Our equipment being completed, the march was announced for August 1st. Many conflicting sentiments jarred in our breasts the night before. Thoughts of the bloody battles we had gained and the prospect of a glorious campaign before us were gloomed by the recollection that not long before we had taken the same route with Sir John Moore at our head; that since that period the ranks of the regiment had been thinned or swept away at Corunna, Oporto, Talavera, Albuera, Barossa. Many a gallant soldier and sincere friend had been laid low since last we met at Lisbon. With these recollections we sat down to table, and eating seemed but a work of necessity, which passed in mute action. The cloth being removed, a bumper was proposed to the memory of the immortal Moore. It was drunk in perfect silence and, as it were, with religious solemnity. The martial figure and noble mien of the calumniated hero stood erect in the imagination, and was perfect in the memory of all; but a painful recollection of the mournful state in which we last beheld him saddened every countenance. We seemed to see him borne in a blanket by the rear of the regiment, the moon acting as one big torch to light the awful procession as it moved slowly along, our men falling around him as if anxious, even in death, to follow their gallant leader, and the enemy’s guns firing salvos as if to cheer the warrior’s last moments. He knew that they were beaten. Thus Sir John Moore bade his final adieu to the regiment, all shattered save his martial spirit and lofty mind,—these were unbroken and remained inflexible. He yielded his last breath with a sigh of love for his country and of yearning for his profession. After this toast was drunk the band with muffled drums played, “Peace to the Fallen Brave”; but either the instruments were out of tune or our souls not tuned to harmony. The music sounded mournful and low; a dark gloom like a Pyrenean cloud hung cold, damp and clammy around; we tried to shake it off but in vain.
Our next bumper was to the memory of our late gallant comrades, who gloriously fell since our last march from Lisbon, gallantly maintaining the honour of their country and corps. This toast was also drunk in solemn silence, while many an eye swam at the recollection of scenes and friends gone for ever. I thought of my poor friend, Bennet. This toast led to the mention of several anecdotes, wherein the deceased bore the principal part. The gallant feats of our departed friends insensibly revived sentiments of a less mournful nature; the foggy vapour somewhat cleared away.
Our third and last bumper was “To our next happy meeting; and whosoever’s lot it be to fall may the regiment soon and often be placed in a situation to maintain the glory of their country, and may they never forget the bravery and discipline which won the ‘back-plates.’” This sentiment was received with wild enthusiasm, and so loudly cheered by all that gloom and melancholy were frightened out of the room. The festive board gradually resumed its wonted cheerful tone; the merry song went round drowning the doleful funeral dirge; past misfortunes and useless regrets were forgotten. We sat late and drank deep, and thoughts of the fair and of future glory alone occupied our minds. Heedless of the obstacles opposed to reward of personal merit by an all-grasping aristocratical interference, our heated imaginations presented nothing but blood, wounds and scars, ribbons and stars to our dancing vision now becoming double and doubtful; and at last we retired—but to prepare for advance. Such was the custom of gallant gay soldiers the night previous to opening a campaign; in their breasts the reign of ennui is but short, and they spurn presentiments and foreboding, harboured only by the feeble nerve, the disordered brain, the shattered constitution, or by those whose vices conjure up frightful phantoms to their troubled conscience.
CHAPTER XIX.
WE AGAIN ADVANCE INTO SPAIN.
