CHAPTER XXII.
A directcommunication between the opposite banks of the river being thus established, the remaining battalions of the Guards, the chief part of the King's German Legion, together with a proportionate force of cavalry and artillery, marched at daybreak on the 25th to join their comrades among the sand-hills. The whole of the besieging army being at the same time put in motion, the gap which prior to this date had existed in the line of investment was filled up. Little or no fighting took place on that occasion. The enemy, perceiving our design, offered no serious resistance, but evacuating the village of Boucaut, after having exchanged a few shots with our skirmishers, established their pickets about half a mile in its rear. As yet, therefore, a good deal more of open space was granted to them than they could long hope to enjoy; but all opportunity of corresponding with Marshal Soult, as well as of adding to the stock of grain and provisions already in their magazines, was cut off.
The running and irregular fire which had been maintained throughout the morning gradually died away, and ceased altogether about noon. From that hour till after nightfall everything continued quiet. A feverish excitement, necessarily consequent even upon a trifling skirmish, prevailed indeed amongst us; nor did we venture to take off our accoutrements, or return to our usual employments, during the remainder of the day. But we might have done so, had we felt disposed, with perfect safety; because the enemy were too well satisfied with being permitted to retain what they still held of territory beyond the glacis to endanger its loss by a useless attempt to regain what had been wrested from them. Still we were anxious; and the anxiety which pervaded us all the day ceased not to operate at night.
The garrison of Bayonne, we were well aware, was at once numerically powerful and composed of the best troops in the French army. From all that we could learn, Soult had by no means calculated upon the plan of operations adopted by Lord Wellington. Concluding that the Marquess would halt after the passage of the Adour, and invest that important place with the whole of his forces, he had thrown into it fifteen thousand picked men, assigning the command to General Thouvenot—an officer who, by his successful defence of Burgos on a former occasion, appeared worthy of so delicate a trust onthe present. Lord Wellington, however, knew too well how much depended in war on celerity of movement to waste his time under the walls of Bayonne. He therefore left Sir John Hope to mask the place with two British divisions, and taking the remainder with himself, hung upon the rear of the retreating enemy. These two divisions, which composed his left wing, were indeed supported by a considerable force of Spaniards. But not even now could much reliance be placed on Spanish troops; though it is just to add, that they were much upon the alert at the outposts, and patient under privations and hardships. The task assigned to Sir John Hope was not therefore an easy one. With some thirty thousand men of all arms, of whom only one-half might be fully trusted, he drew his lines of circumvallation round a well-fortified town, theenceinteof which could not measure less than four English miles, and towards which he did not as yet venture to push his pickets nearer than one mile, or perhaps more, from the glacis.
It was felt by him, and indeed by all, that vigilance could not under the circumstances be too keen or too constant. The besieged, moving upon an interior line, had it in his power to throw at any moment a superior force upon the besiegers; hence, especially for the first few days and nights,officers and men alike kept themselves, so to speak, constantly on the stretch of expectation. On the 25th, for example, as all seemed to be quiet in front, we lay down at the usual hour and slept. Our camp was pitched under the lee of a sand-hill; and just over its brow, and at the base beyond, our pickets were posted. It was still early, an hour or two from midnight, when a musket-shot in the direction of the pickets roused us. There was no time to consider, because the enemy, if a sortie was intended, would be upon us in a moment; so we sprang from our pallets, and each dressing hastily, and seizing his weapons, we ran to the place of muster. And now another and another shot broke the stillness of the night. The bugles began to sound, the baggage was hastily packed, the horses were saddled, and all the bustle and hurry attendant upon the preparations for battle took place. For myself, having seen that my men were in their ranks, I ran to the top of the hill, whence I saw the flashes of several muskets half-way between our sentinels and those of the enemy; but no sound of advancing columns met my ear, neither was the fire returned by our own soldiers. The perplexity occasioned by this state of affairs was not, however, of long continuance. The officer in command of the outposts sent in a messenger to say that no symptom of an attack was discernible, but that several desertershad come into his lines, at whom the French sentries were firing. This account was confirmed soon afterwards by the arrival of the deserters in the camp; and the troops accordingly laid aside their weapons and returned to their tents.
