Where burst her eyes from forth her grisly head,
In rapture that such numbers slaughtered lay:
While reek her tangled tresses, see her fed
On dying groans, astride like Nightmare on the dead!
HISTORICAL AND ILLUSTRATIVE NOTES TO CANTO V.
In the account of the Storming of San Sebastian, which occupies this and part of the next Canto, I follow chiefly Napier’s History, book xxii. chap. 2. The part which I assign to Nial in leading the false assault on the night of the 29th of August was in reality undertaken and bravely executed by Lieutenant Mc Adam of the 9th regiment. As stated in my text, the leader was the only one of the entire party that returned alive! The storming took place on the morning of the 31st August, 1813. The leader, Lieutenant Maguire of the 4th regiment (whose name I have restored to its antique Celto-Irish form, “Mac Iar”) was struck down precisely as described in my text. (See Napier.) The following account is from Gleig’s Subaltern:—
“The forlorn hope took its station at the mouth of the most advanced trench about half-past ten o’clock. The tide, which had long turned, was now fast ebbing, and these gallant fellows beheld its departure with a degree of feverish anxiety such as he only can imagine who has stood in a similar situation. This was the first time that a town was stormed by daylight since the commencement of the war, and the storming party were enabled distinctly to perceive the preparations which were making for their reception: there was, therefore, something not only interesting but novel in beholding the muzzles of the enemy’s cannon from the castle and other batteries turned in such a direction as to flank the breaches, whilst the glancing of bayonets and the occasional rise of caps and feathers gave notice of the line of infantry which was forming underneath the parapet. There an officer from time to time could be distinguished leaning his telescope over the top of the rampart or through the opening of an embrasure, and prying with deep attention into our arrangements. Nor were our own officers, particularly those of the engineers, idle. With the greatest coolness they exposed themselves to a dropping fire of musketry, which the enemy at intervals kept up, whilst they examined and re-examined the state of the breaches. It would be difficult to convey to the mind of an ordinary reader anything like a correct notion of the state of feeling which takes possession of a man waiting for the commencement of a battle. In the first place, time appears to move upon leaden wings, every minute seems an hour, and every hour a day. Then there is a strange commingling of levity and seriousness within him, a levity which prompts him to laugh he scarce knows why, and a seriousness which urges him ever and anon to lift up a mental prayer to the Throne of Grace. On such occasions little or no conversation passes. The privates generally lean upon their firelocks, and the officers upon their swords, and few words except monosyllables, at least in answer to questions put, are wasted. On these occasions, too, the faces of the bravest often change colour, and the limbs of the most resolute tremble, not with fear but with anxiety, whilst watches are consulted till the individuals who consult them grow absolutely weary of the employment. On the whole, it is a situation of higher excitement and darker and deeper agitation than any other in human life, nor can he be said to have felt all which man is capable of feeling who has not filled it.
“Noon had barely passed, when the low state of the tide giving evidence that the river might be forded, the word was given to advance. Silent as the grave the column moved forward. In one instant the leading files had cleared the trenches, and the others poured on in quick succession after them, when the work of death began. The enemy, having reserved their fire till the head of the column had gained the middle of the stream, then opened with the most deadly effect. Grape, canister, musketry, shells, grenades, and every species of missile, were hurled from the ramparts, beneath which our gallant fellows dropped like corn before the reaper; in so much, that in the space of two minutes the river was literally choked up with the bodies of the killed and wounded, over whom, without discrimination, the advancing division pressed on. The opposite bank was soon gained, and the short space between the landing-place and the foot of the breach rapidly cleared without a single shot having been returned by the assailants. But here the most alarming prospect awaited them. Instead of a wide and tolerably level chasm, the breach presented the appearance only of an ill-built wall thrown considerably from its perpendicular, to ascend which, even though unopposed, would be no easy task. It was, however, too late to pause; besides, the men’s blood was hot and their courage on fire, so they pressed on, clambering up as they best could, and effectually hindering one another from falling, each by the eagerness of the rear ranks to follow those in front. Shouts and groans were now mingled with the roar of cannon and the rattle of musketry: our front ranks likewise had an opportunity of occasionally firing with effect, and the slaughter on both sides was dreadful. At length the head of the column forced its way to the summit of the breach, where it was met in the most gallant style by the bayonets of the garrison. When I say the summit of the breach, I mean not to assert that our soldiers stood upon a level with their enemies, for this was not the case. There was a high step, perhaps two or three feet in length, which the assailants must surmount before they could gain the same ground with the defenders, and a very considerable period elapsed ere that step was surmounted. Here bayonet met bayonet, and sabre met sabre, in close and desperate strife, without the one party being able to advance or the other succeeding in driving them back.”