Next morning at dawn we commenced our second campaign in Portugal. Crossing the Tagus, we continued our route through the Alemtejo, and arrived at Villaviciosa on the 10th. Here we joined our 2nd Battalion, commanded by Lieutenant-Colonel Abercrombie. It was the first meeting of the battalions since our separation at the Curragh of Kildare in 1805, and was very interesting. The old veterans of the 1st Battalion with measured phrase recounted their feats in Denmark, Sweden, Holland, Portugal and Spain, cunningly leaving many a space to be filled up by the warm imagination of their excited young auditors. On the other hand the gallant striplings of the 2nd Battalion, with that fervent and frank ingenuousness so inseparable from youth and so rare in advanced manhood, came at once to the bloody fight. They long and often dwelt upon the glorious battle of Albuera; they told of the Spaniards coming late; that Blake would neither lead nor follow; of brigades being cut up through the over-anxiety of their commanders; of colours being taken; in fine, of the battle being all but lost, until their brigade, commanded by their gallant Colonel Abercrombie, in conjunction with the brave Fusiliers, came up and by a combined and overwhelming charge bore down all opposition and tore away the palm of victory already twining round the enemy’s standard.
The two battalions had been so severely cut up, particularly at Barossa and Albuera, that one battalion alone remained efficient for service. All the men of the 2nd were transferred to the 1st. Their officers and sergeants returned to England; but since Colonel Belson was obliged to go home for the benefit of his health, Colonel Abercrombie was retained. And now, and contrary to my wishes, the colonel appointed me to the command of a battalion company; but he pledged himself that whenever the regiment should be about to come in contact with the enemy, I should have it at my option to join the light company.
We shortly afterwards removed to Portalegre, General Hill’s headquarters. Here we remained some time enjoying all the luxury of campaigning, inviting even to the most refined cockney, keenest sportsman, or most insatiable gourmand. Races were established, partridge-shooting was good, and General Hill kept a pack of foxhounds, and entertained liberally. He felt equally at home before a smoking round of beef or a red-hot marshal of France, and was as keen at unkennelling a Spanish fox as at starting a French general out of his sleep, and in either amusement was the foremost to cry, “Tally ho!” or, “There they go!” As his aide-de-camp, Captain Curry, was married, the amiable Mrs. Curry always dined at the general’s table, so that we neither forgot the deference due to beauty nor the polished manners of the drawing-room.
ADVANCE OF GENERAL HILL.
But a union of so many sources of happiness is transient in the life of a soldier. Towards the middle of October a division of the French 5th Corps, commanded by General Gerard, moved through Estremadura to collect forage and provisions for the army at Portugal, crossing the Guadiana at Merida, and approaching the Portuguese frontier near Caceres and Aliseda. In consequence the British troops marched out of Portalegre on the 22nd, and the head of our column reached Albuquerque in Spain on the evening of the 23rd. General Hill was here informed that the enemy had retired from Aliseda to Arroyo de Puerco, and that Aliseda was again in possession of the Spaniards. However, to secure that country, Aliseda was entered on the night of the 24th by a British brigade, some Portuguese artillery, and a portion of cavalry; whilst at Casa de Santillana, about four miles distant, a similar force was stationed. The enemy’s advanced guard were driven out of Arroyo de Puerco on the morning of the 25th by the Spanish cavalry, commanded by Count Penne Villamur; the fugitives moved upon Malpartida, their main body being still at Caceres. The British and Portuguese troops following the route of Villamur’s cavalry, after a forced march which continued throughout the night of the 25th, arrived on the morning of the 26th at Malpartida; and here we learned that the enemy had during the night moved upon Caceres. During this morning General Hill was informed that Gerard, with the main body of his troops, had moved from Caceres, but in what direction none could tell. In this uncertainty, together with the inclemency of the weather and the fatigue caused by our previous night’s forced march, the general judged it expedient to halt for the day. The Spaniards however moved on to Caceres. Towards night the general having received positive information that the French had directed their course upon Torremocha, we were put in motion at three o’clock on the morning of the 27th; but during our march we were informed that the foe had evacuated Torremocha that very morning, with the avowed intention of occupying the town of Arroyo Molinos for that night. All our information seemed to be at variance; yet all was perfectly correct. General Hill now bent his line of movement, and by a forced march arrived late that evening at Alcuescar, unperceived by the enemy. Both armies marched nearly in parallel lines during the greater part of the day, and not very far asunder; but intervening mountains and a thickly wooded country prevented each from seeing the other.