The alarm in that direction had hardly subsided, when another and not less serious one arose in a different quarter. A sentry who was posted by the bank of the river reported to his officer when visiting him that boats were moving and oars splashing in the water. Apprehensions were immediately excited for the safety of the bridge, against which we naturally concluded that some attempt was about to be made. To oppose it as far as possible, of whatever nature it might be, three field-pieces which were attached to our brigade limbered up, and galloped to the water's edge. These I accompanied; and certainly the splash of oars was very audible, though the darkness would not permit us to distinguish whence the sound proceeded. A few shots were, however, fired in the direction of the sound, just by way of hinting to the enemy that we were awake; and whether it was that the hint was not lost upon them, or that they never seriously entertained the idea of assailing the bridge, an immediate cessation of rowing was the consequence. Having watched, therefore, for half an hour, and neither hearing nor seeing anything indicative ofdanger, I left the gunners to themselves, and returning to my cloak and blanket, wrapt myself closely up, and slept soundly and securely till the morning.
The whole of the 26th passed over without the occurrence of any event worthy of mention. By myself it was spent, not very profitably, in sauntering about among the pine-woods, where little or no game was to be found. For the troops in general, as well within as without the walls of the beleaguered city, it might be accounted a sort of armed truce. Hardly a cannon-shot was fired, from sunrise till sunset, on either side; but matters were drawing to a crisis. Stores and ammunition were conveyed day and night across the river in large quantities; and it was manifest that even the few miles of open country which the garrison still held would before long be taken away from them. It was therefore no unexpected communication which reached me on the morning of the 27th, that the corps was to stand to its arms forthwith, and that the enemy were to be driven in all directions within their works.
Having in a former chapter described the nature of the ground in our immediate front, the reader will understand why no serious advance on our part was intended. We were already within range of the guns on the ramparts, and between the ramparts and the camp no broken ground nor village, nor anyother species of cover, existed. We could not therefore hope to establish ourselves had we been pushed on; whereas the French general, by opening the sluices from the river, might at any moment lay the whole level under water. On the opposite side of the Adour the case was different. There the most forward British pickets were very little in advance of the village of Boucaut; and the village of Boucaut is full four miles from the citadel. The face of the country also between the two points being rugged and broken, numerous positions could be taken up by the besiegers, in which, whilst they were themselves secure from the fire of the place, they could easily prevent the garrison from venturing beyond the ditch. Moreover, the relative situations of the town and fortress rendered the former secure against active annoyance till after the latter should have fallen into our hands. Though, therefore, it was understood that the whole of our line was to be drawn somewhat more tightly round the city, we were all aware that the trenches would be opened, and breaching batteries thrown up against the citadel alone.
The men being accoutred and the baggage packed, we stood quietly in our ranks behind the sand-hill, till a gun from the opposite side of the stream sounded the signal of attack. Upon this we extended our files so as to give to a single weak battalion theappearance of an entire brigade, and, ascending the heights, we stopped short where the tops of our bayonets and caps just showed themselves over the ridge. Similar demonstrations were likewise made by the corps which filled Anglete and crowned the rise in connection with it; whilst occasionally a shout was raised, as if at length the order of attack had been given, and we were preparing to rush on. All this was done for the purpose of drawing the attention of the enemy to many different points at the same time, and thus hindering them from opposing with the entire strength of the garrison the forward movements of those who were appointed to invest the castle.
Whilst we and the divisions near us were thus amusing ourselves and the enemy with the pomp and circumstance, rather than with the reality, of war, the Guards and light Germans, with a corps of Portuguese infantry, were very differently occupied on the other bank of the river. As our situation was a commanding one, it enabled us to obtain a tolerably distinct view of their proceedings. We saw one column of British troops form on the sands beside Boucaut. In front of it was a body of German riflemen, who pressed leisurely forward in skirmishing order till they reached a picket of the French troops. Of the enemy, on the other hand, a heavy column showed itself upon the high ground,where it halted, and continued to send out numerous parties to support the outposts, between whom and the Germans a hot skirmish began. But it could not be said that any decided advantage was gained by either party during several hours.
