Second siege of Badajoz—A reconnoissance—Death of Captain Patten—Attacks on Fort San Christoval—Their failure—Causes of their failure—Gallant conduct of Ensign Dyas, 51st Regiment—His promotion by the Duke of York.
Badajoz was laid siege to for the second time on the 30th of May 1811; on that day the investment of the town on the left bank of the Guadiana was completed, as was also that of the fort of San Christoval on the right bank; and the trenches before both were opened that night.
This was my first siege, and the novelty of the thing compensated me in some degree for the sleepless nights I used to pass at its commencement; but habit soon reconciled me, and I could sleep soundly in a battery for a couple of hours at a time. Nothing astonished me so much as the noise made by the engineers; I expected that their loud talking would bring the enemy’s attention towards the sound of our pick-axes, and that all the cannon in the town would be turned against us—and, in short, I thought every moment would be my last. I scarcely ventured to breathe until we had completed a respectable first parallel, and when it was fairly finished, just as morning began to dawn, I felt inexpressibly relieved. The 7th Division was equally fortunate before San Christoval.
As soon as the enemy had a distinct view of what we had been doing, he opened a battery or two against us, with, however, but little effect, and I began to think a siege was not that tremendous thing I had been taught to expect; but at this moment a thirty-two pound shot passed through a mound of earth in front of that part of the parallel in which I was standing (which was but imperfectly finished), and taking two poor fellows of the 83rd (who were carrying a hand-barrow) across their bellies, cut them in two, and whirled their remnants through the air. I had never before so close a view of the execution a round shot was capable of performing, and it was of essential service to me during this and my other sieges. It was full a week afterwards before I held myself as upright as before.
By ten o’clock in the morning our line of batteries presented a very disorganised appearance; sand-bags, gabions, and fascines knocked here and there; guns flung off their carriages, and carriages beaten down under their guns. The boarded platforms of the batteries, damp with the blood of our artillery-men, or the headless trunks of our devoted engineers, bore testimony to the murderous fire opposed to us, but nevertheless everything went on with alacrity and spirit; the damage done to the embrasures was speedily repaired, and many a fine fellow lost his life endeavouring to vie with the men of the Engineers in braving dangers, unknown to any but those who have been placed in a similar situation.
It was on a morning such as I am talking of that Colonel Fletcher, chief officer of Engineers, came into the battery where I was employed; he wished to observe some work that had been thrown up by the enemy near the foot of the castle the preceding night. The battery was more than usually full of workmen repairing the effects of the morning’s fire, and the efforts of the enemy against this part of our works were excessively animated. A number of men had fallen and were falling, but Colonel Fletcher, apparently disregarding the circumstance, walked out to the right of the battery, and, taking his stand upon the level ground, put his glass to his eye, and commenced his observations with much composure. Shot and shell flew thickly about him, and one of the former tore up the ground by his side and covered him with clay; but not in the least regarding this, he remained steadily observing the enemy. When at length he had satisfied himself, he quietly put up his glass, and turning to a man of my party who was sitting on the outside of an embrasure, pegging in a fascine, said, “My fine fellow, you are too much exposed; get inside the embrasure, and you will do your work nearly as well.”—“I’m almost finished, Colonel,” replied the soldier, “and it isn’t worth while to move now; those fellows can’t hit me, for they’ve been trying it these fifteen minutes.” They were the last words he ever spoke! He had scarcely uttered the last syllable when a round shot cut him in two, and knocked half of his body across the breech of the gun. The name of this soldier was Edmund Man; he was an Englishman, although he belonged to the 88th Regiment. When he fell, the French cannoniers, as was usual with them, set up a shout, denoting how well satisfied they were with their practice!
One evening, while we were occupied in the usual way in the trenches, a number of us stood talking together; several shells fell in the works, and we were on the alert a good deal in order to escape from them. A shell on a fine night at a distance is a pretty sight enough, but I, for one, never liked too near a view of it. We were on this night kept tolerably busy in avoiding those that fell amongst us; one, however, took us by surprise, and before we could escape, fell in the middle of the trench; every one made the best of his way to the nearest traverse, and the confusion was much increased by some of the sappers passing at the moment with a parcel of gabions on their backs. Colonel Trench of the 74th, in getting away, ran against one of these men, and not only threw him down, but fell headlong over him, and sticking fast in one of the gabions was unable to move. As soon as the shell exploded, we all sallied forth from our respective nooks, and relieved Colonel Trench from his awkward position. “Well,” said Colonel King, of the 5th, “I often saw a gabion in a trench, but this is the first time I ever saw a Trench in a gabion.” Considering the time and place the pun was not a bad one, and made us all laugh heartily, in which Colonel Trench good-humouredly joined.
Not long after this a round shot carried away the arm of a soldier of the 94th. Dr. O‘Reily of my corps, happening to be the nearest medical man, was awoke out of a sound sleep by his orderly sergeant, and having examined the stump, amputated the fractured part. O‘Reily was one of the most eccentric, and at the same time one of the pleasantest fellows in the world. He delighted in saying extraordinary things in extraordinary places, and it was amusing to those who knew him well to see his countenance after saying something out of the common way before a stranger. In the present instance, after having wrapped his boat-cloak about him, and settled himself in the same position he had been in before he performed the operation on the 94th man, he, with the most profound gravity of manner, asked the sergeant if he recollected the state in which he had found him? “Indeed, sir,” replied the orderly with a broad grin, “your honour was fast asleep, snorin' mighty loud.”—“Well then, sir, if you return here in five minutes, in all human probability you will find me in precisely the same situation,” and he immediately fell asleep, or feigned to do so.
On the evening of the 5th I was sent in advance with a covering party of forty men; we were placed some distance in front of the works, and as usual received directions to beware of a surprise. Our batteries were all armed, and a sortie from the garrison was not improbable; the night was unusually dark, and except an occasional shell from our mortars, the striking of the clocks in the town, or the challenge of the French sentinels along the battlements of the castle, everything was still.
A man of a fanciful disposition, or indeed of an ordinary way of thinking, is seldom placed in a situation more likely to cause him to give free scope to his imagination than when lying before an enemy on a dark night; every sound, the very rustling of a leaf, gives him cause for speculation; figures will appear, or seem to appear, in different shapes; sometimes the branch of a tree passes for a tremendous fellow with extended arms, and the waving of a bush is mistaken for a party crouching on their hands and knees.