THE BATTLE OF FUENTES D’ONORO.
So soundly did I sleep that the tumult and confusion of the morning never awoke me; and the Guerilla, whose cavalry were stationed along the edge of the ravine near the heights of Echora, would not permit of my being roused before the last moment. Mike stood near me with my horses, and it was only when the squadrons were actually forming that I sprang to my feet and looked around me.
The day was just breaking; a thick mist lay upon the parched earth, and concealed everything a hundred yards from where we stood. From this dense vapor the cavalry defiled along the base of the hill, followed by the horse artillery and the Guards, disappearing again as they passed us, but proving, by the mass of troops now assembled, that our position was regarded as the probable point of attack.
While the troops continued to take up their position, the sun shone out, and a slight breeze blowing at the same, moment, the heavy clouds moved past, and we beheld the magnificent panorama of the battle-field. Before us, at the distance of less than half a league, the French cavalry were drawn up in three strong columns; the Cuirassiers of the Guard, plainly distinguished by their steel cuirasses, flanked by the Polish Lancers and a strong huzzar brigade; a powerful artillery train supported the left, and an infantry force occupied the entire space between the right and the rising ground opposite Poço Velho. Farther to the right again, the column destined for the attack of Fuentes d’Onoro were forming, and we could see that, profiting by their past experience, they were bent upon attacking the village with an overwhelming force.
For above two hours the French continued to manoeuvre, more than one alteration having taken place in their disposition; fresh battalions were moved towards the front, and gradually the whole of their cavalry was assembled on the extreme left in front of our position. Our people were ordered to breakfast where we stood; and a little after seven o’clock a staff officer came riding down the line, followed in a few moments after by General Crawfurd, when no sooner was his well-known brown cob recognized by the troops than a hearty cheer greeted him along the whole division.
“Thank ye, boys; thank ye, boys, with all my heart. No man feels more sensibly what that cheer means than I do. Guards, Lord Wellington relies upon your maintaining this position, which is essential to the safety of the whole line. You will be supported by the light division. I need say no more. If such troops cannot keep their ground, none can. Fourteenth, there’s your place; the artillery and the Sixteenth are with you. They’ve the odds of us in numbers, lads; but it will tell all the better in the ‘Gazette.’ I see they’re moving; so fall in now, fall in; and Merivale, move to the front. Ramsey, prepare to open your fire on the attacking squadrons.â€
As he spoke, the low murmuring sound of distantly moving cavalry crept along the earth, growing louder and louder, till at length we could detect the heavy tramp of the squadrons as they came on in a trot, our pace being merely a walk. While we thus advanced into the plain, the artillery unlimbered behind us, and the Spanish cavalry, breaking into skirmishers, dashed boldly to the front.
It was an exciting moment. The ground dipped between the two armies so as to conceal the head of the advancing column of the French, and as the Spanish skirmishers disappeared down the ridge, our beating hearts and straining eyes followed their last horseman.
“Halt! halt!†was passed from squadron to squadron, and the same instant the sharp ring of the pistol shots and the clash of steel from the valley, told us the battle had begun. We could hear the Guerilla war-cry mingle with the French shout, while the thickening crash of fire-arms implied a sharper conflict. Our fellows were already manifesting some impatience to press on, when a Spanish horseman appeared above the ridge, another followed, and another, and then pell-mell, broken and disordered, they fell back before the pursuing cavalry in flying masses; while the French, charging them hotly home, utterly routed and repulsed them.
The leading squadrons of the French now fell back upon their support; the column of attack thickened, and a thundering noise between their masses announced their brigade of light guns as they galloped to the front. It was then for the first time that I felt dispirited; far as my eye could stretch the dense mass of sabres extended, defiling from the distant hills and winding its slow length across the plain. I turned to look at our line, scarce one thousand strong, and could not help feeling that our hour was come: the feeling flashed vividly across my mind, but the next instant I felt my cheek redden with shame as I gazed upon the sparkling eyes and bold looks around me, the lips compressed, the hands knitted to their sabres; all were motionless, but burning to advance.
The French had halted on the brow of the hill to form, when Merivale came cantering up to us.
“Fourteenth, are you ready? Are you ready, lads?â€
“Ready, sir! ready!†re-echoed along the line.
“Then push them home and charge! Charge!†cried he, raising his voice to a shout at the last word.
Heavens, what a crash was there! Our horses, in top condition, no sooner felt the spur than they bounded madly onwards. The pace—for the distance did not exceed four hundred yards—was like racing. To resist the impetus of our approach was impossible; and without a shot fired, scarcely a sabre-cut exchanged, we actually rode down their advanced squadrons, hurling them headlong upon their supporting division, and rolling men and horses beneath us on every side. The French fell back upon their artillery; but before they could succeed in opening their fire upon us, we had wheeled, and carrying off about seventy prisoners, galloped back to our position with the loss of but two men in the affair. The whole thing was so sudden, so bold, and so successful, that I remember well, as we rode back, a hearty burst of laughter was ringing through the squadron at the ludicrous display of horsemanship the French presented as they tumbled headlong down the hill; and I cannot help treasuring the recollection, for from that moment, all thought of anything short of victory completely quitted my mind, and many of my brother officers, who had participated in my feelings at the commencement of the day, confessed to me afterwards that it was then for the first time they felt assured of beating the enemy.
While we slowly fell back to our position, the French were seen advancing in great force from the village of Almeida, to the attack of Poço Velho; they came on at a rapid pace, their artillery upon their front and flank, large masses of cavalry hovering around them. The attack upon the village was now opened by the large guns; and amidst the booming of the artillery and the crashing volleys of small fire-arms, rose the shout of the assailants, and the wild cry of the Guerilla cavalry, who had formed in front of the village. The French advanced firmly, driving back the pickets, and actually inundated the devoted village with a shower of grape; the blazing fires burst from the ignited roofs; and the black, dense smoke, rising on high, seemed to rest like a pall over the little hamlet.
The conflict was now a tremendous one; our Seventh Division held the village with the bayonet; but the French continuing to pour in mass upon mass, drove them back with loss, and at the end of an hour’s hard fighting, took possession of the place.
The wood upon the left flank was now seen to swarm with light infantry, and the advancement of their whole left proved that they meditated to turn our flank; the space between the village and the hill of Naval d’Aver became thus the central position; and here the Guerilla force, led on by Julian Sanches, seemed to await the French with confidence. Soon, however, the cuirassiers came galloping to the spot, and almost without exchanging a sabre-cut, the Guerillas fell back, and retired behind the Turones. This movement of Julian was more attributable to anger than to fear; for his favorite lieutenant, being mistaken for a French officer, was shot by a soldier of the Guards a few minutes before.
Montbrun pursued the Guerillas with some squadrons of horse, but they turned resolutely upon the French, and not till overwhelmed by numbers did they show any disposition to retreat.
