Picurina was situated on a rising ground, without the least appearance of strength. Three hundred of the enemy formed the garrison, and latterly they were obliged to block up their embrasures with sand-bags, to screen themselves from the musketry of our lines; now and then they cleared away to fire grape shot.
Towards the end of the siege the weather became beautiful. One day in particular, the enemy scarcely fired a shot, all our troubles were forgotten, and two or three of us amused ourselves by reading a novel in the trenches.
Lieutenant Wilkinson,[20] was among the wounded on that day. There was a path across a field, which communicated with our grand battery, and an order forbade any person to cross it in the day-time, as the French were continually firing small arms whenever any lazy-fellow took that road. Poor little Wilky's curiosity was excited; he made a start out of fun, was just entering the battery, when alas! he fell, shot through the thigh.
On the night of the 25th, a part of the third division, and also one hundred of the light division, carrying ladders, assailed Picurina, directed by General Sir James Kempt, and for a long time without success: no wonder! The ditch was terrifically deep, and narrow at the bottom. The soldiers walked round the fort, prying into all corners, and got upon the gate, which they broke down, and then entered, bayonets in advance. The French grenadiers would not give in—a desperate bayonetting took place, and much blood was spilt; already five hundred French soldiers from the town were at hand. The struggle continued with hard fighting, inside and outside of the fort. The enemy wished to vie with their comrades who had defended Fort St. Christoval at the former siege. Victory was some minutes doubtful; at length the fort was taken, and the reinforcements were beaten back into the town. I was sitting at the door of my tent, and witnessed all the firing.
The garrison of Badajoz fired every morning, for a few days previously to the grand assault, a certain number of rounds, as if for practice, and to measure the ground.
The first order for storming the breaches fixed it to take place on the 5th of April. I was informed that my turn for trench duty fell on that evening, because the officer just preceding me was out of the way. I resolved to play a like trick, and for a like reason, namely, not to miss the assault. I therefore got a friend to persuade the Adjutant to allow that the men should march off without me, promising to follow. This anecdote I relate, because of the curious circumstance that it led to.
When I was quite certain that the assault was not to take place that night, I mounted my horse, and, riding to the entrance of the first parallel, I gave the animal to my batman, and proceeded on foot. I had just crossed the trench, and got into a field, taking a short cut, when I observed two figures making towards me. There was not any firing; a solemn silence reigned around. Coming up at a half run, I put my hand to my sword, for the night was clear, and I saw they were not soldiers; they soon closed on me, demanding boldly, and in Spanish, the way out of the trenches: I pointed out the road to them, but, an instant after, suspected they were not Spaniards, but spies. I noticed they kept their hands behind them, and I thought it also very civil of them not to fire, for I am confident they were well armed. "Buenas noches, Señor," said they, and hastily retired. When I reached the great battery, and found every body in it asleep, I thought the place bewitched. This was my last trip to the trenches. Thirteen times I visited them during the siege.
A long order was issued relative to the positions the troops were to occupy. On the 6th of April, the day was fine, and all the soldiers in good spirits, cleaning themselves as if for a review. About two o'clock I saw Lieutenant Harvest of our regiment; he was sucking an orange, and walking on a rising ground, alone, and very thoughtful. It gave me pain, as I knew he was to lead the "forlorn hope". He observed, "My mind is made up; I am sure to be killed[21]."
At half-past eight o'clock that night the ranks were formed, and the roll called in an under-tone. Lieutenant-Colonel M'Leod spoke long and earnestly to the regiment before it joined the division, expressing the utmost confidence in the result of the attack, and finished by repeating, that he left it to the honour of all persons to preserve discipline, and not to commit any cruelty on the defenceless inhabitants of the town.