Transcriber’s Note

Text on cover added by Transcriber and placed in the Public Domain.

BOHN’S ILLUSTRATED LIBRARY.

THE VICTORIES OF WELLINGTON.

Painted by A. Cooper, R.d.

Engraved by Jno. H. Engleheart

Colonel Maxwell’s last charge at Afsye.

THE
VICTORIES
OF
WELLINGTON
AND
THE BRITISH ARMIES

BY THE AUTHOR OF
“STORIES OF WATERLOO,” “THE BIVOUAC,” “THE LIFE
OF WELLINGTON,” ETC., ETC.

New Edition.

LONDON: GEORGE BELL & SONS, YORK STREET,
COVENT GARDEN.
1891.

LONDON:
PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED,
STAMFORD STREET AND CHARING CROSS.

CONTENTS.

LIST OF PLATES.

THE
VICTORIES AND CONQUESTS
OF THE
BRITISH ARMY.

Introduction.—State of England, military and political.—India.—Critical situation of British interests.—Marquis Wellesley appointed to the Government.—His measures.—War declared.—Tippoo attacks the army of Cannanore.—Seringapatam invested.—Stormed by General Baird.—Death, character, and anecdotes of the Sultaun of Mysore.—Military observations.—Acts of cruelty.—Tippoo killed by an Irish soldier.

The history of military nations exhibits periods of disaster and success, when good and evil fortune, as if ruled by a fatality, prevail. With some, in every essay, conquest crowns their arms; while the bravest efforts of others terminate invariably in defeat. Again, the best measures fail to obtain success,—mischances follow thick upon each other,—possessions are lost,—power declines,—and a name, before which a world once trembled, becomes a by-word, and is rarely used but to mark the mutability of national prosperity.

In looking back on past events, perhaps the gloomiest period of British history will be found between the outbreak of the war of independence, in 1775, and that of the French revolution at the close of the last century. Conquest deserted those banners which for ages she had crowned with victory,—the days of England’s glory seemed departed,—and her military dispositions were rendered nugatory by a thousand accidental occurrences, which no human prudence could foresee. Disciplined valour was defeated by the raw levies of her own colonists, and her continental influence was placed in abeyance for a time, by those splendid victories achieved by the armies of the French Republic over the best organized and best commanded troops in Europe.

Had the pride alone of Britain been lowered by the failure of her arms, that circumstance would have been sufficiently humiliating; but far more disastrous consequences resulted from these continued defeats. The North American colonies were wrested from the parent country, never to be recovered; and a retention of her Indian possessions became a doubtful question. French influence, too successfully employed with almost every European cabinet, had already reached the East; and the native princes, ripe for revolt, were only awaiting a fitting moment to throw off the mask, and, by an appeal to arms, free themselves from the thrall of a power which in secret they both dreaded and detested. This state of things was pregnant indeed with danger to Great Britain; but bold and well-digested measures saved her in this her political extremity; and when every thing was most heavily overcast, the first promise of returning prosperity dawned, and a future tide of conquest flowed from her earlier successes in the East.

In 1797, the Marquis of Wellesley was nominated to the Government of India; and on his arriving at the Presidency, he found the British interests environed by a thousand perils. Most of the native powers were avowedly inimical, or secretly ill-disposed. It was known that the Sultaun of Mysore was in active communication with the French Directory; that he had tendered his alliance; that in return, he had received an assurance of co-operation, and the assistance of European officers to train his troops, accompanied by a liberal supply of warlike stores. Tippoo Sultaun was also endeavouring to influence Zemaun Schah to make a diversion on the northern frontier of the English territory, pressing the Mahratta powers to join the league, and make common cause against the British by a simultaneous revolt. Scindia was notoriously devoted to the French—and of course the Court of Deccan was unfriendly. The Rajah of Berar was more than suspected of disaffection; and Holkar, if not a declared enemy, could not be regarded as a friend.

In this ominous aspect of Eastern affairs, nothing could have preserved India to Great Britain but prompt and daring measures—and Lord Wellesley at once perceived that war was inevitable—while the proclamation of the governor of the Isle of France, and the landing on the coast of Malabar of officers and men for Tippoo’s service, hurried the crisis. A premature declaration would, however, have been impolitic. The British armies were not ready for the field,—their matériel was incomplete—their organization imperfect,—and, until these deficiencies were remedied, Lord Wellesley determined to delay the hour of hostile movements; and this, with admirable tact, he managed to accomplish.

It was an object of paramount importance to interrupt the native relations, if possible, and detach the Nizam from the Sultaun of Mysore. The army of the former amounted to fourteen thousand men, officered and disciplined by French mercenaries. The Marquis applied himself to effect a new treaty, by which the force at Hyderabad should be augmented, and the French officers dismissed from the service of the prince. These objects were happily effected. A moveable column was despatched from Fort William—reached Hyderabad by forced marches—and, assisted by the Nizam’s cavalry, surrounded the infantry, arrested the officers, and disarmed the sepoys. The Governor-General, finding himself now in an attitude to commence hostilities, addressed a remonstrance to Tippoo, which was unnoticed for some time. The advance of the British army produced an unsatisfactory reply; and, on the 22nd of February, war was formally declared.

The British force, with which this short and brilliant campaign was opened and completed, consisted of the army of the Carnatic, under General Harris, and that of Cannanore, commanded by Colonel Stuart. Including the corps at Hyderabad, and the infantry of the Nizam, the former amounted to thirty thousand men, to which a cavalry corps of six thousand sabres was united. These were a contingent of the Nizam, and commanded by an officer of his own—his son, Meer Allum. The Western, or Cannanore corps, numbered about six thousand five hundred.

On the 5th of March, the army of the Carnatic crossed the frontier and carried some hill forts with trifling opposition, while the corps under Stuart marched direct on Seringapatam. Ascertaining that his capital was threatened, Tippoo broke up from his cantonments, intending to attack the army of the Carnatic; but suddenly changing his plans, he hurried with the élite of his infantry to meet the division from Cannanore.

Never was the field taken with deadlier animosity to an enemy than that with which Tippoo regarded his antagonists. Like Hannibal’s to Rome, the hatred of the Sultaun to Britain was hereditary and implacable. In the infancy of English glory, a foe like him was reckoned truly formidable. His military talents were considerable; and, with excellent judgment, and untrammelled by Eastern presumption, he saw the defects of native discipline, and laboured to remove them. He had striven, and with success, through the agency of Europeans, to introduce into his camp the improved systems of modern warfare; and the army of the Mysore had, within a few years, undergone a mighty change. Many confidential communications that passed between the Sultaun and his chief officers, found after the fall of the capital, prove with what assiduity he had devoted his whole attention to the establishment of a force that, by physical and numerical superiority, should crush a power he detested, and overthrow England’s dominion in the East. Tippoo’s infantry were tolerably drilled—his artillery were respectable—and though his numerous horse were quite unequal to meet and repel the combined charge of British cavalry, still, as irregulars, they were excellent; alike dangerous to an enemy from their rapid movement, the audacity with which their sudden assault was made, and the celerity, when repulsed, with which their retreat was effected.

On the 5th, the Sultaun’s camp was indistinctly seen from the British outposts. Four native battalions, commanded by Colonel Montressor, were in advance at Seedaseer, and the remainder of the division cantoned at a distance of from eight to twelve miles in the rear. The country was difficult and wooded; and to troops who were acquainted with its localities, extremely favourable for taking an enemy by surprise. From the detached position of the different brigades, Tippoo could attack them in detail, and press with an overwhelming force the leading regiments under Montressor, and probably cut them off before they could be supported from the rear. So favourable an opportunity was not to be neglected—and the Sultaun made his dispositions to attack the British division the next morning.

A deep jungle lay between him and his enemy—and at nine o’clock he passed through the brushwood undiscovered, and threw himself furiously on the front and flanks of Montressor’s brigade. Though surprised, and assailed under very discouraging circumstances by a force immensely superior in point of numbers, the sepoys behaved with veteran steadiness, and fought most gallantly. Every effort made by Tippoo to shake their formation failed. For five hours, these native regiments sustained furious and repeated attacks unsupported; and not until Stuart, after considerable opposition from the Sultaun’s troops, who had gained the rear of Montressor, came up and relieved this hard-pressed brigade, did the fiery Sultaun desist from the assault. Unable longer to withstand the united force opposed to him, Tippoo retired in disorder, leaving fifteen hundred of his best troops upon the field, while the British loss scarcely amounted to one hundred and fifty.

Completely repulsed by the division of Cannanore, the Sultaun did not renew the attack, but moved again to Bangalore, and came up with the army of the Carnatic. After a cavalry demonstration, which a few cannon-shot checked, Tippoo fell back upon his capital—and General Harris continued his march with all the despatch his defective means of transport would permit.

The army of the Carnatic, taking the southern road to Seringapatam, passed Karkunhully unopposed, crossed the Madoor, and on the 27th reached Malavelly, where Tippoo was drawn up in order of battle. Anxious to bring on an action, Colonel Wellesley, with the Nizam’s troops, the 33rd European regiment, and Floyd’s cavalry, advanced against the left, while General Harris attacked the right. For a time, Tippoo, by a rocket discharge and brisk cannonade strove to arrest these forward movements—but the British advanced steadily, and no effort which the Sultaun could make would check them. A fine body of the Sultaun’s best troops, amounting to two thousand, came boldly forward and attacked the 33rd. Their reserved fire was received by the British at some sixty yards, and answered by a bayonet rush. The Sultaun’s infantry broke,—the British cavalry charged home,—no quarter was given,—and an immense number of the bravest of the native troops were bayoneted or cut down.

Following up his success, Harris crossed the Cauvery, Tippoo contenting himself with making a close reconnaissance on the 2nd and 4th, as the British defiled along the heights. On the 5th, the whole army took up its ground in front of the city, and made preparations for immediately commencing the siege.

Seringapatam stands on an island of bare and desolate appearance, formed by the river Cauvery, which here divides itself into separate streams—the waters creeping sluggishly along for nearly three miles, when they again become united. This insulated surface is in no place above a mile across—and on its upper extremity the city is built, both channels of the river flowing immediately beneath its walls.[1]

The fortifications are in the Eastern style, the works irregular, and the defences rather numerous than well-constructed. Several walls, one within the other, connect bastions of different forms; some being the ancient Hindu tower, while others are of regular proportions, and formed after the designs of European engineers. The point of attack chosen by the British commander was the north-west angle of the fort; and on the arrival of the Bombay army, which joined on the evening of the 14th, the siege was vigorously pressed.

The besiegers’ camp was judiciously selected, and distant from the west face of the works about three thousand five hundred paces. The right occupied a height, while the left was protected by the Cauvery and an aqueduct. The rear also, was effectually secured by steep ravines, and the watercourse that supplied the greater canal. There were several topes[2] within the lines, thickly planted with cocoa-trees and bamboos, thus affording ample means for constructing ladders and fascines. The place was healthy, the water pure and abundant, and it possessed all the security of an intrenched camp.

A part of the position however, in front of Tippoo’s advanced posts, was within range of musketry and rockets, and it was necessary that from these the enemy should be dislodged. A night attack, under the command of Colonels Wellesley and Shaw, was unsuccessful, and attended with considerable loss. On the following day the whole line was stormed; the right and left flanks and centre being simultaneously assaulted under a heavy cannonade. On every point the attacks succeeded—and a line of posts was gained, reaching from Sultaunpet to the Cauvery, and advanced within eighteen hundred yards of the fortress. On the west front, the Bombay army were securely established within a thousand paces of that angle of the fort; while a watercourse was seized on the south, which allowed that face of the works to be invested within less than nine hundred yards.

The siege was vigorously pressed—an intrenchment was stormed on the evening of the 20th; and a parallel opened within seven hundred and eighty paces of the works. On the 22nd the garrison made a grand sortie, and fell in considerable force upon the Bengal army; but their sustained efforts were repulsed, and they were driven into the town with a loss of six hundred men. On the 26th, the enemy having intrenched themselves behind a watercourse only three hundred and eighty yards from the place, it was deemed advisable to obtain its possession. It was accordingly assaulted in gallant style, and carried, after an obstinate defence, that cost both the victors and the vanquished a serious loss of life.

On the 30th a battery was unmasked, and commenced breaching the bastion; on the 2nd of May, another was completed, and opened a heavy fire on the curtain to the right—while several guns of large calibre were gradually got to work. The old masonry, unable to support this well-served and well-sustained cannonade, began to yield—masses of the wall came down into the ditch—a breach in the fausse-braye was reported practicable—and on the 3rd of May, the face of the bastion was in such a state of ruin, that preparations were made for an immediate assault. In a brief letter,[3] orders to that effect were given next morning to Major-General Baird, who had volunteered to command the storming party.

That the capture of Seringapatam should, to a certain extent, have been achieved by the agency of Baird, appears a striking act of retributive providence. He, who was to lead on that resistless soldiery, by whose bayonets the life and throne of Tippoo should be extinguished, had pined in hopeless captivity, the tenant of a dungeon, in that capital which he was to enter in a few hours a conqueror. In the melancholy slaughter of Colonel Bailey and his troops by Hyder Aly, on the 10th of September 1780,[4] Baird, then a captain, was desperately wounded, made prisoner, hurried to Seringapatam, and there subjected to treatment that, even at a period remote from the event, cannot be heard without producing in the reader a thrill of horror and disgust. Of the many who shared his captivity, few remained to narrate their sufferings. Disease, starvation, poison, and the bowstring ended their miserable lives: but a providential ordinance willed it that Baird should survive—and, after disease failed to rob him of life, or temptation[5] deprive him of his honour, he was destined to lead that band to vengeance, by whom a tyrant was exterminated, and the power of Mysore prostrated to the dust!

The arrangements for the assault were completed on the evening of the 3rd—and two thousand five hundred Europeans, and one thousand nine hundred native troops were selected to carry it into execution. After sunset, ladders, fascines, &c. were conveyed into the trenches unnoticed by the enemy; and before daybreak, the storming parties, evading the observation of the garrison, marched quietly in, and lay down until the order to assault was given.

One o’clock came—the city at that hour was perfectly quiet,—while the trenches, to all appearance, contained nothing but their ordinary guards. This tranquillity was suddenly interrupted. Baird appeared, ordered the assault to be given—and that word, “Forward!” annihilated an empire, and changed a dynasty over an immense territory, with a population almost countless, an army of three hundred thousand men, and a revenue of five millions sterling. The forlorn hope rushed on, followed closely by the columns under Dunlop and Sherbroke—both plunging into the river under a tremendous fire of rockets and musketry. The ford across the Cauvery had been staked the preceding night, to mark the passage the troops should take; but, in the hurry, they swerved to the right, and getting into deeper water, the progress of the column was retarded. Baird, observing the difficulty, rushed on to the forlorn hope,—cheered the men forward,—and in six minutes the British colours were flying above the breach!

Filing off right and left, the storming parties pressed on. The north-west bastion was carried—all went prosperously—although the discovery of an inner ditch, filled with water, was at first alarming. But the scaffolding used by Tippoo’s workmen, and most fortunately left there undisturbed, enabled the British to surmount every obstacle, and enter the body of the place.