The French, however, now threw forward their whole cavalry, and driving back the English horse, succeeded in turning the right of the Seventh Division. The battle by this time was general. The staff officers who came up from the left informed us that Fuentes d’Onoro was attacked in force, Massena himself leading the assault in person; while thus for seven miles the fight was maintained hotly at intervals, it was evident that upon the maintenance of our position the fortune of the day depended. Hitherto we had been repulsed from the village and the wood; and the dark masses of infantry which were assembled upon our right, seemed to threaten the hill of Naval d’Aver with as sad a catastrophe.
Crawfurd came now galloping up among us, his eye flashing fire, and his uniform splashed and covered with foam:
“Steady Sixteenth, steady! Don’t blow your horses! Have your fellows advanced, Malcolm?†said he, turning to an officer who stood beside him. “Ay, there they go!†pointing with his finger to the wood where, as he spoke, the short ringing of the British rifle proclaimed the advance of that brigade. “Let the cavalry prepare to charge! And now, Ramsey, let us give it them home!â€
Scarcely were the words spoken, when the squadrons were formed, and in an instant after, the French light infantry were seen retreating from the wood, and flying in disorderly masses across the plain. Our squadrons riding down among them, actually cut them to atoms, while the light artillery, unlimbering, threw in a deadly discharge of grape-shot.
“To the right, Fourteenth, to the right!†cried General Stewart. “Have at their hussars!â€
Whirling by them, we advanced at a gallop, and dashed towards the enemy, who, not less resolutely bent, came boldly forward to meet us. The shock was terrific! The leading squadrons on both sides went down almost to a man, and all order being lost, the encounter became one of hand to hand.
The struggle was deadly; neither party would give way; and while fortune now inclined hither and thither, Sir Charles Stewart singled out the French general, Lamotte, and carried him off his prisoner. Meanwhile Montbrun’s cavalry and the cuirassiers came riding up, and the retreat now sounding through our ranks, we were obliged to fall back upon the infantry. The French pursued us hotly; and so rapid was their movement, that before Ramsey’s brigade could limber up and away, their squadrons had surrounded him and captured his guns.
“Where is Ramsey?†cried Crawfurd, as he galloped to the head of our division. “Cut off—cut off! Taken, by G——! There he goes!†said he, pointing with his finger, as a dense cloud of mingled smoke and dust moved darkly across the plain. “Form into column once more!â€
As he spoke, the dense mass before us seemed agitated by some mighty commotion; the flashing of blades, and the rattling of small-arms, mingled with shouts of triumph or defiance, burst forth, and the ominous cloud lowering more darkly, seemed peopled by those in deadly strife. An English cheer pealed high above all other sounds; a second followed; the mass was rent asunder, and like the forked lightning from a thunder-cloud, Ramsey rode forth at the head of his battery, the horses bounding madly, while the guns sprang behind them like things of no weight; the gunners leaped to their places, and fighting hand to hand with the French cavalry, they flew across the plain.
“Nobly done, gallant Ramsey!†said a voice behind me. I turned at the sound; it was Lord Wellington who spoke. My eye fixed upon his stern features, I forgot all else; when he suddenly recalled me to my recollection by saying,—
“Follow your brigade, sir. Charge!â€
In an instant I was with my people, who, intervening betwixt Ramsey and his pursuers, repulsed the enemy with loss, and carried off several prisoners. The French, however, came up in greater strength; overwhelming masses of cavalry came sweeping upon us, and we were obliged to retire behind the light division, which rapidly formed into squares to resist the cavalry. The Seventh Division, which was more advanced, were, however, too late for this movement, and before they could effect their formation, the French were upon them. At this moment they owed their safety to the Chasseurs Britanniques, who poured in a flanking fire, so close, and with so deadly an aim, that their foes recoiled, beaten and bewildered.
Meanwhile the French had become masters of Pogo Velho; the formidable masses had nearly outflanked us on the right. The battle was lost if we could not fall back upon our original position, and concentrate our force upon Fuentes d’Onoro. To effect this was a work of great difficulty; but no time was to be lost. The Seventh Division were ordered to cross the Turones, while Crawfurd, forming the light division into squares, covered their retreat, and supported by the cavalry, sustained the whole force of the enemy’s attack.
Then was the moment to witness the cool and steady bravery of British infantry; the squares dotted across the enormous plain seemed as nothing amidst that confused and flying multitude, composed of commissariat baggage, camp-followers, peasants, and finally, broken pickets and videttes arriving from the wood. A cloud of cavalry hovered and darkened around them; the Polish Lancers shook their long spears, impatient of delay, and the wild huzzas burst momentarily from their squadrons as they waited for the word to attack. But the British stood firm and undaunted; and although the enemy rode round their squares, Montbrun himself at their head, they never dared to charge them. Meanwhile the Seventh Division fell back, as if on a parade, and crossing the river, took up their ground at Frenada, pivoting upon the First Division; the remainder of the line also fell back, and assumed a position at right angles with their former one, the cavalry forming in front, and holding the French in check during the movement. This was a splendid manoeuvre, and when made in face of an overnumbering enemy, one unmatched during the whole war.
At sight of this new front, the French stopped short, and opened a fire from their heavy guns. The British batteries replied with vigor and silenced the enemy’s cannon. The cavalry drew out of range, and the infantry gradually fell back to their former position. While this was going on, the attack upon Fuentes d’Onoro was continued with unabated vigor. The three British regiments in the lower town were pierced by the French tirailleurs, who poured upon them in overwhelming numbers; the Seventy-ninth were broken, ten companies taken, and Cameron, their colonel, mortally wounded. Thus the lower village was in the hands of the enemy, while from the upper town the incessant roll of musketry proclaimed the obstinate resistance of the British.
At this period the reserves were called up from the right, in time to resist the additional troops which Drouet continued to bring on. The French, reinforced by the whole Sixth Corps, now came forward at a quick-step. Dashing through the ruined streets of the lower town, they crossed the rivulet, fighting bravely, and charged against the height. Already their leading files had gained the crag beside the chapel. A French colonel holding his cap upon his sword-point waved on his men.
The grizzly features of the grenadiers soon appeared, and the dark column, half-climbing, half-running, were seen scaling the height. A rifle-bullet sent the French leader tumbling from the precipice; and a cheer—mad and reckless as the war-cry of an Indian—rent the sky, as the 71st and 79th Highlanders sprang upon the enemy.
Our part was a short one; advancing in half squadrons, we were concealed from the observation of the enemy by the thick vineyards which skirted the lower town, waiting, with impatience, the moment when our gallant infantry should succeed in turning the tide of battle. We were ordered to dismount, and stood with our bridles on our arms, anxious and expectant. The charge of the French column was made close to where we were standing,—the inspiriting cheers of the officers, the loudvivasof the men, were plainly heard by us as they rushed to the assault; but the space between us was intersected by walls and brushwood, which totally prevented the movements of cavalry.
