.
The 71st and 92nd were encamped on the main passes of the mountain, to the left of the Bayonne road; and the 50th was bivouacked among some trees, about a mile to the right of the corps. The enemy at this period having been driven from all the roads leading across the Pyrenees, came to a stand on a range of strong hills, commanding the principal approaches into France.
Marshal Soult, their general in chief, disappointed and mortified at thus being defeated and expelled from the Peninsula, determined to make one last and desperate effort to regain a footing in that country; he therefore made preparations for a grand attack upon our lines, and put his threat in execution on the 25th of the month. The heights, in every direction, were covered by the French encampments, in which we could discern large bodies of their troops assembling.
About this time, while we were in the enjoyment of our bivouac and the invigorating influence of the mountain air, an amusing scene took place in the lines of the 50th. In the middle of one of the dark nights, during our station on the hill, a dreadful storm came on, upsetting huts, wigwams, and all the paraphernalia of our camp. During the commotion, the mules and other baggage animals, terrified by the howling of the wind, broke loose from their moorings, took flight in every direction, and getting entangled among the tent cords they cast us all adrift. Bewildered amidst the gloom, and dreaming of war's alarms, it seemed as though the French were in among us, or that a caravan of wild beasts was set at liberty. Such bellowing, screams and shouting from right to left, at once resounded throughout the hill, that the storm was quiet in comparison. Drums and bugles giving the alarm, accompanied by the braying of a hundred jack-asses, with the clamorous tongues of men, women and dogs, combined to produce an opera, or rather, a tragi-comedy, of so ludicrous a nature as was never witnessed on the Pyrenees before.—In a state of demi-nudity, (finding that no tangible enemy was in the field,) each returned to the wreck of his shattered dormitory, where, endeavouring to crouch beneath the well-drenched canvass, or the more wretched shelter of the trees, we lay in torpid misery, waiting patiently the return of day.
The morning of the 25th of July was ushered in by a bright sun, and other favourable appearances, denoting the continuance of fine weather. About noon intelligence came that the enemy was advancing in strong force upon the pickets; in a few minutes the whole of our line was formed, and the 50th, 71st and 92nd drew up on the highest part of the ridge.—From thence were perceived large bodies, covered by a host of light troops, rapidly driving in our outposts. The pickets, together with the 34th regiment, under the command of Colonel Fenwick, of that corps, immediately occupied some elevated rocks, on the right of our position. Soult, observing with his experienced eye that this important post was not sufficiently strengthened, sent a number of his men to dislodge our soldiers from the spot.—After a sharp and sanguinary contest, (Colonel Fenwick being severely wounded,) our troops descended from the hill, and fell back with considerable loss upon the brigade. By this time the French in solid masses were gaining fast the steep sides of the mountain, preceded by a swarm of riflemen, clambering the ascent like wild cats, and rushing on with incredible gallantry towards the summit, in order to gain a lodgment there. Having accomplished this, and the whole extent of our line being under the range of fire, we were exposed to a most destructive shower; the balls whistling past our ears, like hail stones driven in a storm, tumbled our men in every direction. Resistance now was unavailing against such odds, and, although an incessant peal of musketry was opened on the enemy, our situation was no longer tenable, and we retired upon the next height, leaving many killed and wounded on the ground.[29]
Our right wing suffered greatly on this occasion, most of the grenadiers were cut off, and their leader, Captain William Ambrose, was mortally wounded in the groin; among the slain was likewise Lieutenant William Deighton, of the same company, a native of Cumberland, who so gallantly defended his post at the gates of Bejar, and whose conduct at all times was that of a cool and intrepid soldier.