The right column halted on the east cavalier to give the men breathing-time after violent exertion under a burning sun. They awaited there a reinforcement of fresh troops to proceed and assail the palace, where it was believed Tippoo had retired. The report was untrue,—that palace he was fated never to revisit,—for the tyrant of Mysore was then gone to his account!

The left column, in the mean time, had overcome every opposition, and continued their course along the ramparts, as directed in the general order for the assault. Part of the 12th regiment, however, either mistaking or disobeying orders, rushed into the body of the town, and finding the sally-port crowded with the Sultaun’s troops, commenced firing from the inside on the archway, while the remainder of their own column were keeping up a sharp fusilade upon it from the other side. No wonder, thus enfiladed, that the passage was choked with dead; and it was afterwards ascertained, on the removal of the bodies, that above three hundred of the soldiers of Mysore had fallen in this narrow space.

It is said, that to the moment of the assault, Tippoo never supposed that an attempt would be made to storm the fortress; and when the marching of the columns to the breach was reported, he received the intelligence with incredulity. The increasing uproar undeceived him, and rising from table, where dinner had been laid under a thatched shed on the northern face of the works, he performed his ablutions coolly, and called for his horse and arms.[6] At that moment the death of his best officer was announced. The Sultaun paid a tribute to the bravery of his favourite, named his successor, and rode forth never to return.

On the left, Tippoo commanded in person; and here, the traverses, erected to protect the breach, were so furiously defended, that the assailants were completely checked. The Sultaun fought among his meanest soldiers—and, if his attendants can be trusted, several of the most daring of the assailants were shot by the prince himself. Fortunately for the British, by some unaccountable neglect, a passage from the ditch to the rampart, by which the Sultaun’s working parties passed from one place to the other, had been forgotten. By this way, the 12th regiment reached the rampart, and pressing quickly forward, turned the traverses, and poured in a flanking fire that rendered them untenable. The troops that had held them hitherto were now obliged to retire—the posts were abandoned—and the Sultaun joined reluctantly his retreating soldiery.[7]

Fatigued, suffering from the intense heat, and pained by an old wound, Tippoo mounted his horse, and retired slowly along the northern rampart. The British were momentarily gaining ground—the garrison in every direction flying—while a spattering fusilade, and occasionally a wild huzza, told that the victors were everywhere advancing. Instead of quitting the city, as he might have done, the Sultaun crossed the bridge over the inner ditch and entered the town. The covered gateway was now crowded with fugitives vainly endeavouring to escape from the bayonets of their conquerors, who were heard approaching at either side. A random shot struck the Sultaun: he pressed his horse forward, but his passage was impeded by a mob of runaways, who literally choked the gloomy arch. Presently a cross fire opened, and filled the passage with the dead and wounded. Tippoo’s horse was killed, but his followers managed to disengage him, dragged him exhausted from beneath the fallen steed, and placed him in his palanquin. But escape was impossible; the British were already in the gateway,—the bayonet was unsparingly at work—for quarter at this moment was neither given nor expected. Dazzled by the glittering of his jewelled turban, a soldier dashed forward and caught the Sultaun’s sword-belt. With failing strength, Tippoo cut boldly at his assailant and inflicted a trifling wound. The soldier, irritated by pain, drew back, laid his musket to his shoulder, and shot the Sultaun dead. His companions, perceiving the struggle, rushed up; the palanquin was overturned, the bearers cut down, the body of the departed tyrant thrown upon a heap of the dead and dying, and the corpse—despoiled of every thing valuable—left among the fallen Mussulmans—naked, unknown, and unregarded.

The capital of Mysore was now at the mercy of the conquerors—and the general’s first care was to seek out the dishonoured body of its once haughty master. As it was suspected that Tippoo had fallen in the northern gateway, the bodies that lay heaped within it were hastily removed. For a time the search was unsuccessful, and torches were obtained, as the archway was low and gloomy. At last, beneath a heap of slain Mussulmans, their ruler’s body was discovered. The heat had not yet left the corpse; and though despoiled of sword and belt, sash and turban,[8] the well-known talisman that encircled his right arm was soon recognised by the conquerors. The amulet, formed of some metallic substance of silvery hue, was surrounded by magic scrolls in Arabic and Persian characters, and sewed carefully in several pieces of richly-flowered silk. The eyes were unclosed; the countenance wore that appearance of stern composure, which induced the lookers-on for a time to fancy that the proud spirit of the haughty Sultaun was still lingering in its tenement of clay.[9] The pulse was examined—its throbs were ended—and life was totally extinct.

The body was directly removed to the palace, and there respectfully deposited until the necessary preparations for an honourable interment were completed—the funeral being conducted with all the ceremonies which Eastern forms require. As the procession moved slowly through the city, a “keeraut” of five thousand rupees was distributed to the fakirs—and verses from the Koran were repeated by the chief of the priests, and responded by the assistants. Minute-guns were fired from the batteries; and a guard of honour, composed of European flank companies, followed the remains of the late ruler of Mysore to the sepulchre of his once haughty father.

Tippoo, notwithstanding his cruelty and despotism, was highly regarded by his Mussulman subjects. His was no common character,—brave, munificent, and a bigot to his faith, he was just the sovereign to excite Eastern admiration. A rigid observer of the Prophet’s ordinances, he attended strictly to the formulae of his religion—wine was strictly inhibited—and every unbeliever, not excepting his favourite employées, were treated with scorn and distrust. His establishment and household were formed on a scale of regal splendour; and when, by accident or age, their services were no longer efficient, Tippoo never permitted a servant to be discharged, although their numbers became incredible.

With all the sternness of character and high-souled energy for which the departed Sultaun was remarkable, it would appear that he was prone to superstition, and not endued with that blind reliance upon Providence which, among Mussulmans, distinguishes the true believer. It is said, that the day doomed to be fatal to his empire and himself had been announced; and that, forewarned of impending calamity, he had vainly endeavoured to avert misfortune by resorting to magic ceremonies, and obtaining the interference of the Brahmins with their gods. Though a devoted follower of Mahomet, he offered these priests an oblation of money, buffaloes, an elephant, black she-goat, and dresses of cloth-beseeching them to use their influence with Heaven for his prosperity. A presentiment of coming danger had evidently cast its shadows before, and those immediately around the Sultaun’s person[10] remarked that he was heavily depressed. Yet his confidence in the strength of the city and the matériel of its garrison was unbounded. He believed that Seringapatam was impregnable, and laughed to scorn the idea that the British would ever dream of carrying it by assault.

His funeral was marked by natural occurrences, that seemed in happy keeping with the obsequies of him who had left an empire for a tomb. On the evening when Tippoo was committed to his kindred dust, the sky became overcast, and a storm broke suddenly in a torrent of rain, while heaven seemed in a blaze,[11] and peal after peal of thunder appeared to shake the city to its very foundations, and added to the fearful uproar. A tempest of more violence was hardly recollected; and it seemed as if an elemental convulsion had been decreed, to announce that the once haughty tyrant of Mysore was nothing now but dust and ashes.

The storming of Seringapatam was certainly a bold and hazardous attempt—it was nobly executed, and deserved the success it gained. The moment for action was happily selected. An Indian sun, when in meridian power, obliges man to avoid its exhausting influence, and hence, that period of the day is habitually made in Hindoostan an hour of repose and sleep. Never supposing that at this season of relaxation any attempt upon the fortress would be made, with the exception of the guards alone, the Sultaun’s troops were sleeping in their respective barracks. When the alarm was given, a panic spread; and profiting by the confusion, the assailants increased it, and prevented any attempt being made for an efficient rally and defence.

To other circumstances, however, the fortunate result of the attack may in a great measure be attributed. By an unpardonable oversight the breach was unprovided with a retrenchment, and the workmen’s passage, between the ditch and rampart, left undefended. Had the breach been properly retrenched, it could not have been surmounted in the face of such a garrison; and traverses, that could have been, and were, most obstinately defended, were lost to the besieged by their stupid neglect in having left a means of escalade from the ditch, which the labour of a dozen men would have rendered impracticable. How frequently in war do great results arise from trifling causes.

Every care was taken to prevent plunder and violence in the night. The inhabitants were assured of protection; and the Sultaun’s children kindly received by General Baird, and for better security sent from the fortress to the camp. Even before Tippoo’s death was ascertained, great delicacy was observed in searching the palace, where it was supposed he had concealed himself. The zenana, which contained his women, was scrupulously respected—and a guard was merely drawn around it to prevent the Sultaun’s escape, in the event of his having made that his place of refuge.

Though eight thousand of Tippoo’s garrison fell in the assault, very few of the inhabitants suffered. The British loss during the siege and storm was, of course, severe; twenty-five officers were killed or wounded in the assault; and the total casualties were, of Europeans, twenty-two officers killed, forty-five wounded, eighty-one rank and file killed, six hundred and twenty-two wounded, and twenty-two missing; of the native army, one hundred and nineteen were killed, four hundred and twenty wounded, and one hundred missing, making a general total of one thousand five hundred and thirty-one hors de combat.

Having made necessary arrangements for the protection of the town, Baird marched the 33rd and 74th regiments to the palace, and in one of its magnificent courts the soldiers piled arms, and established their bivouac.[12] Sentries were placed around the zenana for its security; and the general slept on a carpet spread for his accommodation under the verandah. There lay the conqueror of Seringapatam, surrounded by his victorious soldiers, and dispensing protection to the helpless family of the fallen Sultaun. There he lay, on whose breath hung life and death—yet but a few years back, and within three hundred yards of the spot he rested on, that man had occupied a dungeon, dragging on a cheerless captivity, and waiting until the poisoned cup should be presented by “the bondsman of a slave,” or the order delivered for his midnight murder.

Is not the romance of real life oftentimes wilder far than any creation of the imagination?

Sir H. Raeburn.

H. Cook.

D. Baird

The tyrant of Mysore was gone to his account, and “how his audit stood none knew save Heaven;” but assuredly a more tiger-hearted monster never disgraced the musnud. His conduct to the European prisoners after Hyder’s death was atrocious. Of those taken with Bailey, the greater proportion perished from starvation and disease; while Matthews and his officers, who had surrendered under the usual conditions granted in honourable warfare, and guaranteed by Tippoo himself, were savagely murdered. Some of them were led out at night, taken to a retired spot, and hewn in pieces—while seventeen were poisoned with the milk of the cocoa-nut tree. The death of the unhappy general was probably the most horrible of all. Apprised by some means of the fate that was impending, he refused the food sent by the keeladar, and obtained, from the compassion of the guard and servants, as much of theirs as merely sustained existence—the havildar who had him in charge humanely conniving at the proceeding. But when Tippoo learned that his victim still lived, the havildar was sent for, and it was intimated that if his prisoner existed beyond a certain time, his own life should pay the penalty of his humanity. The wretched instrument of tyranny communicated what had passed to the devoted general, and gave him the alternative of death from poison or starvation. “For a few days the love of life maintained a struggle with the importunate calls of hunger. These, however, prevailed in the issue of the contest—he ate of the poisoned food, and drank too—whether to quench the rage of inflamed thirst, or to drown the torments of his soul in utter insensibility—of the poisoned cup; and in six hours after the fatal repast he was found dead.”[13]

The last acts of Tippoo’s life were in fit keeping with a career marked throughout by perfidy and bloodshed. In the confusion of the night of the 5th, when Colonel Wellesley’s attack on Sultaunpet failed from darkness and the intricacy of the betel tope, twelve grenadiers of the 33rd were made prisoners, and brought into Seringapatam. At midnight they were murdered by threes—“the mode of killing them was by twisting their heads, while their bodies were held fast, and thus breaking their necks.”[14] The fact was ascertained beyond doubt, for a peon pointed out the place where these ill-fated soldiers were interred, and they were examined and identified by their own officers. Other English soldiers who had been taken in assaulting outposts during the siege, had also been put to death, “having nails driven through their skulls.”[15]

In alluding to the Sultaun’s death, the regretted biographer of Sir David Baird says, “One cannot but regret, for the honour of human nature, and even for the sake of England, the end of such a man as Tippoo, shot in cold blood by a man endeavouring to rob him. Let us hope the man was a sepoy.” The man was an Irish soldier, who many years afterwards stated the fact in confession, and when in articulo mortis. “Cold blood!” Could blood be cold during the storm of a defended city, and under an Indian sun almost at noon?

The tyrant only met the doom he merited. For his talents we give him credit—his courage obtains our admiration—his munificence we admit—but for the murderer of the brave we feel neither sympathy nor regret.

ASSAYE.

Effect of Tippoo’s death upon the Native Princes.—Dhoondia’s rise and fall.—War between Scindia and Holkar.—Their differences accommodated.—Hostilities commence again.—Operations.—Camp at Assaye.—Battle.—Death of Colonel Maxwell.—Results of the Victory at Assaye.—Honours conferred on General Wellesley.—He returns to England.

The death of Tippoo Saib, and the fall of Seringapatam, were astounding tidings for the native chiefs. Their delusory notions regarding their individual importance were ended—and a striking proof had been given of what little reliance could be placed on Indian mercenaries and places of strength, when England went forth in wrath and sent her armies to the field.

As the fear of Britain became confirmed, so did the hatred of the native princes to every thing connected with her name. A power that had proved herself so formidable was to be dreaded, fixed as she was in the very heart of India: and, as the difficulty increased, so did the desire of freeing themselves from that thrall, which daily appeared to press upon them more heavily.

With political history we have no business, farther than regards the military operations we detail; but, as warfare originates in state policy, the elucidation of the one will occasionally require that brief allusions should be made to the other.

Among the prisoners delivered by the British from their dungeons after the reduction of the capital of Mysore, was a Mahratta trooper, who had commenced his predatory career in the cavalry of Hyder Aly, and, after his death, continued in the service of his son. For some cause he deserted, headed a band of marauders, was enticed back by the false promises of Tippoo, flung into a dungeon, and there made a Mussulman, greatly against his own will, and much to the glory of the Prophet. “No sooner were his fetters off, than his feet were again in the stirrup; and many of Tippoo’s horsemen, men of desperate fortunes, without a country, a service, or a master, became his willing followers.” His predatory band became so numerous that he overran the district of Biddenore—and at last he became so formidable, that a strong British force was sent to crush him and his robber horde. It was effected—six hundred and fifty of his followers were cut to pieces, and himself driven across the Toombudra into the country of the Peishwah. But here he was not permitted to rest. Ghokla surprised him, and routed him totally, taking his cannon, elephants, tents, and baggage. With difficulty the freebooter escaped, fled none knew where, and in a short time, Dhoondia was almost forgotten.

Suddenly, however, the daring freebooter appeared again; and moving south at the head of five thousand horse, threatened the frontier of the Mysore, and naturally occasioned immense alarm over a country so open to his predatory visits. No time was lost in despatching a sufficient force to crush him altogether, or compel him to retire, and Colonel Wellesley was intrusted with the command. Another force was directed to co-operate with that of the colonel; but fearing the marauder would escape unless promptly encountered, Wellesley pushed on alone, and by forced marches succeeded in coming up with him, while Dhoondia was encamped, as he imagined, in perfect security. The fellow, naturally daring, took up a strong position, and boldly waited for the British assault. Colonel Wellesley led the charge—it was admirably made, and the marauder’s fate was decided. His cavalry were cut to pieces or dispersed, Dhoondia himself sabred, and his body, secured upon a gun, was brought in triumph to the camp. Thus perished the king of “the two worlds,”—for such was the unassuming title by which the freebooter was pleased to have himself designated by his banditti.

