[10]. These figures are very wild. The English lost 4 officers and 60 men, the French 456 killed and wounded only, according to the official accounts.
The army did not lose any officer of rank in the affair of Foz d'Aronce, but the service sustained a loss in Lieutenant Heppenstal—a young man who, had he lived, would have been an ornament to a profession for which Nature seemed to have destined him. He was known to be one of the bravest men in the army, but on this occasion his usual spirits deserted him. He moved along silent, inattentive, and abstracted—a brisk firing in our front soon roused all his wonted energy, and he advanced with his men apparently cheerful as ever; turning to a brother officer he said, “You will laugh at what I am going to say; you know I am not afraid to die, but I have a certain feeling that my race is nearly run.”—“You jest,” said his friend. “No, I don’t,” was his reply; they shook hands, the light troops advanced, and in a few minutes the brave Heppenstal was a corpse. His presentiment was too just, and though I had heard of instances of the kind before, this was the first that came under my immediate observation. I ran up to the spot where he lay; he was bleeding profusely; his breast was penetrated by two bullets, and a third passed through his forehead. His death was singular, and it appeared as if he was resolved to fulfil the destiny that he had marked out for himself. Our light troops were gradually retreating on their reinforcements, and were within a few paces of the columns of infantry; his men repeatedly called out to him to retire with the rest, but he, either not hearing, or not attending to what they said, remained, with his back against a pine-tree, dealing out death at every shot. Pressed as we were for time, we dug him a deep grave at the foot of the tree where he so gallantly lost his life, and we laid him in it without form or ceremony.
Nothing particular occurred after the action of Foz d'Aronce until our arrival at Guarda. As usual, we met with groups of murdered peasantry and of French soldiers. At the entrance of a cave, amidst these rocky mountains, lay an old man, a woman, and two young men, all dead. This cave, no doubt, had served them as an asylum the preceding winter, and appearances warranted the supposition that these poor creatures, in a vain effort to save their little store of provisions, fell victims to the ferocity of their murderers. The clothes of the two young peasants were torn to atoms, and bore ample testimony that they did not lose their lives without a struggle to preserve them; the hands of one were dreadfully mangled, as if in a last effort to save his life he had grasped the sword which ultimately despatched him. Beside him lay his companion, his brother perhaps, covered with wounds; and a little to the right was the old man. He lay on his back with his breast bare; two large gashes were over his heart, and the back part of his head was beaten to pieces. Near him lay an old rusty bayonet fixed on a pole, which formerly served as a goad for oxen, and one of his hands grasped a bunch of hair, torn, no doubt, from the head of the assassin; the old woman was in all probability strangled, as no wound appeared on her body.
At some distance from this spot were two French soldiers belonging to the 4th Léger; their appearance was frightful. They had been wounded by our advance, and their companions either being too much occupied in providing for their own safety to think of them, or their situation being too hopeless to entertain an idea of their surviving, they were abandoned to the fury of the peasants, who invariably dodged on the flanks or in the rear of our troops. These poor wretches were surrounded by half a dozen Portuguese, who, after having plundered them, were taking that horrible vengeance too common during this contest. On the approach of our men they dispersed, but, as we passed on, we could perceive them returning like vultures that have been scared away from their prey for the moment, but who return to it again with redoubled voraciousness. Both the Frenchmen were alive, and entreated us to put an end to their sufferings. I thought it would have been humane to do so, but Napoleon and Jaffa flashed across me, and I turned away from the spot.[[11]]
[11]. The reference is to the discredited story that Napoleon poisoned all his non-transportable wounded at Jaffa, during his retreat to Egypt, in order to prevent them from being massacred by the Turks.
On the 30th of March General Picton arrived before Guarda. His approach to that town was not only unperceived, but seemed unexpected, having advanced to within two gun-shots of the town without meeting a vedette. Such conduct on the part of the French general was not only culpable in the extreme, but showed the greatest presumption and confidence, because, had we a brigade of guns with us, and a few hundred cavalry, the five thousand men that occupied Guarda would have been forced to lay down their arms. Fortunately for them, we had neither the one nor the other; and instead of being in a condition to attack the town, we had the mortification to witness the French getting out of it, bag and baggage, as quick as they could. The scene of confusion that the streets presented was great; infantry, artillery, and baggage, men, women, and children, all mixed pell-mell together, hurrying to the high road leading to Sabugal. Our cavalry came up shortly after the enemy had evacuated the place, but too late to do much good. Some prisoners and baggage and a few head of cattle were captured, and we took up our quarters in the town for the night.