The column which we descried upon the sands beside Boucaut was not of great strength; indeed the numbers of our own people discernible by us were very inconsiderable. The fact, as I afterwards learned, was, that the side of the hill visible to us was by far the most rugged and least assailable of any; consequently the main attack was to be made in another direction, the attack in this waiting till the other should have in part succeeded. Hence the trifling progress made by our skirmishers, who seemed to be kept back rather than animated forward by their officers; and hence the apparently obstinate resistance of the French pickets. But it was, nevertheless, an exceedingly interesting spectacle, to the beauty of which the uneven and picturesque scenery around added not a little.
I wish I could convey to the mind of the reader some notion of the scene as it then appeared, and is still remembered by myself. Let him imagine himself, then, lying with me upon the brow of a sand-hill, and looking down first upon the broad and deep waters of the Adour, and over them upon a sandy bank, which speedily ends, and is succeeded by agreen hill, having on its side—the side upon which we are gazing—frequent cuts or gullies, or glens, some of them bare, others wooded, with here and there a white cottage showing itself from among the trees. Let him imagine that he sees on the summit of the heights, and immediately in a line with himself, a portion of an armed mass, with a single field-piece pointed towards the river's mouth. About a mile to the rearward let him figure to himself a green field, more level than any other part of the hillside—a sort of table-land, as it were, having a hedge along that face of it which is turned towards Boucaut, and a precipitous red bank under the hedge. In this field he will observe about three hundred infantry soldiers dressed in grey greatcoats and broad caps or shakos, who carry hairy knapsacks on their backs, and are armed with long clear muskets, which have bayonets screwed to their muzzles. These are Frenchmen. Under the red bank let him farther suppose that there is a picturesque valley stocked with tall and shadowy cork-trees, about the middle of which is a neat mansion something larger than a farmhouse, yet hardly deserving the name of a chateau. That house is full of light Germans; and almost every tree about it affords cover to a rifleman, who fires as a good aim is presented to him at the persons behind the hedge. From the windows of the house, likewise,many shots are from time to time discharged; and the sudden flash and uprising of smoke from various parts of the hedge show that the French tirailleurs are not less active than their assailants, or disposed to receive their salute without returning it. In this skirmish little change of ground takes place. Occasionally, indeed, a single rifleman will steal on, running from tree to tree, till he has reached a convenient spot; whilst a Frenchman will as often rise, and having watched him through a brake or over a bush, will fire whenever he exposes himself to observation. But no grand rush is made on either side, nor is any decided loss sustained either of ground or in men.
All this while the exertions of our people were, as far as might be, aided by a well-served cannonade from the three pieces of artillery which had kept their station near the bank of the river since the evening of the 25th. The fire of these guns was directed chiefly against a large house—apparently some public work or manufactory—which stood by the brink of the water, and was filled with French troops. Neither were the enemy's batteries opposite to us idle. Having wasted about twenty or thirty round-shot without effect, they brought a couple of mortars, with a howitzer or two, to bear upon us, from which they threw shell after shell among our ranks. But from the effects of thecannonade the nature of the soil secured us, the shells either burying themselves in the sand to the extinction of the fuze, or exploding when we were all snugly laid flat, and therefore safe from their fragments.
Matters had continued thus for an hour or two, and we were beginning to fear that some part of our General's plan might have gone wrong, or that the enemy were in too great force to be driven in by the divisions opposed to them, when a sudden stir in the French column which had hitherto stood quietly upon the heights attracted our attention. The field-piece was all at once wheeled round, and turned in the direction of the opposite country; the infantry collected into compact order, and were gradually hidden from us by the brow of the hill. By-and-by a few musket-shots were fired; then about a dozen more; then came the report of one, two, or three field-pieces; and, lastly, a roar of cannon and small-arms. This was kept up, hot and rapid, for half an hour. Every moment the sound came nearer and nearer. Now the smoke, which had at first followed each report after the interval of a few seconds, rose at the same instant with the noise; then the glancing of arms over the high ground was distinguishable; next came the French troops, some retiring slowly, and firing as they fell back—others fleeing in extreme confusion.Mounted officers were galloping over the ridge, and apparently exerting themselves to restore order; but all would not do. The enemy were in full flight. Down they rushed towards the river, and away along the sands in the direction of the citadel, whilst our three guns poured in round-shot among them, some of which we could distinctly perceive take effect. And now the green field on which my reader and I have so long looked was abandoned. The tirailleurs fled—the riflemen pursued—the little column in scarlet pushed on in good order and with a quick pace—and on the brow of the height above a British ensign was held up as a signal for our battery to cease firing. The signal was obeyed, and we had nothing farther to do during the remainder of the day than to watch, which we eagerly did, the progress of our victorious comrades.