An intended expedition against Batavia, in which Colonel Wellesley was promised a command, was for some reasons abandoned. Baird, with a division, was despatched to Egypt by the Desert rout; and Wellesley reappointed to the government of the Mysore.

Affairs again began to assume a threatening look. The Mahratta chiefs exhibited an unfriendly attitude; and to cement an alliance with the Peishwah, and thus tranquillize the country, a portion of Tippoo’s territory was offered and rejected. Scindia, with his army, was at Poona—and his influence directed every act of that dependent court.

A misunderstanding between Scindia and Holkar brought on a war between those chiefs. Holkar advanced on Poona, compelling Scindia to accept battle, in which he was defeated—the Peishwah deserting his ally in the hour of need, and concluding a treaty with the British. To effectuate this, Wellesley, now a major-general, took the field, with orders to drive Holkar from Poona, and secure the Peishwah’s return to his capital—and learning that the Mahrattas intended to plunder Poona, the general saved it by an extraordinary forced march, accomplishing sixty miles in thirty hours—a marvellous exertion indeed to be made under an Indian sun.

All for a short time was quiet; but those restless chiefs again assumed a hostile position. Scindia and the Rajah of Berar moved towards the Nizam’s frontier; while the former was negotiating with Holkar, his late enemy, to arrange their differences, and make common cause against the English.

To prepare for the threatened attack, the Marquis Wellesley invested the officers commanding the armies of Hindoostan and the Deccan with full powers; and to General Wellesley a special authority was given to make peace, or commence hostilities, as his own judgment should determine. In accordance with this power, a demand was made on Scindia that he should separate from the Rajah of Berar, and re-cross the Nerbuddah. To this demand an evasive reply was returned—and Eastern cunning was employed to obtain such delay as should permit the chieftains’ plans to be matured, and enable them to take the field in force. This shuffling policy was, however, quite apparent; and on the first information that his political agent had quitted Scindia’s camp, Wellesley suddenly broke up his cantonments, and marched directly on Ahmednuggur.

This ancient town was defended in the Eastern fashion with a high wall, flanked at its bends and angles by a tower, and garrisoned by some of Scindia’s infantry and an auxiliary force of Arabs, while a body of the chieftain’s cavalry occupied the space between the pettah and the fort. Wellesley, without delay, assaulted the town, and carried it by escalade. On the 10th, the British cannon opened on the fort—the keeladar in command proposed terms, and the English general expressed a readiness to listen to his propositions, but the guns continued working. Indian diplomacy has no chance when batteries are open; and, on the 12th, a garrison of fourteen hundred marched out, and the place was delivered up. This fortress, from its locality, was valuable; it secured the communications with Poona, made a safe depôt for military stores, and was centrically placed in a district whose revenue was above 600,000 rupees.

With a short delay, Wellesley moved on Aurungabad, and entered that splendid city on the 29th. The enemy moved in a south-easterly direction, threatening Hyderabad—while the British, marching by the left bank of the Godaverey, secured their convoys from Moodgul, and obliged Scindia to retire northwards. As yet the Mahratta chiefs were moving a cavalry force north, with but a few matchlock-men; but they were joined now by their whole artillery and sixteen battalions of infantry, officered chiefly by Frenchmen.

On the 21st, at a conference at Budnapoor, General Wellesley and Colonel Stevenson arranged a combined attack for the 24th. They were to move east and west, pass the defiles on the same day, and thus prevent any movement of the enemy southward. A mistake, in distance, brought General Wellesley much sooner to his halting-place than had been calculated; and learning that the Mahratta army were already breaking up to retire, he sent orders to Colonel Stevenson to advance; and announcing his immediate march on Scindia, begged his colleague to hurry forward to his assistance.

The cavalry consisted of the 19th Light Dragoons, and three native regiments, under the command of Colonel Maxwell, a bold and skilful officer. General Wellesley accompanied the horse—the infantry following in light marching order. After passing a league and half of ground, the advance reached an eminence; and on the right, and covering an immense extent of country, the Mahratta army appeared.

In brilliant sunshine, nothing could be more picturesque than Scindia’s encampment. The varied colours of the tents, each disposed around its own chieftain’s banner without order or regularity, with “streets crossing and winding in every direction, displayed a variety of merchandise, as in a great fair. Jewellers, smiths, and mechanics were all attending as minutely to their occupations, and all as busily employed, as if they were at Poona, and in peace.”[16]

In this enormous camp, fifty thousand men were collected—the river Kaitna running in their front—the Suah in their rear. These rivers united their waters at some distance beyond the left of the camp, forming a flat peninsula of considerable extent. The native infantry and all the guns were in position on the left, retired upon the Suah, and appuied on the village of Assaye—the cavalry were entirely on the right. The position was naturally strong; for the banks of the Kaitna are steep and broken, and the front very difficult to attack.

As the British cavalry formed line on the heights, it presented a strange but glorious contrast to the countless multitude of Mahratta horsemen, who were seen in endless array below. The English brigade, scarcely numbering three thousand sabres, took its position with all the boldness of a body having an equal force opposed. In number Scindia’s cavalry were fully ten to one; as it was ascertained that, with his allies, the horsemen actually on the field exceeded thirty thousand. Having made a careful reconnaissance, General Wellesley determined to attack—and, when the infantry came up, it was instantly executed.

While examining the position, immense masses of Scindia’s cavalry moved forward, and threw out skirmishers, which were directly driven in. Wellesley having discovered a neglected ford, decided on crossing over, and, by attacking the infantry and guns, embarrass the immense cavalry force of Scindia, and oblige it to manœuvre to disadvantage, and act on the confined space the ill-selected ground afforded.

The infantry had now come up, and, in column, they were directed on the river. A fire from the Mahratta guns immediately opened, but the range was far too distant to permit the cannonade to be effective, or check the forward movement of the columns. The whole were now across the river; the infantry formed into two brigades, and the cavalry in reserve behind them, ready to rush on any part of the battle-ground where advantage could be gained, or support should be required. The Mysore horse and the contingent of the Peishwah were merely left in observation of the enemy’s right.

This flank attack obliged Scindia to change his front. He did so with less confusion than was expected; and by his new disposition rested his right upon the Kaitna, and his left upon the Suah and Assaye. His whole front bristled with cannon—and the ground immediately around the village seemed, from the number of guns, like one great battery.

The fire from this powerful artillery was of course destructive; and the British guns were completely overpowered, and in a very few minutes silenced entirely. This was the crisis; and on the determination of a moment hung the fortune of a very doubtful day. Without hesitation Wellesley abandoned his guns, and advanced with the bayonet. The charge was gallantly made, the enemy’s right forced back, and his guns captured.

While this movement was being executed, the 74th and light infantry pickets in front of Assaye, were severely cut up by the fire from that place. Perceiving the murderous effect of the fusilade, a strong body of the Mahratta horse moved swiftly round the village, and made a furious onset on the 74th. Maxwell had watched the progress of the battle, and now was his moment of action. The word was given,—the British cavalry charged home—down went the Mahrattas in hundreds beneath the fiery assault of the brave 19th, and their gallant supporters the sepoys; while, unchecked by a tremendous storm of grape and musketry, Maxwell pressed his advantage, and cut through Scindia’s left. The 74th and the light infantry reformed, and, pushing boldly on, completed the disorder of the enemy, preventing any effective attempt to renew a battle, the doubtful result of which was thus in a few minutes decided by the promptitude of the general.

Some of Scindia’s troops fought bravely—and the desperate obstinacy with which his gunners stood to the cannon, was almost incredible. They remained to the last—and were bayoneted around the guns, which they refused, even in certain defeat, to abandon.

The British charge was, indeed, resistless; but in the enthusiasm of success, at times there is a lack of prudence. The sepoys rushed wildly on—their elated ardour was uncontrollable—while a mass of the Mahratta horse arrayed upon the hill, were ready to rush upon ranks disordered by their own success.

But Wellesley foresaw, and guarded against the evil consequences that a too excited courage might produce. The 78th were kept in hand; and cool, steady, and with a perfect formation, they offered an imposing front, that the Mahratta cavalry perceived was unassailable.

A strong column of the enemy, however, that had been only partially engaged, now rallied and renewed the battle, joined by a number of Scindia’s gunners and infantry, who had flung themselves as dead upon the ground, and thus escaped the sabres of the British cavalry. Maxwell’s brigade, who had re-formed their ranks and breathed their horses, dashed into the still disordered ranks of these half-rallied troops—a desperate slaughter ensued, and the Mahrattas were totally routed; but the British lost their chivalrous leader—and in the moment of victory, Maxwell died in front of the battle, “and, fighting foremost, fell.”

The last effort of the day was made by a part of the artillery who were in position near the village of Assaye—and in person Wellesley led on the 78th Highlanders and the 7th native cavalry. In the attack the general’s horse was killed under him; but the enemy declined the charge, broke, fled, and left a field cumbered with their dead, and crowded with cannon, bullocks, caissons, and all the matériel of an Eastern army, to the conquerors.

The evening had fallen before the last struggle at Assaye was over—but the British victory was complete. Twelve hundred of Scindia’s dead were found upon the field; while, of his wounded, scarcely an estimate could be hazarded, for all the villages and adjacent country were crowded with his disabled soldiery. The British loss was of necessity severe, and it might be estimated that one-third of the entire army was rendered hors de combat.

To call Assaye a brilliant victory, is only using a term simply descriptive of what it was. It was a magnificent display of skill, moral courage, and perfect discipline, against native bravery and an immense numerical superiority. But it was not a mass of men, rudely collected, ignorant of military tactics, and unused to combinations, that Wellesley overthrew. Scindia’s army was respectable in every arm, his cavalry excellent of their kind, and his artillery well served. His infantry were for a long time under the training of French officers; and the ease and precision with which he changed his front when the British crossed the Kaitna to assail his flank, shewed that the lessons of the French disciplinarians had not been given in vain.

The total déroute of Assaye was followed by a tide of conquest. Fortress after fortress was reduced, and Scindia sought and obtained a truce. The British arms were next turned against the Rajah of Berar—General Wellesley marched against him—for the truce was ended suddenly, and Scindia joined his colleague with all his disposable force.

On the plains of Argaum Wellesley found the confederated chiefs drawn up in order of battle. Scindia’s immense cavalry formed the right—on the left were the Berar infantry and guns, flanked by the Rajah’s cavalry—while a cloud of Pindaries were observed on the extreme right of the whole array.

The British moved down and formed line, the infantry in front, and the cavalry in reserve. The battle was short and decisive. The Berar’s Persian infantry attacked the 74th and 78th regiments, and were literally annihilated; while Scindia’s cavalry charge failed totally, the 26th native regiment repulsing it most gloriously. The British now rushed forward—and the Mahrattas broke and fled in every direction, abandoning their entire park;[17] while the cavalry pursued by moonlight the scattered host, and captured an immense number of elephants and beasts of burden, the entire baggage, and stores and arms of every description.

The fall of some places of strength, and the total defeat of their armies in the field, humbled Scindia and his ally, the Rajah, and obliged them to sue and obtain a peace. The brilliant career of General Wellesley had gained him a name in arms, which future victories were to immortalize. To commemorate the battle of Assaye, a monument was erected in Calcutta, a sword presented to the victor by the citizens, and a gold vase by the officers he commanded. He was also made a Knight Companion of the Bath, and honoured by the thanks of Parliament. Even from the inhabitants of Seringapatam he received an address, remarkable for its simplicity and affection, committing him to the care of “the God of all castes,” and invoking for him “health, glory, and happiness.” In 1805 he returned to his native land, “with war’s red honours on his crest,” bearing with him from the scene of his glory the high estimation and affectionate wishes of every caste and colour.

EGYPTIAN EXPEDITION.

British army employed in useless expeditions.—Finally ordered to Egypt.—Voyage thither.—Arrival in the Bay of Aboukir.—Preparations for disembarkation.—Landing.—Attack and repulse of the French.—Sir Ralph Abercrombie advances—forces the French position—attempts the lines in front of Alexandria by a coup-de-main, and is repulsed.—Falls back, and takes up a position.

Whether the employment of a British force in Egypt, under the circumstances Europe then presented, was a judicious disposal of it, is a question that would involve too large a political inquiry; “but certain it is that any positive object would have been preferable to the indeterminate counsels and feebly executed plans which wasted the soldiers’ health and spirits, compromised the honour of the army, and so materially prejudiced the interests of a country.”[18]

In 1800, an attempt on Cadiz was planned and abandoned; and an army, the corps élite of Britain, was kept idly afloat in transports at an enormous expense, suffering from tempestuous weather, and losing their energies and discipline, while one scheme was proposed after another, only to be considered and rejected. By turns Italy and South America were named as countries where they might be successfully employed—but to both designs, on mature deliberation, strong objections were found; and on the 25th of October final orders were received from England, directing the fleet and army forthwith to rendezvous at Malta, and thence proceed to Egypt.

The troops on reaching the island were partially disembarked while the ships were refitting; and the fresh provisions and salubrious air of Valetta soon restored many who had suffered from long confinement and salt rations. Five hundred Maltese were enlisted to serve as pioneers. Water-casks were replenished, stores laid in, the troops re-embarked; and on the 20th of December, the first division got under weigh, followed by the second on the succeeding day.

Instead of sailing direct for their destination, the fleet proceeded to the Bay of Macri. Finding that roadstead too open, the admiral shaped his course for the coast of Caramania. There he was overtaken by a gale of wind,—and though close to the magnificent harbour of Marmorrice, its existence appears to have been known, out of a fleet of two hundred vessels, only to the captain of a brig of war. As the fleet were caught in a heavy gale on a lee shore, the result might have been most disastrous to the transports, who could not carry sufficient canvas to work off the land. Fortunately, Marmorrice proved a haven of refuge; and the surprise and pleasure of the soldiers can scarcely be described, when they found themselves in smooth water, and surrounded by the grandest scenery imaginable, “though, the instant before, the fleet was labouring in a heavy gale, and rolling in a tremendous sea.”[19]

Another landing of the troops took place, and no advantages resulted from it to compensate the loss of time which allowed the French to obtain strong reinforcements. Goat’s flesh was abundant, and poultry plentiful; but the Turks had probably been apprised beforehand of the munificence of the English, as every article was advanced on the arrival of the fleet four hundred per cent. in price.

The remount of the cavalry formed an ostensible, almost an only reason, for the expedition visiting Asia Minor, and consuming time that might have been so successfully employed. The horses arrived, but from their wretched quality and condition they proved a sorry equivalent for the expense and trouble their acquisition cost.[20]

While the expedition was in the harbour of Marmorrice, an awful tempest came suddenly on, and raged with unintermitting fury for two days. It thundered violently—hailstones fell as large as walnuts—deluges of water rushed from the mountains, sweeping every thing away. The horses broke loose—the ships drove from their anchors—the Swiftsure, a seventy-four, was struck with lightning—and many others lost masts, spars, and were otherwise disabled. Amid this elemental war, signal-guns fired from vessels in distress, and the howling of wolves and other wild animals in the woods, added to the uproar.