Fearlessly their dark column moved up the heights, fixing the bayonets as they went. No tirailleurs preceded them, but the tall shako of the Grenadier of the Guard was seen in the first rank. Long before the end of the column had passed us, the leading files were in action. A deafening peal of musketry—so loud, so dense, it seemed like artillery—burst forth. A volume of black smoke rolled heavily down from the heights and hid all from our view, except when the vivid lightning of the platoon firing rent the veil asunder, and showed us the troops almost in hand to hand conflict.
“It’s Picton’s Division, I’m certain,†cried Merivale; “I hear the bagpipes of the Highlanders.â€
“You are right, sir,†said Hampden, “the Seventy-first are in the same brigade, and I know their bugles well. There they go again!â€
“Fourteenth! Fourteenth!†cried a voice from behind, and at the same moment, a staff officer, without his hat, and his horse bleeding from a recent sabre-cut, came up. “You must move to the rear, Colonel Merivale; the French have gained the heights! Move round by the causeway; bring up your squadrons as quickly as you can, and support the infantry!â€
In a moment we were in our saddles; but scarcely was the word “to fall in†given, when a loud cheer rent the very air; the musketry seemed suddenly to cease, and the dark mass which continued to struggle up the heights wavered, broke, and turned.
“What can that be?†said Merivale. “What can it mean?â€
“I can tell you, sir,†said I, proudly, while I felt my heart throb as though it would bound from my bosom.
“And what is it, boy? Speak!â€
“There it goes again! That was an Irish shout! The Eighty-eighth are at them!â€
“By Jove, here they come!†said Hampden. “God help the Frenchmen now!â€
The words were not well spoken, when the red coats of our gallant fellows were seen dashing through the vineyard.
“The steel, boys; nothing but the steel!†shouted a loud voice from the crag above our heads.
I looked up. It was the stern Picton himself who spoke. The Eighty-eighth now led the pursuit, and sprang from rock to rock in all the mad impetuosity of battle; and like some mighty billow rolling before the gale, the French went down the heights.
“Gallant Eighty-eighth! Gloriously done!†cried Picton, as he waved his hat.
“Aren’t we Connaught robbers, now?†shouted a rich brogue, as its owner, breathless and bleeding, pressed forward in the charge.
A hearty burst of laughter mingled with the din of the battle.
“Now for it, boys! Now forourwork!†said old Merivale, drawing his sabre as he spoke. “Forward! and charge!â€
We waited not a second bidding, but bursting from our concealment, galloped down into the broken column. It was no regular charge, but an indiscriminate rush. Scarcely offering resistance, the enemy fell beneath our sabres, or the still more deadly bayonets of the infantry, who were inextricably mingled up in the conflict.
The chase was followed up for above half a mile, when we fell back, fortunately in good time; for the French had opened a heavy fire from their artillery, and regardless of their own retreating column, poured a shower of grape among our squadrons. As we retired, the struggling files of the Rangers joined us,—their faces and accoutrements blackened and begrimed with powder; many of them, themselves wounded, had captured prisoners; and one huge fellow of the grenadier company was seen driving before him a no less powerful Frenchman, and to whom, as he turned from time to time reluctantly, and scowled upon his jailer, the other vociferated some Irish imprecation, whose harsh intentions were made most palpably evident by a flourish of a drawn bayonet.
“Who is he?†said Mike; “who is he, ahagur?â€
“Sorra one o’ me knows,†said the other; “but it’s the chap that shot Lieutenant Mahony, and I never took my eye off him after; and if the lieutenant’s not dead, sure it’ll be a satisfaction to him that I cotch him.â€
The lower town was now evacuated by the French, who retired beyond the range of our artillery; the upper continued in the occupation of our troops; and worn out and exhausted, surrounded by dead and dying, both parties abandoned the contest, and the battle was over.
Both sides laid claim to the victory; the French, because, having taken the village of Poço Velho, they had pierced the British line, and compelled them to fall back and assume a new position; the British, because the attack upon Fuentes d’Onoro has been successfully resisted, and the blockade of Almeida—the real object of the battle—maintained. The loss to each was tremendous; fifteen hundred men and officers, of whom three hundred were prisoners, were lost by the allies, and a far greater number fell among the forces of the enemy.
After the action, a brigade of the light division released the troops in the village, and the armies bivouacked once more in sight of each other.
A RENCONTRE.
“LIEUTENANT O’MALLEY, 14th Light Dragoons, to serve as extra aide-de-camp to Major-General Crawfurd, until the pleasure of his Royal Highness the Prince Regent is known.†Such was the first paragraph of a general order, dated Fuentes d’Onoro, the day after the battle, which met me as I woke from a sound and heavy slumber, the result of thirteen hours on horseback.
A staff appointment was not exactly what I desired at the moment; but I knew that with Crawfurd my duties were more likely to be at the pickets and advanced posts of the army, than in the mere details of note-writing or despatch-bearing; besides that, I felt, whenever anything of importance was to be done, I should always obtain his permission to do duty with my regiment.
Taking a hurried breakfast, therefore, I mounted my horse, and cantered over to Villa Formosa, where the general’s quarters were, to return my thanks for the promotion, and take the necessary steps for assuming my new functions.
Although the sun had risen about two hours, the fatigue of the previous day had impressed itself upon all around. The cavalry, men and horses, were still stretched upon the sward, sunk in sleep; the videttes, weary and tired, seemed anxiously watching for the relief; and the disordered and confused appearance of everything bespoke that discipline had relaxed its stern features, in compassion for the bold exertions of the preceding day. The only contrast to this general air of exhaustion and weariness on every side was a corps of sappers, who were busily employed upon the high grounds above the village. Early as it was, they seemed to have been at work some hours,—at least so their labors bespoke; for already a rampart of considerable extent had been thrown up, stockades implanted, and a breastwork was in a state of active preparation. The officer of the party, wrapped up in a loose cloak, and mounted upon a sharp-looking hackney, rode hither and thither as the occasion warranted, and seemed, as well as from the distance I could guess, something of a tartar. At least I could not help remarking how, at his approach, the several inferior officers seemed suddenly so much more on the alert, and the men worked with an additional vigor and activity. I stopped for some minutes to watch him, and seeing an engineer captain of my acquaintance among the party, couldn’t resist calling out:—
“I say, Hatchard, your friend on the chestnut mare must have had an easier day yesterday than some of us, or I’ll be hanged if he’d be so active this morning.†Hatchard hung his head in some confusion, and did not reply; and on my looking round, whom should I see before me but the identical individual I had so coolly been criticising, and who, to my utter horror and dismay, was no other than Lord Wellington himself. I did not wait for a second peep. Helter-skelter, through water, thickets, and brambles, away I went, clattering down the causeway like a madman. If a French squadron had been behind me, I should have had a stouter heart, although I did not fear pursuit. I felt his eye was upon me,—his sharp and piercing glance, that shot like an arrow into me; and his firm look stared at me in every object around.