The enemy having fled as far as the manufactory, were there joined by reinforcements from the garrison. Here, then, the battle was renewed with great obstinacy; but stern as was the resistance offered, it became every hour less and less effectual. At length the building took fire; it was abandoned, and its defenders fled; after which the entire scene of action was hidden from us, and we were enabled to guess at the state of affairs only by the sound of firing and the direction which it took. That inclined every moment more and more towards theramparts. But it continued without intermission till darkness had set in, when both parties were compelled to desist because they could not distinguish friends from foes.
In this affair the loss on both sides was considerable; but we were completely successful. The enemy were driven within their works, and our advanced-posts were established in the village of St Esprit, about half-pistol-shot from the nearest redoubt. In other directions little change of ground occurred. Some Spanish divisions took up a position, I believe, somewhat less distant than formerly from the walls of Bayonne; but neither we nor the divisions in communication with us were in any degree affected by it. We returned, on the contrary, to our tents, having lost by the cannonade only one man killed and three wounded.
I stated in another part of my narrative that, except on one occasion, I could not tax my memory with any symptom of violent or permanent grief on the part of a soldier's wife at the death of her husband. The case to which I then alluded occurred to-day. A fine young Irishman, the pay-sergeant of my own company, had brought his wife with him to the seat of war. He married her, it appeared, against the wish of her relatives, they considering themselves in a walk of life superior to his. To what class of society they belonged I cannot tell;but she, I know, was a lady's-maid to some person of rank, when the handsome face and manly form of M'Dermot stole her heart away. They had been married about a year and a half, during the whole of which time she had borne the most unblemished character, and they were accounted the happiest couple in the regiment. Poor things! they were this day separated for ever.
M'Dermot was as brave and good a soldier as any in the army; he was at times even foolhardy. Having observed a recruit or two cower down in no very dignified manner as a cannon-ball passed over them, M'Dermot, by way of teaching them to despise danger, threw himself at his ease on the summit of the sand-hill, with his head towards the enemy's guns. He was in the act of laughing at these lads, assuring them that "every bullet has its billet," when a round-shot struck him on the crown of the head and smashed him to atoms. I shall never forget the shriek that was raised. He was a prodigious favourite with all ranks; and then all of us thought of his poor young wife, so spotless, and so completely wrapped up in him. "Oh, who will tell Nance of this?" said another non-commissioned officer, his principal companion. "Poor Nance!" cried the soldiers, one and all; so true is it that virtue is respected, and a virtuous woman nowhere more beloved than among British soldiers. Butthere was no hiding it from Nance. The news reached her, heaven knows how, long before we returned to our tents, and she was in the midst of us in a state which beggars all description in five minutes after the event took place.
I cannot so much as attempt to delineate the scene that followed. The poor creature was evidently deranged, for she would not believe that the mangled carcass before her was her husband; and she never shed a tear. "That! oh, that is not he!" cried she; "that M'Dermot!—my own handsome, beautiful M'Dermot! Oh no, no—take it away, or take me away, and bring me to him!" She was removed with gentle violence to the camp, and the body was buried, a young fir-tree being planted over it.
Several days passed before Mrs M'Dermot was sufficiently calm to look her situation in the face. But at last the feeling of utter desolation came over her; and instead of listening, as women in her position generally do, to the proposals of some new suitor, all her wishes pointed homewards. To her home she was accordingly sent. We raised for her a handsome subscription, every officer and man contributing something; and I have reason to believe that she is now respectably settled in Cork, though still a widow.