“Each affray in the streets was conducted in the best manner the moment would admit of, and decided more by personal valour than discipline, and in some instances officers as well as privates had to combat with the imperial troops. In one of those encounters, Lieutenant George Faris, of the 88th, by an accident so likely to occur in an affair of this kind, separated a little too far from a dozen or so of his regiment, found himself opposed to a French soldier, who apparently was similarly placed: it was a curious coincidence, and it would seem as if each felt that he individually was the representative of the country to which he belonged; and had the fate of the two nations hung upon the issue of the combat I am about to describe, it could not have been more heroically contested. The Frenchman fired at, and wounded Faris in the thigh, and made a desperate push with his bayonet at his body, but Faris parried the thrust, and the bayonet only lodged in his leg; he saw at a glance the peril of his situation, and that nothing short of a miracle could save him; the odds against him were too great, and if he continued a scientific fight, he must inevitably be vanquished; he sprang forward, and seizing hold of the Frenchman by the collar, a struggle of a most nervous kind took place; in their mutual efforts to gain an advantage, they lost their caps, and as they were men of nearly equal strength, it was doubtful what the issue would be. They were so entangled with each other, their weapons were of no avail, but Faris at length disengaged himself from the grasp which held him, and he was able to use his sabre; he pushed the Frenchman from him, and ere he could recover himself, he laid his head open nearly to the chin; his sword-blade, a heavy, soft, ill-made Portuguese one, was doubled up with the force of the blow, and retained some pieces of skull and clotted hair! At this moment I reached the spot with about twenty men, composed of different regiments, all being by this time mixed pell-mell with each other. I ran up to Faris—he was nearly exhausted, but he was safe. The French grenadier lay upon the pavement, while Faris, though tottering from fatigue, held his sword firmly in his grasp, and it was crimsoned to the very hilt.”—Grattan.
It is strange how the lighter occurrences of human life ridiculously intermingle with its graver concerns. An officer with a shattered leg crawled into the corner of a traverse to avoid the rush of friends and foes, each equally fatal. Presently the contest changed from his neighbourhood, and the adjacent streets were deserted.
An hour passed—none disturbed his melancholy rest—when a footstep was heard, and an 88th man staggered round the corner with a bundle of sundry articles he had managed to collect. Unable to get further, he placed it beneath his head—fixed his bayonet—and lay down to sleep in peace. In a few moments a Portuguese camp-follower peeped round the corner, looked suspiciously about, substituted a truss of straw for the bundle, and absconded with the plunder the drunken Ranger had, as he imagined, so carefully secured.
[D]The selection of anecdotes connected with an Irish regiment might appear a national partiality: but at this period of the campaign the Rangers had been heavily engaged. Their casualties, from the investment of Rodrigo to the fall of Badajoz—six-and-twenty days—amounted to twenty-five officers and five hundred and fifty-six men!
[160] “Ill as I was, in common with many others, who, like myself, lay wounded, and were unable to accompany our friends, I arose from my truss of straw to take a parting look at the remnant of my regiment as it mustered on the parade; but, in place of upwards of seven hundred gallant soldiers, and six-and-twenty officers, of the former there were not three hundred, and of the latter but five!
* * * * *
“The drums of the division beat a ruffle; the officers took their stations; the bands played; the soldiers cheered; and, in less than half an hour, the spot which, since the 17th of the preceding month, had been a scene of the greatest excitement, was now a lone and deserted waste, having no other occupants than disabled or dying officers and soldiers, or the corpses of those that had fallen in the strife. The contrast was indeed great, and of that cast that made the most unreflecting think, and the reflecting feel. The sound of the drums died away; the division was no longer visible, except by the glittering of their firelocks: at length we lost sight of even this; and we were left alone, like so many outcasts, to make the best of our way to the hospitals in Badajoz.”—Grattan, Reminiscences, &c.
[161] Fascines are small branches of trees bound together. They are used for filling ditches, masking batteries, &c. &c.
[162] A work on either side of a ravelin, with one perpendicular face. They are also sometimes thrown up beyond the second ditch, opposite the places of arms.
[163] “The town of Badajoz contains a population of about 16,000, and, within the space of thirteen months, experienced the miseries attendant upon a state of siege three several times. The first was undertaken by Lord Beresford, towards the end of April, 1811, who was obliged to abandon operations by Soult advancing to its relief, and which led to the battle of Albuera on the 16th of May.