Onward I pressed, feeling in the very recklessness of my course some relief to my sense of shame, and ardently hoping that some accident—some smashed arm or broken collar-bone—might befall me and rescue me from any notice my conduct might otherwise call for. I never drew rein till I reached the Villa Formosa, and pulled up short at a small cottage where a double sentry apprised me of the general’s quarters. As I came up, the low lattice sprang quickly open, and a figure, half dressed, and more than half asleep, protruded his head.
“Well, what has happened? Anything wrong?†said he, whom I now recognized to be General Crawfurd.
“No, nothing wrong, sir,†stammered I, with evident confusion. “I’m merely come to thank you for your kindness in my behalf.â€
“You seemed in a devil of a hurry to do it, if I’m to judge by the pace you came at. Come in and take your breakfast with us; I shall be dressed presently, and you’ll meet some of your brother aides-de-camp.â€
Having given my horse to an orderly, I walked into a little room, whose humble accommodations and unpretending appearance seemed in perfect keeping with the simple and unostentatious character of the general. The preparations for a good and substantial breakfast were, however, before me, and an English newspaper of a late date spread its most ample pages to welcome me. I had not been long absorbed in my reading, when the door opened, and the general, whose toilet was not yet completed, made his appearance.
“Egad, O’Malley, you startled me this morning. I thought we were in for it again.â€
I took this as the most seasonable opportunity to recount my mishap of the morning, and accordingly, without more ado, detailed the unlucky meeting with the commander-in-chief. When I came to the end, Crawfurd threw himself into a chair and laughed till the very tears coursed down his bronzed features.
“You don’t say so, boy? You don’t really tell me you said that? By Jove! I had rather have faced a platoon of musketry than have stood in your shoes! You did not wait for a reply, I think?â€
“No, faith, sir, that I did not!â€
“Do you suspect he knows you?â€
“I trust not, sir; the whole thing passed so rapidly!â€
“Well, it’s most unlucky in more ways than one!†He paused for a few moments as he said this, and then added, “Have you seen the general order?†pushing towards me a written paper as he spoke. It ran thus:—
G.O.     ADJUTANT-GENERAL’S OFFICE, VILLA FORMOSA,May 6, 1811.Memorandum.—Commanding officers are requested to send in tothe military secretary, as soon as possible, the names of officers theymay wish to have promoted in succession to those who have fallenin action.â€
“Now look at this list. The Honorable Harvey Howard, Grenadier Guards, to be first lieutenant,vice—No, not that. Henry Beauchamp—George Villiers—ay, here it is! Captain Lyttleton, Fourteenth Light Dragoons, to be major in the Third Dragoon Guards,viceGodwin, killed in action; Lieutenant O’Malley to be captain,viceLyttleton, promoted. You see, boy, I did not forget you; you were to have had the vacant troop in your own regiment. Now I almost doubt the prudence of bringing your name under Lord Wellington’s notice. He may have recognized you; and if he did so, why, I rather think—that is, I suspect—I mean, the quieter you keep the better.â€
While I poured forth my gratitude as warmly as I was able for the general’s great kindness to me, I expressed my perfect concurrence in his views.
“Believe me, sir,†said I, “I should much rather wait any number of years for my promotion, than incur the risk of a reprimand; the more so, as it is not the first time I have blundered with his lordship.†I here narrated my former meeting with Sir Arthur, at which Crawfurd’s mirth again burst forth, and he paced the room, holding his sides in an ecstasy of merriment.
“Come, come, lad, we’ll hope for the best; we’ll give you the chance that he has not seen your face, and send the list forward as it is. But here come our fellows.â€
As he spoke, the door opened, and three officers of his staff entered, to whom, being severally introduced, we chatted away about the news of the morning until breakfast.
“I’ve frequently heard of you from my friend Hammersley,†said Captain Fitzroy, addressing me. “You were intimately acquainted, I believe?â€
“Oh, yes! Pray, where is he now? We have not met for a long time.â€
“The poor fellow’s invalided; that sabre-cut upon his head has turned out a sad affair, and he’s gone back to England on a sick leave. Old Dashwood took him back with him as private secretary, or something of that sort.â€
“Ah!†said another, “Dashwood has daughters, hasn’t he? No bad notion of his; for Hammersley will be a baronet some of these days, with a rent-roll of eight or nine thousand per annum.â€
“Sir George Dashwood,†said I, “has but one daughter, and I am quite sure that in his kindness to Hammersley no intentions of the kind you mention were mixed up.â€
“Well, I don’t know,†said the third, a pale, sickly youth, with handsome but delicate features. “I was on Dashwood’s staff until a few weeks ago, and certainly I thought there was something going on between Hammersley and Miss Lucy, who, be it spoken, is a devilish fine girl, though rather disposed to give herself airs.â€
I felt my cheek and my temples boiling like a furnace; my hand trembled as I lifted my coffee to my lips; and I would have given my expected promotion twice over to have had any reasonable ground of quarrel with the speaker.
“Egad, lads,†said Crawfurd, “that’s the very best thing I know about a command. As a bishop is always sure to portion off his daughters with deaneries and rectories, so your knowing old general always marries his among his staff.â€
This sally was met with the ready laughter of the subordinates, in which, however little disposed. I was obliged to join.
“You are quite right, sir,†rejoined the pale youth; “and Sir George has no fortune to give his daughter.â€
“How came it, Horace, that you got off safe?†said Fitzroy, with a certain air of affected seriousness in his voice and manner. “I wonder they let such a prize escape them.â€
“Well, it was not exactly their fault, I do confess. Old Dashwood did the civil towards me, andla belle Lucieherself was condescending enough to be less cruel than to the rest of the staff. Her father threw us a good deal together; and in fact, I believe—I fear—that is—that I didn’t behave quite well.â€
“You may rest perfectly assured of it, sir,†said I; “whatever your previous conduct may have been, you have completely relieved your mind on this occasion, and behaved most shamefully.â€
Had a shell fallen in the midst of us, the faces around me could not have been more horror-struck than when, in a cool, determined tone, I spoke these few words. Fitzroy pushed his chair slightly back from the table, and fixed his eyes full upon me. Crawfurd grew dark-purple over his whole face and forehead, and looked from one to the other of us without speaking; while the Honorable Horace Delawar, the individual addressed, never changed a muscle of his wan and sickly features, but lifting his eyes slowly from his muffin, lisped softly out,—
“You think so? How very good!â€
“General Crawfurd,†said I, the moment I could collect myself sufficiently to speak, “I am deeply grieved that I should so far have forgotten myself as to disturb the harmony of your table; but when I tell you that Sir George Dashwood is one of my warmest friends on earth; that from my intimate knowledge of him, I am certain that gentleman’s statements are either the mere outpourings of folly or worse—â€
“By Jove, O’Malley! you have a very singular mode of explaining away the matter. Delawar, sit down again. Gentlemen, I have only one word to say about this transaction; I’ll have no squabbles nor broils here; from this room to the guard-house is a five minutes’ walk. Promise me, upon your honors, this altercation ends here, or as sure as my name’s Crawfurd, you shall both be placed under arrest, and the man who refuses to obey me shall be sent back to England.â€
Before I well knew in what way to proceed, Mr. Delawar rose and bowed formally to the general, while I imitated his example; silently we resumed our places, and after a pause of a few moments, the current of conversation was renewed, and other topics discussed, but with such evident awkwardness and constraint that all parties felt relieved when the general rose from table.