After a protracted delay in waiting for the Turkish armament, which was expected to have been in perfect readiness, the expedition left the harbour without it on the 23rd of February. The sight, when the fleet got under weigh, was most imposing; the men-of-war, transports, and store-ships amounting to one hundred and seventy-five sail.

The British army was composed of the whole or portions of twenty-seven regiments, exclusive of artillery and pioneers.[21] Its total strength in rank and file, including one thousand sick and five hundred Maltese, was fifteen thousand three hundred and thirty men. In this number all the attachés of the army were reckoned—and consequently the entire force that could have been combatant in the field would not exceed twelve thousand bayonets and sabres. This was certainly a small army with which to attack an enemy in possession of the country, holding fortified posts, with a powerful artillery, a numerous cavalry, and having a perfect acquaintance with the only places on the coast where it was practicable to disembark in safety.

On the 1st of March the Arab’s tower was in sight,—and next morning the whole fleet entered Aboukir Bay.[22] On the following morning a French frigate was seen running into Alexandria, having entered the bay in company with the British fleet.[23]

The weather was unfavourable for attempting a landing of the troops. This was a serious disappointment, and an accidental occurrence added to the inconvenience it would have otherwise caused. Two engineer officers, engaged in reconnoitring the coast, advanced too far into the bay through an over-zealous anxiety to mark out a landing-place. They were seen and overtaken by a French gun-boat, who fired into the cutter, killing one of the engineers and making the other prisoner. The survivor was brought ashore, and forwarded to Cairo to General Menou; and thus, had the British descent been before doubtful, this unfortunate discovery would have confirmed the certainty of an intended landing, and allowed ample time for preparations being made to oppose it.

The weather moderated in the morning of the 7th, and the signal was made by the flag-ship “to prepare for landing.” But the sea was still so much up that the attempt was postponed,—and with the exception of an affair between the boats of the Foudroyant and a party of the enemy, whom they drove from a block-house, that day passed quietly over.

The 8th was more moderate—the swell had abated—and preparations for the landing commenced. At two o’clock the first division were in the boats, amounting to five thousand five hundred men, under General Coote; while the ships, on board of which the remainder of the army still remained, were anchored as near the shore as possible, to allow the landing brigades their immediate support. The right and left flanks of the boats were protected by launches and gun-brigs; three sloops of war, with springs upon their cables, had laid their broadsides towards the beach; and the Fury and Tartarus had taken a position to cover the troops with the fire of their mortars.

The French were drawn up on a ridge of sandhills, with an elevated hillock in their centre, and twelve pieces of artillery in position along their line. The moment was one of absorbing interest—and many a heart beat fast as, in half-companies, the soldiers stood under arms in the launches, impatiently waiting for the signal to advance.

A gun was fired; off sprang the boats, while the men-of-war opened their batteries, and the bomb-vessels commenced throwing shells. The cannonade from the shipping was promptly returned by the French lines and Castle of Aboukir; while on swept the regiments towards the beach, under a furious discharge of shot and shells, and a torrent of grape and musketry, that ploughed the surface of the water,[24] or carried death into the dense masses of men crowded in the launches. But nothing could exceed the glorious rivalry displayed by both services in advancing: while shot was hailing on the water, the sailors, as the spray flashed from their oar-blades, nobly emulated each other in trying who should first beach his boat. Each cheered the other forward,—while the soldiers caught the enthusiastic spirit and answered them with loud huzzas. The beach was gained,—the 23rd and 40th jumped into the surf, reached the shore, formed as they cleared the water, and rushed boldly up the sandhills, never attempting to draw a trigger, but leaving all to be decided by the bayonet. The French regiments that confronted them were driven from the heights; while pressing on, the Nole hills in the rear, with three pieces of artillery, were captured.

The 42nd were equally successful; they formed with beautiful regularity in the face of a French battalion protected by two guns—and after defeating a charge of two hundred cavalry, stormed and occupied the heights.

While these brilliant attacks had been in progress, the Guards were charged by the French dragoons in the very act of landing, and a temporary disorder ensued. The 58th had formed on the right, and, by a well-directed fire, repulsed the cavalry with loss. The Guards corrected their line, and instantly showed front—while the French, unable to shake the formation of the British, retired behind the sandhills.

The transport boats had been outstripped by those of the men-of-war—and consequently, the Royals and 54th only touched the shore as the dragoons rode off. Their landing was, however, admirably timed; for a French column, under cover of the sandhills, was advancing with fixed bayonets on the left flank of the Guards. On perceiving these newly-landed regiments, its courage failed; it halted, delivered a volley, and then hastily retreated.

The British had now possession of the heights; the brigade of Guards was formed and advancing, and the boats returning to the ships for the remainder of the army. Observing this, the enemy abandoned their position on the ridge, and, retiring behind the sandhills in the rear, for some time kept up a scattered fire. But on the British moving forward they deserted the ground entirely, leaving three hundred killed and wounded, eight pieces of cannon, and a number of horses to the victors. The remainder of the brigades were safely disembarked—Sir Ralph Abercrombie landed—and a position taken up, the right upon the sea, and the left on Lake Maadie.

A landing in the face of an enemy, prepared and in position like the French, under a heavy cannonade, and effected on a dangerous beach, would naturally occasion a severe loss of life; and several promising officers, and nearly five hundred men, were killed, wounded, and missing. The only surprise is, that the casualties were not greater. The mode in which an army is debarked exposes it unavoidably to fire—and troops, packed by fifties in a launch, afford a striking mark for an artillerist. Guns, already in position on the shore, enable those who work them to obtain the range of an approaching object with great precision; and the effect of a well-directed shot upon a boat crowded with troops is necessarily most destructive.[25]

After the army had been united, it advanced by slow marches, some trifling skirmishing daily occurring between the advanced posts. On the 12th, the British bivouac was at the town of Mandora, and on the 13th Sir Ralph moved forward to attack the enemy, who were posted on a ridge of heights.

The French, reinforced by two half brigades of infantry, a regiment of cavalry from Cairo, and a corps from Rosetta, mustered about five thousand five hundred of that arm, with five hundred horse, and five-and-twenty pieces of artillery. Their position was well chosen, as it stood on a bold eminence having an extensive glacis in its front, which would allow full sweep for the fire of its numerous and well-appointed artillery. The English attack was directed against the right wing,—and in two lines, the brigades advanced in columns of regiments, the reserve covering the movements, and marching parallel with the first.

Immediately on debouching from a date-wood, the enemy descended from the heights, and the 92nd—the leading regiment on the left—was attacked by a furious discharge of grape and musketry; while the French cavalry charged down the hill, and threw themselves upon the 90th, which led the right column. Though the charge was most gallantly made, Latour Maubourg leading the dragoons at a gallop, a close and shattering volley from the 90th obliged them to turn along the front of the regiment, and retreat with a heavy loss. A few of the leading files, however, had actually reached the line, and were bayoneted in a desperate effort to break it. The attempt failed—and in executing his duty gloriously, their gallant leader was desperately wounded. The British pushed the reserve into action on the right; the Guards, in the rear, to support the centre, and Doyle’s brigade, in column, behind the left. The French were on every point forced from their position—but, covered by the fire of their numerous guns and the fusilade of their voltigeurs, they retreated across the plain, and occupied their own lines on the heights of Alexandria.

Dillon’s regiment, during this movement, made a brilliant bayonet charge, captured two guns, and turned them instantly on the enemy. Wishing to follow up this success, Sir Ralph attempted to carry the position by a coup de main; and advancing across the plain, he directed the brigades of Moore and Hutchinson to assault the flanks of the French position simultaneously. To attempt dislodging a force, posted as the enemy were, could only end in certain discomfiture. The troops could make no way[26]—a murderous fire of artillery mowed them down—“the French, no longer in danger, had only to load and fire; aim was unnecessary, the bullets could not but do their office, and plunge into the lines.” For several hours the English remained, suffering this exterminating fire patiently; and at sunset, the order being given to fall back, the army retired and took up a position for the night.[27]

The British loss, its strength considered, was immense. Eleven hundred men were killed and wounded,—while that of the enemy amounted barely to a third, with four field-pieces, which they were obliged to abandon.

A strong position was now taken by Sir Ralph; the right reached the sea, resting on the ruins of a Roman palace, and projecting a quarter of a mile over heights in front. This promontory of sandhills and ruins was some three hundred yards across, sloping gradually to a valley, which divided it from the hills which formed the rest of the lines. The extreme left appuied on two batteries—and Lake Maadie protected the rear—and the whole, from sea to lake, extended about a mile. In front of the right, the ground was uneven; but that before the centre would admit cavalry to act. The whole space had once been a Roman colony—and, on its ruined site, a hard-fought day was now about to be decided.

BATTLE OF ALEXANDRIA.

French position.—The English fortify their camp.—Occurrences.—Menou attacks the British lines.—Battle of the 21st.—The English commander wounded.—Casualties of both armies.—Remarks.—Death of Sir Ralph Abercrombie.

The French position was still stronger than the English lines, as it stretched along a ridge of lofty hills, extending from the sea on one side to the canal of Alexandria on the other. A tongue of land in the advance of their right, ran nearly for a mile parallel with the canal, and had obliged the British posts to be thrown considerably back, and thus obliqued their line. In a classic and military view, nothing could be more imposing than the ground on which Menou’s army were encamped. In the centre stood Fort Cretin; on the left, Fort Caffarelli; Pompey’s Pillar showed boldly on the right; Cleopatra’s Needle on the left; while Alexandria appeared in the background, with its walls extending to the sea; and at the extremity of a long low neck of land, the ancient Pharos was visible. Wherever the eye ranged, objects of no common interest met it: some of the “wonders of the world” were contiguous; and “the very ruins under foot were sacred from their antiquity.”

The British army had little leisure, and probably as little inclination, to indulge in classic recollections. The men were busily engaged in fortifying the position, bringing up guns for the batteries, and collecting ammunition and stores. The magazines were inconveniently situated; and to roll weighty spirit-casks through the deep sands was a most laborious task, and it principally devolved upon the seamen. The fuel was particularly bad, the billets being obtained from the date-tree, which it is almost impossible to ignite, and whose smoke, when kindling, pains, by its pungency, the eyes of all within its influence. Water was abundant, but of indifferent quality;[28] and as Menou, with a most unjustifiable severity, inflicted death upon the Arabs who should be found bringing sheep to the camp, the price of fresh provisions was high, and the supply precarious.

On the 10th, an affair took place between an enemy’s patrol and a detachment of British cavalry, under Colonel Archdale. It was a very gallant, but very imprudent encounter—a third of the men, and half the officers, being killed or taken. Another casualty occurred also, to the great regret of all. Colonel Brice, of the Guards, in going his rounds, was deceived by a mirage; and coming unexpectedly on an enemy’s post, received a wound of which he died the third day, a prisoner.

Menou was reported to be advancing; and an Arab chief apprised Sir Sydney Smith, that the French intended an attack upon the British camp next morning. The information was discredited; but the result proved that it was authentic.

On the 21st of March, the army, at three o’clock, as usual, stood to their arms—and for half an hour all was undisturbed. Suddenly, a solitary musket was fired, a cannon-shot succeeded it, and a spattering fusilade, broken momentarily with the heavier booming of a gun, announced that an attack was being made. The feebleness of the fire rendered it doubtful against what point the real effort of the French would be directed. All looked impatiently for daybreak, which, though faintly visible in the east, seemed to break more tardily the more its assistance was desired.

On the right, a noise was heard; all listened in breathless expectation; shouts and a discharge of musketry succeeded; the roar increased; momentarily it became louder,—there indeed the enemy were in force—and there the British line was seriously assailed.

Favoured by broken ground, and covered by the haze of morning, the French had partially surprised the videts, attacked the pickets, and following them quickly, drove them back upon the line. One column advanced upon the ruin field by the 58th, their drums beating the pas de charge, and the officers cheering the men forward. Colonel Houston, who commanded the regiment, fearing lest his own pickets might have been retiring in front of the enemy’s column, reserved his fire, until the glazed hats of the French were distinguishable in the doubtful light. The 58th lined a wall partly dilapidated, but which in some places afforded them an excellent breastwork; and the twilight allowed the French column to be only distinctly seen when within thirty yards of the post. As the regiment occupied detached portions of the wall, where its greater ruin exposed it to attack, an irregular but well-sustained fusilade was kept up, until the enemy’s column, unable to bear the quick and well-directed musketry of the British, retired into a hollow for shelter. There they reformed, and wheeling to the right endeavoured to turn the left of the redoubt, while another column marched against the battery occupied by the 28th. On the front attack the regiment opened a heavy fire—but part of the enemy had gained the rear, and another body penetrated through the ruined wall. Thus assailed on every side, the 58th wheeled back two companies, who, after delivering three effective volleys, rushed forward with the bayonet. The 23rd now came to support the 58th—while the 42nd moved round the exterior of the ruins, cutting off the French retreat; and of the enemy, all who entered the redoubt were killed or taken.

The situation of the 28th and 58th was, for a time, as extraordinary as it was dangerous—for at the same moment they were actually repelling three separate attacks, and were assailed simultaneously on their front, flanks, and rear.

The 42nd, in relieving the 28th, was exposed to a serious charge of French cavalry. Nearly unperceived, the dragoons wheeled suddenly round the left of the redoubt, and though the ground was full of holes, rode furiously over tents and baggage, and, charging en masse, completely overthrew the Highlanders. In this desperate emergency, the 42nd, with broken ranks, and in that unavoidable confusion which, when it occurs, renders cavalry so irresistible, fought furiously hand to hand, and opposed their bayonets fearlessly to the sabres of the French. The flank companies of the 40th, immediately beside them, dared not, for a time, deliver their fire, the combatants were so intermingled in the mêlée. At this moment General Stuart brought up the foreign brigade in beautiful order, and their heavy and well-sustained fusilade decided the fate of the day “Nothing could withstand it, and the enemy fled or perished.”

During this charge of cavalry, Sir Ralph Abercrombie, who had ridden to the right on finding it seriously engaged, advanced to the ruins where the contest was raging, after having despatched his aide-de-camp[29] with orders to the more distant brigades. He was quite alone; and some French dragoons having penetrated to the spot, one, remarking that he was a superior officer, charged and overthrew the veteran commander. In an attempt to cut him down, the old man, nerved with a momentary strength, seized the uplifted sword, and wrested it from his assailant, while a Highland soldier transfixed the Frenchman with his bayonet. Unconscious that he was wounded in the thigh, Sir Ralph complained only of a pain in his breast, occasioned, as he supposed, by a blow from the pommel of the sword during his recent struggle with the dragoon. The first officer that came up was Sir Sydney Smith, who, having broken the blade of his sabre, received from Sir Ralph the weapon of which he had despoiled the French hussar.

