Soult, on having the abdication of Napoleon formally notified to him on the night of the 13th, refused to send in his adherence to the Bourbons, merely offering a suspension of hostilities, to which Lord Wellington most properly objecting, instantly recommenced his pursuit of the French marshal’s beaten divisions. The advance, however, was not continued. Soult acknowledged the provisional government—and a line of demarcation was drawn between the allied troops and those of the Duke of Dalmatia.
An unnecessary expenditure of human life cannot be regarded without deep regret, bordering upon abhorrence. Surely enough of blood had been shed uselessly at Toulouse,[276] but it was destined that more should flow.
SORTIE OF BAYONNE.
Bayonne invested.—Sortie on the night of the 13th.—Thouvenot driven back.—Wellington advances.—Soult sends in his adherence to the Provisional Government.—Wellington visits Paris and Madrid. The army returns to England.—Duke of Wellington takes his seat in the House of Peers.
The British and French officers having passed through Bordeaux, forwarded a hurried notification to Sir John Hope, announcing the termination of hostilities; but, unfortunately, no accredited person was despatched. Of course, Sir John waited for orders from Lord Wellington; but he communicated the important intelligence he had received to the French outposts—and as the siege guns had not arrived, no jealousy should have been entertained by Thouvenot, who commanded the garrison of Bayonne.[277] Like Soult at Toulouse, that general, however, wantonly provoked an affair, from which no glory resulted to himself, and much blood was unnecessarily wasted.
On the night of the 13th, two deserters came over to the allied outposts, and gave information that the whole of the garrison were under arms, and prepared to make a sortie early on the following morning. At three o’clock the British regiments were formed and ready to receive the enemy—and a false attack was presently made on the outposts in front of Anglez. In the darkness, which was intense, the firing was too apparent in its feebleness, not to betray that the attempt was but a feint, and intended only to mask a more determined effort. The true attack was speedily made. The allied pickets in front of the citadel were partially surprised—and, rushing forward, two French columns with their customary impetuosity broke through the line of outposts stationed between St. Etienne and St. Bernard, while another powerful column moved upon the former village, and the whole line of pickets on the right bank of the river became seriously engaged.
A deep hollow way leads through St. Etienne, inclosed in some places by high banks, and at others by garden walls. The ground about St. Etienne is everywhere confined, and the communications are few and difficult. Hence, when the advanced line was broken, many of the pickets were totally cut off. In their attempts to retire, several murderous affairs ensued—when finding themselves desperately situated, they resorted to as desperate means. Some fought their way through, and succeeded in escaping—more, however, perished in the attempt,—and heaps of dead, both French and English, lay crowded together in spaces of little extent, and the bayonet wounds by which they had mutually perished, betrayed the ferocity with which the British had resisted to the last.
As it might be naturally supposed that the grand object of the sortie would be the destruction of the bridge of vessels over the Adour, Lord Saltoun placed himself in readiness to repel the expected attack, and occupied in force the convent of St. Bernard, which he had already strongly fortified. The first division, moved forward to support the picket, was cannonaded by the French gun-boats, which dropping down the river had covered the sortie. The enemy came forward in imposing numbers—the whole of the village of St. Etienne fell into their hands—and while giving orders for the defence of some important buildings, Major-general Hay was unfortunately killed.
On the first alarm, Sir John Hope, with his staff, hastened towards St. Etienne—and not aware that the village was already in possession of the enemy, and that his pickets had retired, he entered the hollow road as the shortest way to reach the scene of action. In a few minutes the enemy’s column was discovered in the feeble light, and the general wheeled round to extricate himself from the threatened danger of being taken. It was now too late—the French infantry hurried on, and commenced firing within a dozen yards—Sir John’s horse was killed, and falling on his leg prevented him from rising. Two of his staff dismounted to assist him, but they too were severely wounded, and rendered unable to relieve the general—and the whole fell into the hands of the enemy.[278] Sir John was immediately hurried to Bayonne, and on the road was again wounded in the foot by a shot from the English pickets. Other prisoners, of lesser note, had fallen into the hands of the French, during the darkness and confusion incident on a night attack—among these was Colonel Townshend, who commanded the pickets of the Guards.