“I say, O’Malley, have you forwarded the returns to the adjutant-general’s office?â€
“Yes, sir; I despatched them this morning before leaving my quarters.â€
“I am glad of it; the irregularities on this score have called forth a heavy reprimand at headquarters.â€
I was also glad of it, and it chanced that by mere accident I remembered to charge Mike with the papers, which, had they not been lying unsealed upon the table before me, would, in all likelihood, have escaped my attention. The post started to Lisbon that same morning, to take advantage of which I had sat up writing for half the night. Little was I aware at the moment what a mass of trouble and annoyance was in store for me from the circumstance.
ALMEIDA.
On the morning of the 7th we perceived, from a movement in the French camp, that the wounded were being sent to the rear, and shortly afterwards the main body of their army commenced its retreat. They moved with slow, and as it were, reluctant steps; and Bessiéres, who commanded the Imperial Guard, turned his eyes more than once to that position which all the bravery of his troops was unavailing to capture. Although our cavalry lay in force to the front of our line, no attempt was made to molest the retreating French; and Massena, having retired beyond the Aguada, left a strong force to watch the ford, while the remainder of the army fell back upon Cuidad Rodrigo.
During this time we had succeeded in fortifying our position at Fuentes d’Onoro so strongly as to resist any new attack, and Lord Wellington now turned his whole attention to the blockade of Almeida, which, by Massena’s retreat, was abandoned to its fate.
On the morning of the 10th I accompanied General Crawfurd in a reconnoissance of the fortress, which, from the intelligence we had lately received, could not much longer hold out against our blockade. The fire from the enemy’s artillery was, however, hotly maintained; and as night fell, some squadrons of the Fourteenth, who were picketed near, were unable to light their watch-fires, being within reach of their shot. As the darkness increased so did the cannonade, and the bright flashes from the walls and the deep booming of the artillery became incessant.
A hundred conjectures were afloat to account for the circumstance; some asserting that what we heard were mere signals to Massena’s army; and others, that Brennier was destroying and mutilating the fortress before he evacuated it to the allies.
It was little past midnight when, tired from the fatigues of the day, I had fallen asleep beneath a tree, an explosion, louder than any which preceded it, burst suddenly forth, and as I awoke and looked about me, I perceived the whole heavens illuminated by one bright glare, while the crashing noise of falling stones and crumbling masonry told me that a mine had been sprung; the moment after, all was calm and still and motionless; a thick black smoke increasing the sombre darkness of the night shut out every star from view, and some drops of heavy rain began to fall.
The silence, ten times more appalling than the din which preceded it, weighed heavily upon my senses, and a dread of some unknown danger crept over me; the exhaustion, however, was greater than my fear, and again I sank into slumber.
Scarcely had I been half an hour asleep, when the blast of a trumpet again awoke me, and I found, amidst the confusion and excitement about, that something of importance had occurred. Questions were eagerly asked on all sides, but no one could explain what had happened. Towards the town all was as still as death, but a dropping, irregular fire of musketry issued from the valley beside the Aguada. “What can this mean; what can it be?†we asked of each other. “A sortie from the garrison,†said one; “A night attack by Massena’s troops,†cried another; and while thus we disputed and argued, a horseman was heard advancing along the road at the top of his speed.
“Where are the cavalry?†cried a voice I recognized as one of my brother aides-de-camp. “Where are the Fourteenth?â€
A cheer from our party answered this question, and the next moment, breathless and agitated, he rode in among us.
“What is it? Are we attacked?â€
“Would to Heaven that were all! But come along, lads, follow me.â€
“What can it be, then?†said I again; while my anxiety knew no bounds.
“Brennier has escaped; burst his way through Pack’s Division, and has already reached Valde Mula.â€
“The French have escaped!†was repeated from mouth to mouth; while, pressing spurs to our horses, we broke into a gallop, and dashed forward in the direction of the musketry. We soon came up with the 36th Infantry, who, having thrown away their knapsacks, were rapidly pressing the pursuit. The maledictions which burst from every side proved how severely the misfortune was felt by all, while the eager advance of the men bespoke how ardently they longed to repair the mishap.
Dark as was the night, we passed them in a gallop, when suddenly the officer who commanded the leading squadron called out to halt.
“Take care there, lads!†cried he; “I hear the infantry before us; we shall be down upon our own people.â€
The words were hardly spoken, when a bright flash blazed out before us, and a smashing volley was poured into the squadron.
“The French! the French, by Jove!†said Hampden. “Forward, boys! charge them!â€
Breaking into open order, to avoid our wounded comrades, several of whom had fallen by the fire, we rode down among them. In a moment their order was broken, their ranks pierced, and fresh squadrons coming up at the instant, they were sabred to a man.
After this the French pursued their march in silence, and even when assembling in force we rode down upon their squares, they never halted nor fired a shot. At Barba del Puerco, the ground being unfit for cavalry, the Thirty-sixth took our place, and pressed them hotly home. Several of the French were killed, and above three hundred made prisoners, but our fellows, following up the pursuit too rashly, came upon an advanced body of Massena’s force, drawn up to await and cover Brennier’s retreat; the result was the loss of above thirty men in killed and wounded.
Thus were the great efforts of the three preceding days rendered fruitless and nugatory. To maintain this blockade, Lord Wellington, with an inferior force, and a position by no means strong, had ventured to give the enemy battle; and now by the unskilfulness of some, and the negligence of others, were all his combinations thwarted, and the French general enabled to march his force through the midst of the blockading columns almost unmolested and uninjured.