The cavalry being completely repulsed, Sir Ralph walked firmly to the redoubt on the right of the Guards, from which a commanding view of the entire battle-field could be obtained. The French, though driven from the camp, still maintained the battle on the right, and charging with their reserve cavalry, attacked the foreign brigade. Here, too, they were resolutely repulsed; and their infantry, finding their efforts everywhere unsuccessful, changed their formation and acted en tirailleur, with the exception of one battalion, which still held a flèche[30] in front of the redoubt, on either flank of which the Republican colours were planted.

At this time the ammunition of the British was totally exhausted; some regiments, particularly the reserve, had not a single cartridge; and in the battery the supply for the guns was reduced to a single round. In consequence, the British fire on the right had nearly ceased, but in the centre the engagement still continued.

There the attack had commenced at daybreak; a column of grenadiers, supported by a heavy line of infantry, furiously assailing the Guards, and driving in the flankers which had been thrown out to check their advance. Observing the echelon[31] formation of the British, the French general instantly attempted to turn their left; but the officer commanding on that flank as promptly prevented it, by throwing some companies sharply back, while Coote’s brigade having come up, and opening its musketry, obliged the enemy to give way and retire. Finding the attack in column fail, the French broke into extended order and opened a scattered fusilade, while every gun that could be brought to bear by their artillery was turned on the English position. But all was vain; though suffering heavily from this murderous fire, the formation of the Guards was coolly corrected when disturbed by the cannonade—while the fine and imposing attitude of these regiments removed all hope that they could be shaken, and prevented any renewal of attack.

The British left had never been seriously attempted, consequently its casualties were very few, and occasioned by a distant fire from the French guns, and a trifling interchange of musketry.

While the British right was, from want of ammunition, nearly hors de combat, the French approached the redoubt once more. They, too, had expended their cartridges—and both the assailants and assailed actually pelted the other with stones,[32] of which missiles there was a very abundant supply upon the ground. A sergeant of the 28th had his skull beaten in by a blow, and died upon the spot. The grenadiers of the 40th, however, not relishing this novel mode of attack and defence, moved out to end the business with the bayonet. Instantly the assailants ran—the sharpshooters abandoned the hollows—and the battalion, following their example, evacuated the flèche, leaving the battle-ground in front unoccupied by any save the dead and dying.

Menou’s attempts had all been signally defeated. He perceived that the British lines had sustained no impression that would justify a continuation of the attack, and he determined to retreat. His brigades accordingly moved off under the heights of their position in excellent order; and though, for a considerable distance, they were forced to retire within an easy range of cannon-shot, the total want of ammunition obliged the English batteries to remain silent, and permit the French march to be effected with trifling molestation. The cannon on the British left, and the guns of some men-of-war cutters, which had anchored close in with the land upon the right, kept up a galling fire, their shots plunging frequently into the French ranks, and particularly into those of a corps of cavalry posted on a bridge over the canal of Alexandria, to observe any movement the British left might threaten.

At ten o’clock the action had ended. Sir Ralph Abercrombie previously refused to quit the field, and remained exposed to the heavy cannonade directed on the battery where he stood, until perfectly assured that the French defeat had been decisive. From what proved a fatal wound he appeared at first to feel but little inconvenience, complaining only of the contusion on his breast.[33] When, however, the day was won, and exertion no longer necessary, nature yielded, and in an exhausted state he was carried in a hammock off the field, accompanied by the tears and blessings of the soldiery. In the evening he was removed, for better care, on board the flag-ship, where he continued until his death.

Immediate attention was bestowed upon the wounded, who, from the confined nature of the ground on which the grand struggles of the day had occurred, were lying in fearful numbers all around. Many of the sufferers had been wounded by grape-shot, others mangled by the sabres, or trodden down by the horses of the cavalry. Death had been busily employed. Of the British, two hundred and forty were dead, including six officers; eleven hundred and ninety men and sixty officers wounded; and thirty privates and three officers missing. Other casualties had occurred. The tents had been shred to pieces by the French guns, and many of the wounded and sick, who were lying there, were killed. No wonder could be expressed that the loss of life had been so terrible, for thousands of brass cannon-balls were lying loosely about, and glistening on the sands.

The French loss had been most severe. One thousand and fifty bodies were buried[34] on the field of battle, and nearly seven hundred wounded were found mingled with the dead. The total loss sustained by Menou’s army could not have been much under four thousand; and in this the greater portion of his principal officers must be included. General Roiz was found dead in the rear of the redoubt, and the French order of battle discovered in his pocket. Near the same place two guns had been abandoned,[35] and these, with a stand of colours, fell, as trophies of their victory, to the conquerors.

No army could have behaved more gallantly than the British. Surrounded, partially broken, and even without a cartridge left, the contest was continued and a victory won. That the French fought bravely, that their attacks were vigorously made, and, after discomfiture, as boldly repeated, must be admitted; and that, in becoming the assailant, Menou conferred an immense advantage on the British, is equally true. There Menou betrayed want of judgment; for had he but waited forty-eight hours the British must have attacked him. Indeed, the assault was already planned; and, as it was to have been made in the night, considering the strength of their position, and the fine matériel of the Republican troops, a more precarious trial could never have been hazarded. But the case was desperate; the successes of the 8th and 13th,—and dearly bought, though gloriously achieved, they were,—must have been rendered nugatory, unless forward operations could have been continued. In short, Menou fought Abercrombie’s battle—and he who must have been assailed, became himself the assailant.

Military criticism, like political disquisitions, come not within the design of a work merely intended to describe the action of the battle, or the immediate events that preceded or resulted; but, if the truth were told, during these brief operations, from the landing to the evening of the 21st, mistakes were made on both sides. The military character of Britain had been sadly lowered by mismanagement at home, and still more ridiculously undervalued abroad,—and it remained for future fields and a future conqueror to re-establish for England a reputation in arms, and prove that the island-spirit wanted only a field for its display.

After lingering a few days, the French Generals Lannuse and Bodet died of their wounds; and on the evening of the 28th, the British army had to lament the decease of their gallant and beloved commander. An attempt to extract the ball, attended with great pain, was unsuccessful. Mortification ensued, Sir Ralph sank rapidly, and while his country and his army engrossed his every thought, he expired, full of years and honour, universally and most justly lamented.[36]

The eulogy of his successor in command thus concludes: “Were it permitted for a soldier to regret any one who has fallen in the service of his country, I might be excused for lamenting him more than any other person; but it is some consolation to those who tenderly loved him, that as his life was honourable so was his death glorious. His memory will be recorded in the annals of his country, will be sacred to every British soldier, and embalmed in the recollection of a grateful posterity.”

CAPE OF GOOD HOPE.

Expedition to the Cape.—Troops employed. Occurrences during the voyage.—Fleet arrives on the coast of Africa.—Cape described. Its garrison. Janssens’ plans.—Landing delayed.—Effected on the 6th.—Action with the Batavian army.—Total defeat of Janssens.—Advance on Cape Town.—Its defences.—Town capitulates.—Negotiation between English and Dutch Generals.—Colony surrendered.

In 1805, the British Government, having ascertained that the Cape of Good Hope had only a force under two thousand regular troops for its protection, and that the militia and inhabitants were well-inclined to assist an English army, in case a landing should be made, determined to attempt the reduction of that colony, by the employment of a body of troops cantoned in the neighbourhood of Cork, assisted by some regiments already on board the India ships at Falmouth.

The expedition was to be a secret one—and the troops embarked at Cork were ostensibly intended for service in the Mediterranean. It was supposed that this report would prevent suspicion, particularly as the Company’s fleet sailed alone, as if its destination was really Madras direct. Sealed orders were, however, given to the commanders to be opened in a certain latitude,—and in these they were ordered to rendezvous at Madeira.

The troops composing the expedition were placed under the command of General Baird. They comprised the 24th, 38th, 59th, 71st, 72nd, 83rd, and 98th, part of the 20th light dragoons, with artillery, artificers, and recruits, making a total force of six thousand six hundred and fifty rank and file.

It was at first suspected that some troops which had left Rochfort in two line-of-battle ships, and escaped the vigilance of our cruisers, might have been intended to reinforce the garrison at the Cape, and General Baird conceived the corps intrusted to him not sufficiently strong to achieve the objects of the expedition. He asked, under this impression, for an additional force, and stated the grounds on which the request was made; but, in the mean time, it was ascertained that the French troops had proceeded to the West Indies; and that, therefore, the Cape of Good Hope had received no increase to its military establishment.

After another application to obtain an increase to the corps already under his orders, by having the 8th regiment added to the force, the expedition sailed, stopping at Madeira and St. Salvador to obtain water and provisions. Nothing of moment occurred in the voyage to South America; the passage was tedious, and an Indiaman and transport ran on a low sandy island, called the Roccas, and were totally lost. Fortunately, the men on board and twelve chests of dollars were saved from the wreck. Only three individuals perished;—of these, General Yorke, in command of the artillery, was one, and Major Spicer, the next in seniority, succeeded him. While staying at St. Salvador, the regiments were landed and inspected, a remount of fifty horses obtained for the cavalry, and, all arrangements being completed, the expedition sailed for its final destination on the 28th of November, and made the African coast, a little to the northward of the Cape, on the 4th of January, 1806.

“Table Bay, on the shore, and almost in the centre of which Cape Town stands, receives its name from that extraordinary eminence called Table Mountain, which rises about three thousand six hundred and eighty-seven feet above the level of the sea, and which terminates in a perfectly flat surface at that height, where the face of the rock on the side of Cape Town descends almost perpendicularly. To the eastward of the mountain, separated from it by a chasm, is Charles’s Mount, more generally called the Devil’s Tower; and on the westward, a round hill rises on the right hand of the bay, called the Lion’s Head, from which a ridge of high land, terminating in another smaller hill, called the Lion’s Rump, stretches towards the sea.”[37]

The town itself is handsome and extensive; and the streets, intersecting each other at right angles, are broad and airy generally built with stone, and with terraces in front. The Company’s gardens, walks, parade, and castle, all add to the beauty of the place, and render it superior to any colonial city in the possession of Great Britain.

The coast is everywhere dangerous—landing, excepting in the bays, and that, too, in favourable weather, almost impracticable—and hence, a very inferior force on shore, if the surf were at all up, might successfully resist any attempt at the disembarkation of an army.

The troops in garrison consisted of a detachment of Batavian artillery, the 22nd Dutch regiment of the line, a German regiment of Waldecks, and a native corps, which acted as light infantry. To these, an auxiliary battalion, formed from the seamen and marines of a frigate and corvette which had been wrecked upon the coast, were added; while a number of irregulars, mounted and dismounted, comprised of the boors, and armed with guns of enormous length of barrel, completed the force of General Janssens, who was then commandant at the Cape.

The governor had a high reputation, both as a soldier and a civilian, and from the excellence of his measures since his arrival at the Cape, was held most deservedly in great estimation by the colonists. On the appearance of the British fleet, although his numerical superiority was greater than that of his enemy, he wisely considered that the matériel of the invaders was far more efficient than his own; and leaving a garrison in Cape Town, he determined to fall back on the interior with the remainder of his troops, and carry on a desultory war, until the arrival of a French or Dutch fleet from Europe should enable him to resort to active measures and save the colony. This plan, though ruinous to the inhabitants if carried out, would have rendered the subjugation of the Cape a very difficult and tedious undertaking for the British—and in this posture of affairs the expedition made the coast, and came to anchor on the evening of the 4th, just out of range of the batteries in Table Bay.

The weather was fortunately calm, but the day was too far advanced to admit a landing of the troops—but all was prepared for effecting it on the morrow. The coast was sounded, the approaches to the town reconnoitred, and a small inlet, sixteen miles north-east of the town, called Leopard’s Bay, was selected as the point on which the troops should be disembarked. The transports accordingly weighed and took their stations, while the men-of-war got into a position to cover the landing, in case of opposition, with their guns.

During the night the surf had risen so prodigiously, that at daylight it was declared unsafe for boats to attempt the beach, and a landing at Saldana Bay was proposed. There it could be easily effected, but it would carry the army a distance from the town, separate it on its march from the fleet, oblige it to depend for its supplies on what provisions it could carry, or any which by accidental circumstances it could obtain on its route: it would also entail a harassing march of seventy miles on soldiers so long cooped up on shipboard; and that, too, in the hot season of the year, over a heavy sand, where water was not procurable.[38] Still, the uncertainty of the weather, and the necessity of an immediate attack, overcame all other objections; and on the evening of the 5th, General Beresford, with the 38th regiment and the 20th light dragoons, sailed for Saldana, with an understanding, that the remainder of the army should proceed thither on the following morning.

But daylight on the 6th broke with happier promise; the surf had gone down considerably; and it was at once decided that the troops should be landed without farther loss of time. The Highland brigade was instantly transferred from the transports to the boats, and the 71st, 72nd, and 93rd, effected a landing with but a single casualty, and that arising from the swamping of a launch, by which five-and-thirty Highlanders were drowned.

No other loss attended the operation—the light company of the 93rd cleared the brushwood of a few skirmishers that had been thrown out by the enemy—and the remainder of the troops debarked without any opposition.

The artillery, consisting of four six-pounders and a couple of howitzers, were landed on the 7th; and the whole of the force being now safely on shore, the British general commenced his march direct on Cape Town, the guns being dragged through the sands by fatigue parties furnished from the fleet.

The advance was unopposed until the English army had approached a line of heights, some four miles distant from the landing place. The Blawberg, as one of these eminences is called, was occupied by burgher cavalry—and the videts announced that General Janssens was in position on the other side of the high grounds, and his whole disposable force drawn up in order of battle. The march was steadily continued, and when the Blawberg was crowned by the advanced guard, the Batavian army, formed in two lines, with twenty-five pieces of artillery and a large corps of irregular cavalry, was discovered.

General Baird formed his corps into two columns of brigades; the right, comprising the 24th, 59th, and 83rd, under Lieutenant-Colonel Baird, commanding in the absence of General Beresford; and the left, consisting of the Highland regiments, under General Fergusson. While deploying into line, the Batavian guns opened, and their cavalry, by a left extension, threatened the right of the British. Baird’s brigade refused its right, checking the burgher horse with its musketry; and the Highland regiments on the left made a rapid movement under a heavy cannonade, and advanced to the charge. The right wing of the Batavian army broke without waiting an assault—the left followed the example—and the field was totally abandoned by the enemy, with a considerable loss in killed and wounded.

Without cavalry it was impossible to complete the déroute. The guns were, therefore, carried off; and quitting the road to Cape Town, Janssens, in pursuance of his previous plan, marched eastward, and moved towards Hottentot Holland, with a hope of protracting a war in the interior. Of course the capital was the object of the conqueror. The fleet was in an exposed anchorage—and to equip his army for ulterior operations, and secure his communication with the sea, it was necessary to possess Cape Town.

The advance was very distressing, and the troops suffered much. The badness of the roads, the heat of the weather, and worse still, the scarcity of water, was severely felt before the brigades, at a late hour, reached their bivouacs in Reit Valley, a farming establishment belonging to the Dutch government. Here some salt provisions, which had been floated through the surf, were brought up by the marines, and partitioned among the soldiers; while the few and scanty springs attached to the farm afforded them an indifferent supply of water. An immediate movement on the capital was imperative; and the next day the British reached a position beside the Salt River—an inlet some short distance from the strong lines which cover Cape Town.

