[4]. This story is true; but the visit was only for one day (see Charles Napier’s Life, i. 133).
After a good deal of delay and vacillation, it appeared that Masséna had at last seriously resolved on his enterprise. He had, under his immediate command, nearly one hundred and twenty thousand bayonets and sabres, but from this force some deductions must be made, by which it would appear that at the utmost he did not bring more than sixty thousand fighting men across the Coa. Finally he passed that river, and our army retired towards the banks of the Mondego, and Lord Wellington was obliged to give battle. But this obligation did not emanate from him—quite the contrary.
It was necessary that he should do something, and the thing was forced upon him by the refractory spirit of the Portuguese councils. If then he was to fight, for the first time, with an army of Portuguese to back him, he judged that the ridge of Busaco was a good spot to try them, and he accordingly resolved to take his stand there. This ridge of mountain extends for about eight miles, and near its termination, and on a high point, stands a convent, inhabited by monks and friars. The face of the mountain is rugged, filled with dells and dykes, and the intervening space between its base and the top is one mass of rock and heath.
On the 26th of September, all the different corps were placed in the stations they should occupy, and the entire ridge of Busaco was fully manned; during the evening we could perceive the enemy occupying their different stations in our front, and the light troops of both armies were warmly engaged along the entire of the line.
At night we lay down to rest; each man, with his firelock in his grasp, remained at his post, anxiously waiting the arrival of the morrow, which was destined to be the last that many amongst us were to behold. We had no fires, and the death-like stillness that reigned throughout our army was only interrupted by the occasional challenge of an advanced sentry, or a random shot fired at some imaginary foe.
The night at length passed over, but long before the dawn of day the warlike preparations of the enemy were to be heard. The trumpets sounded for the horsemen to prepare for the fight, and the roll of the drums and shrill notes of the fife gave notice to the French infantry that the hour had arrived when its claim to be the best in Europe was to be disputed.
On our side all was still as the grave. Lord Wellington lay amongst his soldiers, under no other covering than his cloak, and as he passed through the ranks of the different battalions already formed, his presence and manner gave that confidence to his companions which had a magical effect. All was now ready on our part; the men stood to their arms; and as each soldier took his place in the line, his quiet demeanour, and orderly, but determined appearance, was a strong contrast to the bustle and noise which prevailed amongst our opposite neighbours; but those preparations were of short continuance, and some straggling shots along the brow of the mountain gave warning that we were about to commence the battle of Busaco.[[5]]