Lord Wellington’s indignation was great, as well it might be; the prize for which he had contested was torn from his grasp at the very moment he had won it, and although the gallantry of the troops in the pursuit might, under other circumstances, have called forth eulogium, his only observation on the matter was a half-sarcastic allusion to the inconclusive effects of undisciplined bravery. “Notwithstanding,†says the general order of the day, “what has been printed in gazettes and newspapers, we have never seen small bodies, unsupported, successfully opposed to large; nor has the experience of any officer realized the stories which all have read, of whole armies being driven by a handful of light infantry and dragoons.â€
A NIGHT ON THE AZAVA.
Massena was now recalled, and Marmont, having assumed the command of the French, army, retired towards Salamanca, while our troops went into cantonments upon the Aguada. A period of inaction succeeded to our previous life of bustle and excitement, and the whole interest of the campaign was now centred in Beresford’s army, exposed to Soult in Estramadura.
On the 15th Lord Wellington set out for that province, having already directed a strong force to march upon Badajos.
“Well, O’Malley,†said Crawfurd, as he returned from bidding Lord Wellington good-by, “your business is all right; the commander-in-chief has signed my recommendation, and you will get your troop.â€
While I continued to express my grateful acknowledgments for his kindness, the general, apparently inattentive to all I was saying, paced the room with hurried steps, stopping every now and then to glance at a large map of Spain which covered one wall of the apartment, while he muttered to himself some broken and disjointed sentences.
“Eight leagues—too weak in cavalry—with the left upon Fuenta Grenaldo—a strong position. O’Malley, you’ll take a troop of dragoons and patrol the country towards Castro; you’ll reconnoitre the position the Sixth Corps occupies, but avoid any collision with the enemy’s pickets, keeping the Azava between you and them. Take rations for three days.â€
“When shall I set out, sir?â€
“Now!†was the reply.
Knowing with what pleasure the hardy veteran recognized anything like alacrity and despatch, I resolved to gratify him; and before half an hour had elapsed, was ready with my troop to receive his final orders.
“Well done, boy!†said he, as he came to the door of the hut, “you’ve lost no time. I don’t believe I have any further instructions to give you; to ascertain as far as possible the probable movement of the enemy is my object, that’s all.†As he spoke this, he waved his hand, and wishing me “Good-by,†walked leisurely back into the house. I saw that his mind was occupied by other thoughts; and although I desired to obtain some more accurate information for my guidance, knowing his dislike to questions, I merely returned his salute, and set forth upon my journey.
The morning was beautiful; the sun had risen about an hour, and the earth, refreshed by the heavy dew of the night, was breathing forth all its luxuriant fragrance. The river which flowed beside us was clear as crystal, showing beneath its eddying current the shining, pebbly bed, while upon the surface, the water-lilies floated or sank as the motion of the stream inclined. The tall cork-trees spread their shadows about us, and the richly plumed birds hopped from branch to branch awaking the echoes with their notes.
It is but seldom that the heart of man is thoroughly attuned to the circumstances of the scenery around him. How often do we need a struggle with ourselves to enjoy the rich and beautiful landscape which lies smiling in its freshness before us! How frequently do the blue sky and the calm air look down upon the heart darkened and shadowed with affliction! And how often have we felt the discrepancy between the lowering look of winter and the glad sunshine of our hearts! The harmony of the world without with our thoughts within is one of the purest, as it is one of the greatest, sources of happiness. Our hopes and our ambitions lose their selfish character when we feel that fortune smiles upon us from all around, and the flattery which speaks to our hearts from the bright stars and the blue sky, the peaked mountain or the humble flower, is greater in its mute eloquence than all the tongue of man can tell us.
This feeling did I experience in all its fulness as I ruminated upon my bettered fortunes, and felt within myself that secret instinct that tells of happiness to come. In such moods of mind my thoughts strayed ever homewards, and I could not help confessing how little were all my successes in my eyes, did I not-hope for the day when I should pour forth my tale of war and battle-field to the ears of those who loved me.
I resolved to write home at once to my uncle. I longed to tell him each incident of my career, and my heart glowed as I thought over the broken and disjointed sentences which every cotter around would whisper of my fortunes, far prouder as they would be in the humble deeds of one they knew, than in the proudest triumphs of a nation’s glory.
Indeed, Mike himself gave the current to my thoughts. After riding beside me for some time in silence, he remarked,—
“And isn’t it Father Rush will be proud when he sees your honor’s a captain; to think of the little boy that he used to take before him on the ould gray mare for a ride down the avenue,—to think of him being a real captain, six feet two without his boots, and galloping over the French as if they were lurchers! Peggy Mahon, that nursed you, will be the proud woman the day she hears it; and there won’t be a soldier sober in his quarters that night in Portumna barracks! ‘Pon my soul, there’s not a thing with a red coat on it, if it was even a scarecrow to frighten the birds from the barley, that won’t be treated with respect when they hear of the news.â€
The country through which we travelled was marked at every step by the traces of a retreating army: the fields of rich corn lay flattened beneath the tramp of cavalry, or the wheels of the baggage-wagons; the roads, cut up and nearly impassable, were studded here and there with marks which indicated a bivouac. At the same time, everything around bore a very different aspect from what we had observed in Portugal; there, the vindictive cruelty of the French soldiery had been seen in full sway: the ruined château, the burned villages, the desecrated altars, the murdered peasantry,—all attested the revengeful spirit of a beaten and baffled enemy. No sooner, however, had they crossed the frontiers, than, as if by magic, their character became totally changed. Discipline and obedience succeeded to recklessness and pillage; and instead of treating the natives with, inhumanity and cruelty, in all their intercourse with the Spaniards the French behaved with moderation and even kindness. Paying for everything, obtaining their billets peaceably and quietly, marching with order and regularity, they advanced into the heart of the country, showing, by the most irrefragable proof, the astonishing evidences of a discipline which, by a word, could convert the lawless irregularities of a ruffian soldiery into the orderly habits and obedient conduct of a highly-organized army.
As we neared the Azava, the tracks of the retiring enemy became gradually less perceptible, and the country, uninjured by the march, extended for miles around us in all the richness and abundance of a favored climate. The tall corn, waving its yellow gold, reflected like a sea the clouds that moved slowly above it. The wild gentian and the laurel grew thickly around, and the cattle stood basking in the clear streams, while some listless peasant lounged upon the bank beside them. Strange as all these evidences of peace and tranquillity were, so near to the devastating track of a mighty army, yet I have more than once witnessed the fact, and remarked how, but a short distance from the line of our hurried march, the country lay untouched and uninjured; and though the clank of arms and the dull roll of the artillery may have struck upon the ear of the far-off dweller in his native valley, he listened as he would have done to the passing thunder as it crashed above him; and when the bright sky and pure air succeeded to the lowering atmosphere and the darkening storm, he looked forth upon his smiling fields and happy home, while he muttered to his heart a prayer of thanksgiving that the scourge was passed.