These defences are formed of a chain of redoubts, with a connecting parapet, furnished with banquettes[39] and a dry-ditch. They extend about eight hundred yards, and unite the Devil’s Berg with the sea. These lines were very formidable, as they had been considerably strengthened by the English during their possession of the colony. One hundred and fifty guns and howitzers were mounted on the works; and several batteries had been erected on the escarpe of the mountain, that would have exposed assailing troops to a flanking fire, and, in storming the lines, occasioned a severe loss of life. One battery and blockhouse were placed on a shoulder of the hill, thirteen hundred feet above the level of the plain. But this was probably the least effective of the defences; as, in modern warfare, a plunging fire is not regarded much. A mile behind the lines the castle of Good Hope is situated at the entrance of the town. It is a pentagon, with outworks strong enough to require a regular approach; and that side of the city which overlooks the bay is secured alike by the fire of the castle, and a number of batteries mounted with guns of heavy calibre.

To carry works so extensive, and so formidable in their defences, with a small corps like Baird’s, unprovided with any artillery but the light field-pieces they had brought through the sands, was not to be attempted; and it was determined to obtain some heavy guns, and a reinforcement of seamen and marines from the fleet. But these were not required: the enemy sent out a flag of truce, and an armistice was agreed upon, which terminated ultimately in a capitulation. The town and its defences were given up to the British army, and, without a shot, works were surrendered to a force of not four thousand men, on which were mounted four hundred and fifty-six guns and mortars, most of them of the heaviest calibre.

Janssens, after his defeat, retired towards the interior; and having disbanded the militia and burgher cavalry, which had accompanied him, he took a position at Kloof, with twelve hundred regular troops, and some five-and-twenty guns. General Baird, anxious to effect the tranquillity of the colony and terminate hostilities at once, despatched General Beresford to make overtures to the Dutch governor, and induce him to capitulate. A long and doubtful negotiation took place between the British and Batavian commanders, which eventually ended in the whole of the colony of the Cape of Good Hope and its dependencies, with all the rights and privileges held and exercised by the Dutch government, being formally transferred to his Britannic Majesty.

Although the capture of the Cape was effected with trifling loss, and the opposition given to the British troops was far less formidable than might have been anticipated, still the operations which were so deservedly crowned with success, were boldly planned and bravely executed. Janssens exhibited no military talent,—and in a country abounding in strong positions, to offer battle in an open plain, and oppose an irregular force to a well-disciplined army, was a strange decision of the Batavian commander, and could only terminate in defeat. In an engagement in which the Dutch army was so easily routed, and the ulterior operations which followed, there was nothing of that brilliancy which marked other victories achieved by British bravery—but no conquest was attended with more advantages and permanent results. A noble colony was obtained for Great Britain with little loss of life—and the only portion of Africa worth her occupation was secured to the “Mistress of the Seas.”

MAIDA.

Preliminary remarks.—State of Sicily.—Change in the command.—French force in Calabria.—Sir John Stuart lands there.—Strength of British and French corps.—Reynier quits his position to attack Stuart—is completely defeated.—Casualties, French and British.—Subsequent operations.—Scylla captured.—Insurrection of the Calabrese.—Fall of Gaeta.—Scylla captured.—Garrison brought safely off.—Concluding observations.

It has been remarked with great justice, that until the Peninsular war had been for some time in progress, the military enterprises of Great Britain invariably failed from the blind policy of those who planned them. Instead of condensing the power of the empire into one grand and sustained effort, its strength was frittered away in paltry and unprofitable expeditions. An army, imposing in its full integrity, if subdivided into corps, and employed on detached services, and in different countries, can achieve nothing beyond a partial success—for soon after its divided brigades are landed on their scenes of action, their weakness produces their discomfiture, and they retire necessarily before a superior force. In the first moment of disembarkation it may create a temporary alarm; but beyond this no object can be gained, and the result ends in an idle demonstration.

Political details are generally unconnected with the actual occurrences on the battle-field; and it will be enough to remark, that Sicily should have at this period commanded more attention from England than she did. Naturally defensible, with a well-affected population of nearly a million and a half, she had been taught to place but little reliance on her allies. One British corps held Messina,—but a French force was moving to the extremity of Calabria, avowedly to drive it from the island. Though well-affected, the Sicilians were distrustful; they feared that they should be abandoned to the vengeance of those troops who had already overrun Naples,—and they believed that the British regiment waited only until the French army should make its descent, when they would embark for Malta, and leave the Sicilians to their fate.

At this time, Sir John Stuart succeeded Sir James Craig, a man best described by terming him an “old-school commander.” Under him the army had been totally inactive: and eight thousand excellent troops were permitted to occupy their quarters idly, when so much depended upon a bold, even though not a very fortunate, display of energy in the British. Stuart at once perceived the mischievous consequences this indolence of his predecessor had occasioned; and he determined by active operations to redeem the British army from the apathetic character it had too justly obtained among the Sicilian people.

The British corps, amounting to eight thousand men, was concentrated at Messina. In Calabria the French were considerably detached; and though numerically stronger, with three thousand in the South, four thousand in Upper Calabria, and the remainder occupying numerous posts, it was quite practicable to take them in detail, effect a landing between the two corps, engage them separately, and clear the country from St. Euphemia to the Castle of Scylla. To insure success, despatch and secrecy were required. The first rested with Stuart, and every arrangement necessary on his part was effected; the latter depended on the Sicilian court, and by it the secrecy of the intended expedition was undoubtedly betrayed.

On the 28th of June, at Melazzo, the embarkation of five thousand men was quietly accomplished—and on the third morning they landed on the beach of St. Euphemia. During the 2nd and 3rd stores and supplies were disembarked; and moving forward, on that evening the pickets of the rival armies confronted each other. The enemy’s force was at first supposed to be merely the division of Upper Calabria; but that of the South had formed a junction; and Reynier had now seven thousand infantry, and a few troops of cavalry amounting to three hundred and fifty sabres.

The British in numbers were greatly inferior. Five thousand infantry, six six-pounders and eight mountain guns, formed their whole strength. Reynier was also in position— his army being posted on some heights which overlooked the march of the British as they moved through a low country, at first partially wooded, but opening into a spacious plain, and of course permitting their numbers and dispositions to be correctly ascertained by their enemy during the advance.

This, as the result proved, was an unfortunate advantage for the French General. Whether reckoning too much on his opponent’s inferiority of force, or undervaluing the character of his soldiers, Reynier, supposing that Stuart, having advanced in error, would retire on discovering his mistake, abandoned the heights, passed a river in his front, and offered battle on the plain. As his columns approached, General Stuart at once perceived, from the ground they covered, that Reynier’s force was much larger than he had expected, and that he had united his detached brigades; but, with the just confidence of a British leader he trusted to the bravery of his troops; and in that safe reliance boldly stood “the hazard of the die.”

The battle commenced about nine o’clock—and there was no manœuvring on either side. The ground was level, and both armies, under cover of their light troops, advanced steadily and deployed into line. The enemy’s left was composed of voltigeurs, and the right of the British that opposed them (Kempt’s brigade) was formed of a light infantry battalion and the Corsician Rangers. After an interchange of three volleys, the French were ordered to advance—at the same time the British lowered their bayonets, and both pressed boldly forward. The front ranks were now within six paces of each other—the French advancing, cheered by the “En avant, mes enfans!” of their officers. The British needed no encouragement—on they came, with that imposing steadiness which told what the result must be, when bayonets crossed, and “steel met steel.” The voltigeurs had not firmness to abide the shock; they broke and turned, but too late for flight to save them. Their front rank was bayonetted and trodden down—while the rear endeavoured to escape by a disorderly rush from the field, exposed to severe loss from the British artillery.

Kempt’s gallant and successful charge was ably seconded by Ackland’s brigade, which held the right centre. They advanced against the demi-brigade opposed to them, forced it back across the Amato, and never allowed the routed wing one moment to rally. The pursuit was so ardently continued, that for a mile the French were followed by the victors, suffering heavily in killed and wounded, and losing a number of prisoners.

This success, though brilliant, was far from being decisive. The ardour of the right wing had carried it away, leaving the left totally unsupported, and open to Reynier’s undivided efforts. From the superiority of his force, he showed a larger front, and availing himself of this advantage, endeavoured to turn the British left—and in this attempt his cavalry had nearly succeeded. After a feint upon the centre, they wheeled sharply to the right making a flank movement, while their infantry threatened the English line with a charge. This was the crisis of the action. The French advanced,—Stuart refusing his flank, and obliqueing his line from the centre. Reynier’s cavalry were about to charge, when, fortunately, the 20th regiment, under Colonel Ross,[40] which had landed after the march of the army, came up. The attack was already made, the cavalry advancing, when Ross, under cover of some underwood, deployed in double-quick. Within a short distance, a close and murderous volley was thrown in, and the cavalry completely broken. The British line cheered and moved forward, the French gave way, and a complete déroute succeeded. No victory, considering the numbers opposed, could have been more decisive. Seven hundred killed, a thousand prisoners, and a large proportion of wounded, were the estimated loss of the enemy—while this was achieved by an amount of casualties greatly disproportioned, the victors having but one officer and forty-four men killed, and eleven officers and two hundred and seventy-one men wounded.

For that night the British army bivouacked on the battle-ground—and having received supplies from the shipping, advanced on the 6th to overtake the enemy’s rear; while a brigade under Colonel Oswald marched on the French depôt at Montelione, of which it took possession, making six hundred prisoners. The whole of the commissariat stores, with the entire baggage, and the military chest, were captured; and the remnant of the French army was saved only by abandoning arms and accoutrements, and retiring with all the confusion attendant upon a signal defeat.

Nothing could exceed the enthusiasm with which the victors were received. The defended places along the coast, turned on the land side by the army, of course surrendered unconditionally. The whole of the Peninsula was rapidly crossed, and on the 11th of July, the leading British brigade invested the Castle of Scylla.

This place, so deeply associated with ancient recollections, stands on a sheer rock, commanding the eastern point of the entrance of the Straits of Messina. The difficulties experienced by navigators occasionally in this confined channel, almost realize the old-world legends of its dangers. Once caught in the currents, when passing Cape Pelorus with light or contrary winds, a vessel must run for the anchorage, which lies directly beneath the batteries of the castle; and hence the possession of the place, especially to a maritime nation, was an object of paramount importance.

For some days the efforts of the English were confined to firing on the castle with the field guns. Of course, artillery of a light calibre could effect nothing but annoyance; until, on the 19th, when some heavy cannon were obtained from Messina. On the 21st they were placed in battery and opened with great effect; and on the same evening, as the guns were breaching rapidly, the commandant accepted terms, and surrendered the castle to the besiegers.

Until circumstances, unnecessary to detail here, induced the British army to abandon Calabria, Scylla was strengthened and maintained. The Calabrese were now in open insurrection—and a force, dangerous and dreaded by the French as the Spanish guerillas were afterwards, sprang up among the mountains of the upper province, and occasioned the invading army, under Massena, constant alarm, and sometimes a serious loss.

In a neglected country like Calabria, crime and violence were fostered by the total want of a police, and the difficulties which interposed in bringing offenders to justice. The mountains afforded a secure asylum to delinquents; there they retired when pursued, and there occasionally, uniting into bodies of considerable strength, by a sudden descent upon the low country, they interrupted the French communications, endangered their detached posts, and became at last so troublesome, as to require Murat’s most strenuous exertions, before their outrages could be repressed, and their leaders exterminated. To an élève, who from an aid-de-camp had been raised to the rank of general, the task was intrusted; and Manhes, it would appear, executed his orders with firmness and ability.[41] Though deserted by the allies on whom they had so strongly depended, the Calabrese, after the British had left their peninsula for Sicily, kept up a desultory contest; and, for a considerable time, “neither excessive severity of punishment, burning their villages, destroying their possessions, nor promises of amnesty, brought them to submit to Joseph’s government.”[42]

Gaeta, though second only to Gibraltar as a place of natural strength, after a weak defence, surrendered to the French. The Prince of Hesse Philipstal, who had been appointed governor, was, in the unhappy spirit of these times, intrusted with a command for which he was totally unsuited. He threw away his ammunition and ruined his artillery by a too early and ineffectual fire, himself standing for hours on the batteries performing the duty of a bombardier, and estimating the merit of his defence, rather by the number of rounds discharged from his guns, than their effect upon the besiegers.[43]

The Castle of Scylla was very differently defended. As a point of communication with the Calabrese, the British General had determined to hold it to the last,—and such were the instructions given to Colonel Robertson, and the orders were admirably fulfilled. As the fortress, seaward, was open to the fleet, a flight of steps was cut in the rock to the water’s edge, and this outlet to the sea was not visible from any ground occupied by the enemy. When Scylla was literally reduced to a heap of ruins, and the French in the very act of entering a breach so extensively ruined as to be totally indefensible, the garrison, during a lull in a gale that had been blowing for two preceding days, were cleverly brought off.

On the morning of the 15th, Colonel Robertson announced by telegraph to Sir Sydney Smith that the works were nearly destroyed, and his guns dismounted or disabled. When the gale moderated on the 19th, the Admiral instantly gave orders to rescue the soldiers,—and the men-of-war boats pulled right across the bay under a tremendous fire, and relieved the brave garrison with a loss comparatively trifling. The French were actually in the fort, their batteries maintaining a sweeping fire of grape-shot and shells, and yet in this bold and successful effort, the united casualties of both services did not amount to more than twenty men.

Although military achievements, on a minor scale, have been eclipsed by the more brilliant conquests obtained by British armies in subsequent campaigns, still Maida was not only a glorious, but, in its results, a most important victory. Independently of humbling a presumptuous enemy, raising the depressed reputation of the British army, and converting the distrusting population of Sicily into grateful admirers,[44] the positive results of Sir John Stuart’s expedition were the destruction of all the military and naval resources of Calabria, and the occupation of a post which for eighteen months secured the navigation of the Straits of Messina, and, in a great degree, occasioned the meditated descent on Sicily to fail.

OPENING OF PENINSULAR WAR.
BATTLE OF ROLICA.

British troops sent to the Continent.—Failure of the expedition to Gottenburgh.—State of Portugal.—An army despatched to assist in its deliverance.—Lands in Mondego bay.—Advance of the British.—Movements of the French.—Village of Rolica.—Battle.—Anecdotes and death of Colonel Lake.—Arrival of reinforcements.

The employment of a British army to assist in the liberation of Portugal appears only to have been decided upon, after the wildest design which ever crossed the imagination of a blundering statesman, had been found too absurd even to admit of an experimental trial. It had been considered advisable to turn a military force against the over-weening influence of Napoleon on the Continent; and an army of ten thousand men, under the command of Sir John Moore, was accordingly despatched, in May, 1808, to assist Sweden in defending herself against the united powers of Russia, France, and Denmark. On reaching Gottenburgh, the British regiments were not even permitted to debark; but men and horses, after a tedious voyage, were left by their inhospitable ally “tossing in the anchorage.” Though reduced to a pitiable state of weakness, the Swedish monarch was actually dreaming of conquest; and, a power politically impotent, demanded of those despatched to assist in his defence, that they should join him in aggression. A descent on the island of Zealand, in face of armed fortresses and a superior force, was first propounded, and, of course, rejected. “It was next proposed that the British alone should land in Russian Finland, storm a fortress, and take a position there.” This notion was still more preposterous than the former; and Sir John Moore endeavoured to prove that “ten thousand British soldiers were insufficient to encounter the undivided force of the Russian empire, which could be quickly brought against them, at a point so near St. Petersburgh.”[45] Some other projects, equally impracticable, were declined—and this ill-advised expedition ended as might have been expected. After being exposed to the indignity of an arrest, the British general returned to England with his army, “leaving Sweden,” in Napoleon’s words, “to fulfil her destinies.”

Spain had in the mean time been overrun by the French armies,—the capital was occupied, the dynasty changed, and the kingdom prostrate at the feet of Napoleon. Yet in this gloomy hour, when trodden to the earth, the national spirit remained unbroken—and the flame of popular discontent was not quenched, but smouldering. Cruelty and oppression had roused the Spaniards into action—a desultory war raged in several provinces—and every day it became more formidable and fierce.

Nor was this hostility to foreign domination confined to Spain; it had spread itself to Portugal, and Junot’s arbitrary measures roused a spirit of resistance that wanted but an opportunity to display itself. A recurrence to terrorism by the French lieutenant only provoked retaliation. Oporto revolted, and deforced the garrison—a rising in the north, and the establishment of a provisional government succeeded—while, simultaneously, the insurrection broke out in the opposite extremity of the kingdom; and the French, after an unsuccessful attempt to suppress it, were driven from Algarve.

Junot, at first, endeavoured to conciliate and gain time, should no other object be achieved—but the Portuguese saw clearly his designs, and would no longer permit themselves to be deluded by the hollow professions of one, whom they justly looked upon as the enslaver of their country. Risings became general; and to repress this spirit of insubordination, the French resorted to severity. It was decreed, that resistance to the troops should be punished by the destruction of the town or village where it occurred; and that individuals taken in arms should be shot, their property pillaged, and their houses levelled to the earth. These were no idle threats—on the contrary, they were carried into ferocious execution. Leyria was destroyed by Margaron—and Loison’s treatment of the inhabitants of Evora and Guardo is indelibly branded on the revengeful memories of the Portuguese. These towns were razed and plundered, numbers of their citizens and priests put to the sword, the women violated, and to neither sex nor age was mercy extended. To crown the whole, excessive contributions were laid upon an impoverished people—and inability to pay made a pretext for spoliation. Could it then be wondered at that a terrible reaction ensued—that the country should be overrun by guerillas[46]—and that vengeance, when it could be obtained, was most unmercifully exacted?

At this momentous period, England determined to make an effort in the cause of freedom, and come to the assistance of the oppressed. Although crippled by the number of irregular bands that were swarming over Alentejo, Junot held the fortresses of Almeida, Elvas, and Peniche, which, with the minor posts in their possession, gave the French a hold upon the country from which it would be difficult to drive them.

The force destined for the relief of Portugal was sent partly from Ireland, and partly from Gibraltar. Nine thousand men from Cork, under Sir Arthur Wellesley, landed in Mondego bay on the 6th of August—and these were joined, two days afterwards, by Spencer’s division of five thousand—making thus a total force of about fourteen thousand, in which two hundred of the 20th light dragoons and eighteen pieces of artillery were included.

A combined movement with a Portuguese corps under Bernardine Friere having been arranged, it was determined to move at once upon the capital; and on the morning of the 9th the British advanced guard, consisting of a part of the 60th and 95th rifles, commenced its march, supported by the brigades of Generals Hill and Ferguson. On the next day the remainder of the army followed—the men provided with sixty rounds of cartridges, provisions for three days, and attended by a number of mules, loaded with stores of various descriptions. “No troops ever took the field in higher spirits, or in a state of more perfect discipline. Confident in their leader likewise, and no less confident in themselves, they desired nothing more ardently than to behold their enemy.”[47]

On the 12th, Friere’s corps joined at Leiria, but, under different pretexts, the Portuguese commander declined co-operating as he had promised, and limited his assistance to one weak brigade of infantry and two hundred and fifty horse. Undaunted by this early disclosure of imbecility and bad faith, Sir Arthur determined to push on, and endeavour to engage the Duke of Abrantes before he could unite himself with Loison.

On receiving intelligence of the descent of the English, Junot, adding the brigade of Thomieres to that of Delaborde,[48] despatched the latter towards Mondego, to observe the enemy closely, and use every means to retard their advance. Delaborde, accordingly moving to the coast, found himself on the eve of an affair with the British—and he fell back leisurely as they advanced. His rear-guard quitted Caldas the evening before Sir Arthur entered it; and on the following morning, and for the first time on the Peninsula, the rival armies of France and England found themselves in each other’s presence.

On the 15th, a trifling affair of outposts produced a few casualties,—and on the 16th, Delaborde’s position was reconnoitred and dispositions made to attack it.

This, in a European command, was to be Wellington’s maiden field. In the numbers engaged, Rolica bore no proportion to the masses combatant in future battles—but it was a well-contested and sanguinary encounter—and worthy to be the name first engraven on the long scroll of victories of which it gave such glorious promise.

The French position, in natural strength and romantic beauty, was unequalled; and when Delaborde had made up his mind to risk a battle, he displayed consummate judgment in selecting the ground on which the trial of strength should be decided.

The villages of Rolica and Caldas stand at either extremity of an extensive valley, opening to the west. In the centre Obidos, with its ruined castle and splendid aqueduct, recalls the days of Moorish glory. The village of Rolica stands on a bold height, surrounded by vineyards and olive groves—and a sandy plain extends in front, thickly studded with shrubs and dwarf wood. The eminence on which the village is placed, and where the French general formed his line of battle, had one flank resting on a rugged height, and the other on a mountain impassable to any but a goat-herd. Behind, lay a number of passes through the ridges in his rear, affording Delaborde a means of retreat; or, if he chose to contest them, a formidable succession of mountain posts.

All the arrangements for attack having been completed on the preceding evening, at dawn the British got under arms. A sweeter morning never broke,—the mountain mists dispersed, the sun shone gloriously out, a thousand birds were singing, and myriads of wild flowers shed their fragrance around. Nature seemed every where in quiet and repose—presenting a strange contrast to the roar of battle which immediately succeeded, and the booming of artillery, as, repeated by a thousand echoes, it reverberated among the lately peaceful hills.

In three columns, the allied brigades left their bivouacs. The right (Portuguese), consisting of twelve hundred infantry and fifty dragoons, were directed to make a considerable detour, turn the enemy’s left flank, and bear down upon his rear. The left, two brigades of infantry, three companies of rifles, a brigade of light artillery, and forty horse, were to ascend the hills of Obidos, drive in Delaborde’s posts, and turn his right at Rolica. Ferguson, who commanded, was also to watch lest Loison should move from Rio Mayor, and, if he came up, engage him, and prevent a junction with Delaborde. The centre, composed of four brigades,—those of Hill, Crawford, Nightingale, and Fane,—two brigades of guns, the remainder of the cavalry, and four hundred caçadores,[49] were directed to advance up the heights and attack the enemy in front.

To traverse the distance between the British bivouac and French outposts (three leagues), consumed a good portion of the morning; and the march to the battle-ground, whether viewed with relevance to the beauty of its scenery, or the order of its execution, was most imposing.

When sudden irregularities of the surface disturbed the order of a column, it halted until the distances were corrected, and then marched silently on with the coolness of a review. Presently the light troops became engaged, the centre broke into columns of regiments, while the left pressed forward rapidly, and the rifles, on the right, bore down on the tirailleurs. Delaborde’s position was now critical, for Ferguson, topping the heights, threatened his rear. But the French general acted promptly—he abandoned the plain, and falling back upon the passes of the Sierra, took up a new position less assailable than the former one; and, from the difficult nature of the mountain surface, requiring, on Sir Arthur’s part, a new disposition of attack.

Five separate columns were now formed, and to each a different pass was allotted. The openings in the heights were so narrow and difficult, that only a portion of the columns could come into fire. The pass on the extreme right was attacked by the Portuguese; the light troops of Hill’s brigade and the 5th regiment advanced against the second; the centre was to be carried by the 9th and 29th, the fourth by the 45th, and the fifth by the 82nd.

Unfortunately the front attack was made either too soon, or difficulties had delayed the flanking corps—and, in consequence, the passes were all stormed, before Delaborde had been even aware that he was endangered on his flank and rear. Regardless of the ground, than which nothing could be more formidable, the assailants mounted the ravines. Serious obstacles met them at every step—rocks and groves overhung the gorges in the hills—and where the ground was tolerably open for a space from rocks, it was covered thickly with brushwood and wild myrtle. Thus the order of the column was deranged; while a broken surface concealed the enemy, and suffered the French to keep up a withering fusilade on troops who had not leisure to return it.

The centre pass, on which the 29th and 9th were directed to advance, was particularly difficult. The 29th led, and the 9th supported it. Entering the gorge undauntedly, the leading companies were permitted to approach a ravine, with precipitous rocks on one side and a thick myrtle wood on the other. From both a tremendous fire was unexpectedly opened. In front and on the flanks, the men fell by dozens; and, as the leading company was annihilated, the column, cumbered by its own dead and wounded, was completely arrested in its movement. But the check was only momentary. Colonel Lake, who led the regiment on horseback, waved his hat and called on the men to follow. A wild cheer was returned, and a rush made up the pass. Notwithstanding the sustained fusilade on every side, the forward movement was successful—and after overcoming every attempt to repel their daring charge, with diminished numbers the 29th crowned the plateau.

But the enemy were not to be easily beaten. Before the 9th could clear the pass, or the 29th form their line, a French battalion advanced and charged. They were most gallantly received; a severe contest ensued; and, after a mutual slaughter, the enemy were repulsed. With increased numbers, again and again the charges were repeated and repelled. At last the 9th got into action; and the head of the 5th regiment began to shew itself as it topped the summit of the second pass. On every point the attacks had been successful—and to save himself from being cut off, Delaborde retired in perfect order; and from the difficulty of the ground and his superiority in cavalry, although pressed by the light troops, effected his retreat with little molestation.

This brilliant affair, from the strength of their position, and the obstinacy with which the French contested every inch of ground, cost the British a heavy loss. Even, when forced from the heights, Delaborde attempted to take a new position, and hold the village of Zambugeira. But he was driven back with the loss of three guns—and retreating through the pass of Runa, by a long night march, he gained Montecheque next day.

The French casualties in killed, wounded, and prisoners amounted to a thousand men—and the British to about half that number.[50] Delaborde was among the wounded—and Colonel Lake in the return of the killed.

As this promising officer was universally regretted, the following anecdotes of one whom “the officers adored, the soldiers revered, and there were few who would not have laid down their lives for,” will not be uninteresting.

When immediately in the presence of the French 82nd, and a combat seemed inevitable, Lake’s countenance appeared glowing with delight. At this moment he turned round, calling out, “Gentlemen, display the colours.” The colours flew, the horse and he had another prance,[51] when he turned again, and addressed the line:—“Soldiers, I shall remain in front of you, and remember that the bayonet is the only weapon for a British soldier.” The French at this instant retired, and the right of the 29th meeting the road, broke into sections and followed through the village of Colombeira.

The following is a characteristic anecdote of this lamented officer:

“The evening before the affair of Rolica, there was every reason to believe the regiment would be among the first troops engaged the next morning, and there were two bad subjects under sentence of a court-martial for petty plundering. Colonel Lake, when he formed his regiment in the evening for the punishment of the two culprits, knew full well that every man was satisfied they deserved it; but he did not say that. He spoke to the hearts of his soldiers; he told them he flogged those men not alone because they deserved it; but that he might deprive them of the honour of going into action with their comrades in the morning, and that he might not prevent the guard who was stationed over them from participating in it. The regiment was in much too high a state of discipline to admit of a word being said, but they were repeated all the evening from mouth to mouth; and the poor fellows who were flogged declared to me that they would willingly on their knees at his feet, if they dared, have begged, as the greatest favour he could bestow, to be allowed to run the risk of being shot first, with the certainty of being flogged afterwards if they escaped.”

Mr. Guthrie thus describes his death:—“A narrow steep ravine seemed the only accessible part—and up this Lake without further hesitation, led his grenadiers on horseback. The whole regiment followed with unexampled devotion and heroism, and gained the summit, but not without the loss of three hundred men in the desperate conflict, which took place almost hand to hand in the olive grove half way up the hill. Broken and overpowered by numbers, Lake fell, and his soldiers would have been driven down, if the 9th regiment had not rushed up with equal ardour, led by a no less gallant soldier, Colonel Stewart. The two regiments formed on the crown of the hill, supported on their right by the 5th, which had been less opposed, and the French retired, finding that their right was by this time turned. Colonel Lake, on horseback on the top of the hill, seemed to have a charmed life. One French officer, of the name of Bellegarde, said afterwards that he had fired seven shots at him. Once he seemed to stagger as if he was hit, but it was only at the seventh shot he fell. It is probable he was right, for he was wounded in the back of the neck slightly; but the ball which killed him passed quite through from side to side beneath the arms; I think he must have fallen dead. The serjeant-major, Richards, seeing his colonel fall, stood over him, like another Ajax, until he himself fell wounded in thirteen places by shot and bayonet. I gave him some water in his dying moments, and his last words were, ‘I should have died happy if our gallant colonel had been spared’—words that were reiterated by almost every wounded man.”

Delaborde’s defeat having left the road to Torres Vedras open, Sir Arthur pursued the French to Villa Verde, where the British halted for the night—and cheered by his opening success, the English leader seemed determined to improve it. Orders were accordingly issued to prepare for a rapid march next day, and “it seemed as if no check would be given to the ardour of the troops till they should have won a second victory.” But despatches were received that night, announcing the arrival of General Anstruther with a reinforcement of troops and stores. The fleet were reported to be at anchor off Peniche; and, to cover the disembarkation, and unite himself with the corps on board the transports, Sir Arthur’s march was directed on Lourinho. There the British bivouacked that night,—and on the next morning took a position beside the village of Vimiero.

VIMIERO.

Vimiero.—Interview between the British Generals ends unsatisfactorily.—Junot unites his brigades, and advances.—Battle of Vimiero.—Burrard refuses to advance.—Observations.

Vimiero stands at the bottom of a valley, and at the eastern extremity of a ridge of hills extending westward towards the sea. The river Maceira flows through it—and on the opposite side, heights rise eastward, over which winds the mountain road of Lourinho. In front of the village a plateau of some extent is slightly elevated above the surrounding surface; but it, in turn, is completely overlooked by the heights on either side. The British, never anticipating an attack, had merely taken up ground for the night, and with more attention to convenience than security. Six brigades occupied the high ground westward of Vimiero—one battalion, the 50th, with some rifle companies, were bivouacked on the plateau, having a half brigade of nines, and a half brigade of six pounders. The eastern heights were occupied by pickets only, as water could not be procured in the vicinity—and in the valley, the cavalry and reserve artillery had taken their ground for the night.