We bivouacked upon the bank of the river, a truly Salvator Rosa scene; the rocks, towering high above us, were fissured by the channel of many a trickling stream, seeking, in its zigzag current, the bright river below. The dark pine-tree and the oak mingled their foliage with the graceful cedar, which spread its fan-like branches about us. Through the thick shade some occasional glimpses of a starry sky could yet be seen, and a faint yellow streak upon the silent river told that the queen of night was there.
When I had eaten my frugal supper, I wandered forth alone upon the bank of the stream, now standing to watch its bold sweeps as it traversed the lonely valley before me, now turning to catch a passing glance at our red watch-fires and the hardy features which sat around. The hoarse and careless laugh, the deep-toned voice of some old campaigner holding forth his tale of flood and field, were the only sounds I heard; and gradually I strolled beyond the reach of even these. The path beside the river, which seemed scarped from the rock, was barely sufficient for the passage of one man, a rude balustrade of wood being the only defence against the precipice, which, from a height of full thirty feet, looked down upon the stream. Here and there some broad gleam of moonlight would fall upon the opposite bank, which, unlike the one I occupied, stretched out into rich meadow and pasturage, broken by occasional clumps of ilex and beech. River scenery has been ever a passion with me. I can glory in the bold and broken outline of a mighty mountain; I can gaze with delighted eyes upon the boundless seas, and know not whether to like it more in all the mighty outpouring of its wrath, when the white waves lift their heads to heaven and break themselves in foam upon the rocky beach, or in the calm beauty of its broad and mirrored surface, in which the bright world of sun and sky are seen full many a fathom deep. But far before these, I love the happy and tranquil beauty of some bright river, tracing its winding current through valley and through plain, now spreading into some calm and waveless lake, now narrowing to an eddying stream with mossy rocks and waving trees darkening over it. There’s not a hut, however lowly, where the net of the fisherman is stretched upon the sward, around whose hearth I do not picture before me the faces of happy toil and humble contentment, while, from the ruined tower upon the crag, methinks I hear the ancient sounds of wassail and of welcome; and though the keep be fissured and the curtain fallen, and though for banner there “waves some tall wall-flower,†I can people its crumbling walls with images of the past; and the merry laugh of the warder, and the clanking tread of the mailed warrior, are as palpably before me as the tangled lichen that now trails from its battlements.
As I wandered on, I reached the little rustic stair which led downward from the path to the river’s side; and on examining farther, perceived that at this place the stream was fordable; a huge flat rock, filling up a great part of the river’s bed, occupied the middle, on either side of which the current ran with increased force.
Bent upon exploring, I descended the cliff, and was preparing to cross, when my attention was attracted by the twinkle of a fire at some distance from me, on the opposite side; the flame rose and fell in fitful flashes, as though some hand were ministering to it at the moment. As it was impossible, from the silence on every side, that it could proceed from a bivouac of the enemy, I resolved on approaching it, and examining it for myself. I knew that the shepherds in remote districts were accustomed thus to pass the summer nights, with no other covering save the blue vault above them. It was not impossible, too, that it might prove a Guerilla party, who frequently, in small numbers, hang upon the rear of a retreating army. Thus conjecturing, I crossed the stream, and quickening my pace, walked forward in the direction of the blaze. For a moment a projecting rock obstructed my progress; and while I was devising some means of proceeding farther, the sound of voices near me arrested my attention. I listened, and what was my astonishment to hear that they spoke in French. I now crept cautiously to the verge of the rock and looked over; the moon was streaming in its full brilliancy upon a little shelving strand beside the stream, and here I now beheld the figure of a French officer. He was habited in the undress uniform of achasseur á cheval, but wore no arms; indeed his occupation at the moment was anything but a warlike one, he being leisurely employed in collecting some flasks of champagne which apparently had been left to cool within the stream.
“Eh bien, Alphonse!†said a voice in the direction of the fire, “what are you delaying for?â€
“I’m coming, I’m coming,†said the other; “but,par Dieu!I can only find five of our bottles; one seems to have been carried away by the stream.â€
“No matter,†replied the other, “we are but three of us, and one is, or should be, on the sick list.â€
The only answer to this was the muttered chorus of a French drinking-song, interrupted at intervals by an imprecation upon the missing flask. It chanced, at this moment, that a slight clinking noise attracted me, and on looking down, I perceived at the foot of the rock the prize he sought for. It had been, as he conceived, carried away by an eddy of the stream and was borne, as a true prisoner-of-war, within my grasp. I avow that from this moment my interest in the scene became considerably heightened; such a waif as a bottle of champagne was not to be despised in circumstances like mine; and I watched with anxious eyes every gesture of the impatient Frenchman, and alternately vibrated between hope and fear, as he neared or receded from the missing flask.
“Let it go to the devil,†shouted his companion, once more. “Jacques has lost all patience with you.â€
“Be it so, then,†said the other, as he prepared to take up his burden. At this instant I made a slight effort so to change my position as to obtain a view of the rest of the party. The branch by which I supported myself, however, gave way beneath my grasp with a loud crash. I lost my footing, and slipping downward from the rock, came plump into the stream below. The noise, the splash, and more than all, the sudden appearance of a man beside him, astounded the Frenchman, who almost let fall his pannier, and thus we stood confronting each other for at least a couple of minutes in silence. A hearty burst of laughter from both parties terminated this awkward moment, while the Frenchman, with the readiness of his country, was the first to open the negotiation.
“Sacré Dieu!†said he, “what can you be doing here? You’re English, without doubt.â€
“Even so,†said I; “but that is the very question I was about to ask you; what are you doing here?â€
“Eh bien,†replied the other, gayly, “you shall be answered in all frankness. Our captain was wounded in the action of the 8th, and we heard had been carried up the country by some peasants. As the army fell back, we obtained permission to go in search of him. For two days all was fruitless; the peasantry fled at our approach; and although we captured some of our stolen property—among other things, the contents of this basket—yet we never came upon the track of our comrade till this evening. A good-hearted shepherd had taken him to his hut, and treated him with every kindness, but no sooner did he hear the gallop of our horses and the clank of our equipments, than, fearing himself to be made a prisoner, he fled up the mountains, leaving our friend behind him;voilà notre histoire. Here we are, three in all, one of us with a deep sabre-cut in his shoulder. If you are the stronger party, we are, I suppose, your prisoners; if not—â€
What was to have followed I know not, for at this moment his companion, who had finally lost all patience, came suddenly to the spot.
“A prisoner,†cried he, placing a heavy hand upon my shoulder, while with the other he held his drawn sword pointed towards my breast.
To draw a pistol from my bosom was the work of a second; and while gently turning the point of his weapon away, I coolly said,—
“Not so fast, my friend, not so fast! The game is in my hands, not yours. I have only to pull this trigger, and my dragoons are upon you; whatever fate befall me, yours is certain.â€
A half-scornful laugh betrayed the incredulity of him I addressed, while the other, apparently anxious to relieve the awkwardness of the moment, suddenly broke in with,—
“He is right, Auguste, and you are wrong; we are in his power; that is,†added he, smiling, “if he believes there is any triumph in capturing suchpauvres diablesas ourselves.â€
The features of him he addressed suddenly lost their scornful expression, and sheathing his sword with an air of almost melodramatic solemnity, he gravely pulled up his mustaches, and after a pause of a few seconds, solemnly ejaculated a malediction upon his fortune.
“C’est toujours ainsi,†said he, with a bitterness that only a Frenchman can convey when cursing his destiny. “Soyez bon enfant, and see what will come of it. Only be good-natured, only be kind, and if you haven’t bad luck at the end of it, it’s only because fortune has a heavier stroke in reserve for you hereafter.â€
I could not help smiling at the Frenchman’s philosophy, which, assuming as a good augury, he gayly said, “So, then, you’ll not make us prisoners. Isn’t it so?â€
“Prisoners,†said the other, “nothing of the kind. Come and sup with us; I’ll venture to say our larder is as well stocked as your own; in any case an omelette, a cold chicken, and a glass of champagne are not bad things in our circumstances.â€
I could not help laughing outright at the strangeness of the proposal. “I fear I must decline,†said I; “you seem to forget I am placed here to watch, not to join you.â€
“A la bonne heure,†cried the younger of the two; “do both. Come along;soyez bon camarade; you are always near your own people, so don’t refuse us.â€
In proportion as I declined, they both became more pressing in their entreaties, and at last, I began to dread lest my refusal might seem to proceed from some fear as to the good faith of the invitation, and I never felt so awkwardly placed as when one plumply pressed me by saying,—
“Mais pourquoi pas, mon cher?â€
I stammered out something about duty and discipline, when they both interrupted me by a long burst of laughter.
“Come, come!†said they; “in an hour—in half an hour, if you will—you shall be back with your own people. We’ve had plenty of fighting latterly, and we are likely to have enough in future; we know something of each other by this time in the field; let us see how we get on in the bivouac!â€
Resolving not to be outdone in generosity, I replied at once, “Here goes, then!â€
Five minutes afterwards I found myself seated at their bivouac fire. The captain, who was the oldest of the party, was a fine soldier-like fellow of some forty years old; he had served in the Imperial Guard through all the campaigns of Italy and Austria, and abounded in anecdotes of the French army. From him I learned many of those characteristic traits which so eminently distinguish the imperial troops, and saw how completely their bravest and boldest feats of arms depended upon the personal valor of him who led them on. From the daring enterprise of Napoleon at Lodi to the conduct of the lowest corporal in thegrande armée, the picture presents nothing but a series of brilliant and splendid chivalry; while, at the same time, the warlike character of the nation is displayed by that instinctive appreciation of courage and daring which teaches them to follow their officers to the very cannon’s mouth.
“It was at Elchingen,†said the captain, “you should have seen them. The regiment in which I was a lieutenant was ordered to form close column, and charge through a narrow ravine to carry a brigade of guns, which, by a flanking fire, were devastating our troops. Before we could reach the causeway, we were obliged to pass an open plain in which the ground dipped for about a hundred yards; the column moved on, and though it descended one hill, not a man ever mounted the opposite one. A very avalanche of balls swept the entire valley; and yet amidst the thunder and the smoke, the red glare of the artillery, and the carnage around them, our grenadiers marched firmly up. At last, Marshal Ney sent an aide-de-camp with orders to the troops to lie flat down, and in this position the artillery played over us for above half an hour. The Austrians gradually slackened, and finally discontinued their fire; this was the moment to resume the attack. I crept cautiously to my knees and looked about. One word brought my men around me; but I found to my horror that of a battalion who came into action fourteen hundred strong, not five hundred remained; and that I myself, a mere lieutenant, was now the senior officer of the regiment. Our gallant colonel lay dead beside my feet. At this instant a thought struck me. I remembered a habit he possessed in moments of difficulty and danger, of placing in his shako a small red plume which he commonly carried in his belt. I searched for it, and found it. As I held it aloft, a maddening cheer burst around me, while from out the line each officer sprang madly forward, and rushed to the head of the column. It was no longer a march. With a loud cry of vengeance, the mass rushed forward, the men trying to outstrip their officers, and come first in contact with the foe. Like tigers on the spring, they fell upon the enemy, who, crushed, overwhelmed, and massacred, lay in slaughtered heaps around the cannon. The cavalry of the Guard came thundering on behind us; a whole division followed; and three thousand five hundred prisoners, and fourteen pieces of artillery were captured.
“I sat upon the carriage of a gun, my face begrimed with powder, and my uniform blackened and blood-stained. The whole thing appeared like some shocking dream. I felt a hand upon my shoulder, while a rough voice called in my ear, ‘Capitaine du soixante-neuvième, tu es mon frère!’
“It was Ney who spoke. This,†added the brave captain, his eyes filling as he said the words,—“this is the sabre he gave me.â€
I know not why I have narrated this anecdote; it has little in itself, but somehow, to me it brings back in all its fulness the recollection of that night.
There was something so strongly characteristic of the old Napoleonist in the tone of his narrative that I listened throughout with breathless attention. I began to feel too, for the first time, what a powerful arm in war the Emperor had created by fostering the spirit of individual enterprise. The field thus opened to fame and distinction left no bounds to the ambition of any. The humble conscript, as he tore himself from the embraces of his mother, wiped his tearful eyes to see before him in the distance the bâton of a marshal. The bold soldier who stormed a battery felt his heart beat more proudly and more securely beneath the cordon of the Legion than behind a cuirass of steel; and to a people in whom the sense of duty alone would seem cold, barren, and inglorious, he had substituted a highly-wrought chivalrous enthusiasm; and by theprestigeof his own name, the proud memory of his battles, and the glory of those mighty tournaments at which all Europe were the spectators, he had converted a nation into an army.
By a silent and instinctive compact we appeared to avoid those topics of the campaign in which the honor of our respective arms was interested; and once, when, by mere accident, the youngest of the party adverted to Fuentes d’Onoro, the old captain adroitly turned the current of the conversation by saying, “Come, Alphonse, let’s have a song.â€
“Yes,†said the other. “Les Pas de Charge.â€
“No, no,†said the captain; “if I am to have a choice, let it be that little Breton song you gave us on the Danube.â€
“So be it then,†said Alphonse. “Here goes!â€
I have endeavored to convey, by a translation, the words he sang; but I feel conscious how totally their feeling and simplicity are lost when deprived of their ownpatois, and the wild but touching melody that accompanied them.