The communication immediately made by Sir Arthur Wellesley to his senior officer, Sir Harry Burrard, both of the past and the intended operations, had been unfavourably received—and Sir Harry declined the daring but judicious step of an immediate advance on Mafra, by which the position taken by the French on the heights of Torres Vedras must have been necessarily turned. In fact, to every suggestion of Sir Arthur he raised continuous objections, and seemed totally opposed to any forward movement. He pleaded, in apology for inaction, that the cavalry was weak—the artillery badly horsed; that a march, which should remove the British from their shipping, would interrupt their supplies and endanger the army; and the best of the bad reasons which he gave, was the expected arrival of Sir John Moore with a strong reinforcement. It was useless in Sir Arthur Wellesley to point out, as he did, the advantages of an advance, with an assurance, which proved true, that if they did not, the French would become assailants. Sir Harry appeared to have formed a stubborn resolution of remaining quiet that no argument or remonstrance could disturb—and Sir Arthur Wellesley returned to his camp, convinced that the military incapacity of his superior officer would, when it paralyzed early success as it did that of Rolica, entail upon the expedition ulterior disaster and disgrace. It was otherwise decreed—and the decision of an enemy wreathed the laurel on Wellesley’s brow, of which the timidity of a feeble-minded colleague would have robbed him.

Delaborde had executed his orders to check the advance of the British with a zeal and ability that added greatly to his military reputation. Junot, in the interim, was actively engaged in concentrating his brigades, and drawing every disposable man from his garrisons, to enable him to bring a force to bear against the British, that, from its superior formation, must ensure success. His whole corps was formed into two divisions; Delaborde commanding one, and Loison the other—while the reserve, composed entirely of grenadiers, was entrusted to Kellerman. All his dispositions having been completed, the Duke of Abrantes advanced to Vimiero, where he had ascertained that his enemy was halted.

Sir Arthur was awakened at midnight by a German officer in charge of the outlying picket, with the intelligence of Junot’s movements, and an assurance that an attack was certain, as the French advance was not above a league distant. Patrols were immediately sent out; and while every care was taken against surprise, the line was not alarmed, nor the men permitted to be disturbed.

Junot quitted his position on the evening of the 20th, and marched all night by roads bad in themselves, and interrupted by numerous defiles; consequently great delay occurred, and it was seven o’clock next morning, when he arrived within four miles of the British outposts. The formation of his columns was effected unseen, as the broken ground behind which he made his dispositions, entirely concealed his movements. The first intimation of a serious attack was only given, when a mass of Junot’s cavalry deployed in front of the picket that was observing the Lourinho road. Perceiving instantly the point on which the French were about to direct their column, Sir Arthur crossed the ravine with the brigades of Ferguson, Nightingale, Aucland, and Bowes, thus securing his weakest point—the left—before Junot had made a demonstration against it.

Presently the enemy’s columns came on; the right by the Lourinho road, and left marching on the plateau, occupied by the 50th and rifles. The onset of both divisions was made with the usual impetuosity of Frenchmen, and in both the British skirmishers were driven in.

The British right was furiously attacked. Unchecked by the light troops covering the line, the French came boldly forward, until it found itself directly in front of the 36th, 40th, and 71st. It deployed instantly—and several volleys of musketry were mutually returned, and at a distance so close as to render the effect murderous. But the fusilade was ended quickly; the 82nd and 29th pushed forward, and joined their comrades when pressed by an enormous superiority. “Charge!” was the order; and a cheer, “loud, regular, and appalling,” announced that England was coming on.

The French stood manfully; but though they waited the onset, they could not withstand it. They were driven from the field—a vain attempt to rally, when the 71st and 82nd had flung themselves on the ground to recover breath, failed—and six guns were taken. The front rank of the French division was literally annihilated—it lay as it had fallen—and told with what determination it had stood, and the desperation with which it had been assaulted.

On the left, the French column having pushed the rifles before it, advanced upon the 50th formed in line. The regiment was strong, numbering about nine hundred bayonets, and supported by a half brigade of guns; and though the French had seven pieces with their column, it suffered heavily from the British canonnade. The enemy’s advance was made in close order of half battalions. Sheltered from the fire of the artillery, the French halted behind a broken hillock, closed up their ranks, and advanced to the attack. The 50th remained until this moment with “ordered arms.” With excellent judgment, the colonel, leaving the left wing of his regiment in line, threw his right into echelons of companies, and ordered it to form line upon the left. But there was not time to complete the formation, as the enemy came on, opening a hot but inefficient fire from its flanks. Part of the right wing of the 50th bore directly on the angle of the advancing column—and when within twenty paces, the order was given to fire, and that to “charge!” succeeded. Broken totally by the close discharge, the angle of the column forced itself on the centre; all was instantly disorganized, and the artillery cutting their traces, added to the confusion. The British pressed on—the French got mobbed—and assisted by part of the 20th light dragoons, a column five times numerically superior, were for two miles fairly driven from their ground by one regiment, until they were relieved by the French cavalry reserve, which came up in a force not to be resisted.

While these more important operations were repulsed, the town of Vimiero was attacked by a lesser column (Kellerman’s reserve), that had flanked the larger, and the 43rd regiment was furiously assailed. One company occupied the churchyard, another held some houses that covered the road by which the French attack was made; and the fire of both was so destructive, that the column was repelled with immense slaughter. On the extreme left, the 97th and 52nd repulsed Delaborde with considerable loss; on every point the attack failed, and the field was won.

No troops fought better than the French—and no battle could have been more determinately contested. The enemy’s reserve “performed prodigies of valour, advancing under cross fire of musketry and cannon, and never giving way until the bayonets of the British troops drove them down the descent.”[52] But they were routed on every side; and, with relation to the numbers engaged, the slaughter was terrific. Upwards of three thousand Frenchmen were killed and wounded, and a number of prisoners made—while the British loss was computed, in killed, wounded, and missing, at seven hundred and eighty-three.

One casualty was sincerely deplored. In leading a squadron of the 20th, Lieutenant-colonel Taylor was killed. He had charged the broken infantry of Kellerman, and committed sad havoc among the élite of the reserve—when, surrounded by a whole brigade of French cavalry, he fell in the mêlée, shot through the heart.

Sir Harry Burrard landed after the battle commenced, but very prudently left the termination of the contest in his hands by whom the first dispositions had been made. Sir Harry was not in time to assist in the victory—but he had ample leisure to mar its results. Wellesley urged that this was the moment to advance, push on to Torres Vedras, place Junot between two fires, and oblige him to begin a retreat of immense difficulty by Alenquer and Villa Franca. All was admirably prepared for the movement. The supply of ammunition was sufficient, provisions were abundant, and the troops in high courage and superb discipline. The French, on the contrary, were depressed by an unexpected defeat; and, greatly disorganized and wearied by long marches, were certain of being materially inconvenienced by an immediate advance of the British.

But Sir Harry was immoveable. He had made his mind up to await the arrival of Sir John Moore before he should advance a step from Vimiero. A victory had been gained—a complete and brilliant victory. But what was that to him? “The cavalry,” he said, “were certainly not strengthened, nor the artillery horses improved, by the exertions they had undergone.” Stop he would—and Junot was permitted to return without annoyance; and the British, who should have never halted until they had reached Lisbon, rested on the ground they won.

Is it not inconceivable, that Britain should have consigned her armies to the leading of antiquated tacticians, bigoted in old-world notions, and who would scarcely venture beyond a second bridge, without spending half the day in reconnoitring? But such things were—and the energies of the first military people in the world were paralyzed for half a century, by commands being entrusted to men, who, in cases of ordinary embarrassment, would have been found incompetent to extricate a regiment from a difficulty. But such things were!

CAMPAIGN OF SIR JOHN MOORE.

Burrard succeeded by Dalrymple.—Sir Arthur Wellesley returns home.—British army reinforced.—Sir John Moore appointed to the command in chief—Assembles his army at Villa Vicosa—Advances.—Spanish armies defeated.—Fall of Madrid.—Prepares to attack Soult.—Affair of Sahagun.—Retreat commences.—Narrative of its occurrences.—Battle of Corunna.—Death and character of Sir John Moore.—Troops return to England.

A period of inaction succeeded the victory at Vimiero. Burrard was superseded in his command by Sir Hew Dalrymple—and the convention of Cintra perfected, by which an army was restored to France, that, had Sir Arthur Wellesley’s advice been attended to, must have been eventually destroyed, or driven into such extremity as should have produced an unconditional surrender. Other articles in this disgraceful treaty, recognised a full exercise of rights of conquest to the French—secured to them the enormous plunder their rapacity had accumulated—and granted an amnesty to every traitor who had abandoned his country, and aided the invaders in effecting its subjugation. No wonder that this precious convention occasioned in England a universal feeling of disgust. No wonder that blood spilled in vain, and treasure uselessly wasted,[53] roused popular indignation to a pitch of excitement which no occurrence in modern history can parallel.

The particulars of the treaty of Cintra, immediately on being known in England, occasioned the recall of Sir Hew Dalrymple; while under the plea of ill health, his colleague, Sir Harry Burrard, resigned and returned home. What a different result the Portuguese campaign would have exhibited, had these two old gentlemen been left in a district command, and not been allowed to check a career of victory which opened with such glorious promise!

Sir Arthur Wellesley had already returned to England, and many officers of all ranks followed his example. The command of the army devolved on Sir John Moore, a man most deservedly respected by the country, and popular with his soldiers.

Meanwhile, the general indication of national resistance to French oppression on the part of the Spaniards, encouraged hopes that if assisted by England, the independence of the Peninsula might be restored. This was a consideration worthy of a statesman’s serious regard in both France and Britain—for the thraldom or independence of Spain was an object of vital importance. As to what might be expected from the Spaniards themselves in any attempt made for their own liberation, their invaders and their allies seemed to have formed an erroneous estimate—the English overrating the importance of their exertions in the field, as much as the French undervalued that patriotic impulse, which had wakened up the slumbering spirit of the people. The British cabinet, however, determined to foster this national feeling—and by munificent supplies, and the presence of an English army, stimulate the Spanish people to assert their lost liberty, and fling off a yoke no longer tolerable. For this purpose, a force of twenty thousand men was directed to be assembled at Valladolid—and a reinforcement of thirteen thousand, under Sir David Baird, was despatched from England to join them—the whole were to be placed under the orders of Sir John Moore.

Although Sir David’s corps was landed by the middle of October, the army of Lisbon was not in a condition to move until the end of the month—and then, under a false belief that the direct rout to Salamanca was impracticable for the passage of artillery, the batteries and cavalry, with a protecting brigade of three thousand infantry, were moved by Badajoz and the Escurial, entailing on them an additional march of upwards of one hundred and fifty miles. Worse still, a delay in commencing operations was unavoidable, and that was attended with the worst results.

The whole of Sir John Hope’s corps having been at last collected, and the cavalry assembled at Villa Vicosa, the order to move forward was given. On the 5th of November, Sir John Moore was at Atalia, on the 8th he reached Almeida, and on the 11th his advanced guard crossed the rivulet that divides Spain from Portugal, and entered Ciudad Rodrigo. At San Martin he slept in the house of the curé—and occupied the same bed that had the former year been assigned to Junot and Loison on their respective marches—and on the 13th he entered Salamanca.

There, disastrous news awaited him—for one of his supporting armies was already hors de combat. Count Belvidere, having made an absurd movement on Burgos, was attacked by a superior force, and his raw levies completely routed; while previously, Blake’s army had been utterly dispersed, and the magazines at Reynosa taken. To add to this mass of evil tidings, intelligence arrived that the fall of Madrid might be confidently expected,—while, instead of his advance into Spain being covered with an army of seventy thousand men, Moore found himself in an open town without a gun, without a Spanish picket, with only three infantry brigades, and the French outposts but three marches distant.

Madrid fell—the news could not be credited—and it was asserted that, though the Retiro was taken, the town held obstinately out. The inaction of the British was generally censured; the envoy had remonstrated on the subject; and the army did not conceal their impatience. Influenced by these considerations, Moore determined to make a diversion on the capital, and attack Soult, who was at Saldanha, on the Carion. A forward movement followed—Baird was directed to march from Astorga, and Romana was informed of the intended operation, and requested to assist.

This decision of attacking Soult was known to the army, and gave general satisfaction.[54] On the 16th, head-quarters were at Toro—and passing Villapondo and Valderosa, on the 20th Sir John reached Majorga, and was joined by Baird’s division, making an united force of twenty-three thousand five hundred infantry, two thousand four hundred cavalry, and, including a brigade of three-pounders—from its small calibre perfectly useless,—an artillery of nearly fifty guns. Soult’s corps amounted to sixteen thousand infantry and twelve hundred dragoons. The great portion of the former were at Saldanha—and Debelle’s cavalry at Sahagun.

While thus advancing, the brilliant affair between Lord Paget and the French cavalry shed a passing glory on a series of operations, whose results were generally so calamitous. We shall give the affair in the words of the noble colonel of the 10th Hussars, than whom, on that occasion, no one “by daring deed” more effectually contributed to victory.

“The Monastero Melgar Abaxo is distant about three leagues from Sahagun, in which place a corps of seven hundred French cavalry were reported to be lodged. As they were at some distance from the main body of the French army, it was deemed practicable to cut them off, and Lord Paget determined, at all events, to make the attempt. He accordingly put himself at the head of the 10th and 15th Hussars, and in the middle of a cold wintry night, when the direct rout to Salamanca was impracticable, for the ground was covered with snow, set off for that purpose.

“When they had ridden about two-thirds of the way, Lord Paget divided his force, and desiring General Slade, with the 10th, to pursue the course of the Cea, and to enter the town by that side, he himself, followed by the 15th, wheeled off to approach it by a different route. It was not long before his lordship’s party fell in with a picket of the enemy; and all, except one man, were either cut down or made prisoners. But the escape of one was as injurious, under existing circumstances, as the escape of the whole; for the alarm was given, and before the 15th could reach the place, the enemy were ready to receive them. It was now broad daylight, and as our troops drew near, the French were soon formed in what appeared to be an open plain, at no great distance from the town. The 15th were wheeled into line in a moment, and as there was no time to be lost, they followed their leader at a brisk trot, with the intention of charging; but when they were yet fifty yards from the enemy, they found that a wide ditch divided them, and that the French had availed themselves of other inequalities in the ground, of which, when some way off, they had not been aware. A pause was now necessarily made, but one instant served to put the whole again in motion. The regiment, wheeling to its left, soon found a convenient place for crossing; and though the enemy manœuvred actively to hinder the formation, they were again in line, and advancing to the charge, within five minutes from the commencement of the check. A few changes of ground now took place, as each corps strove to gain the flank of the other, but they were only a few. The British cavalry effected its object—and then coming down at full speed upon their opponents, who stood to receive the shock, they overthrew them in an instant. Many were killed upon the spot, many more unhorsed, and one hundred and fifty-seven were made prisoners, including two lieutenant-colonels. On this occasion the English cavalry amounted only to four hundred men, whilst that of the French fell not short of seven hundred.”

The weather continued bad; the troops were a good deal knocked up by forced marching, and Sir John halted on the 22nd and 23rd for supplies, intending by a night march to reach the Carion, and attack Soult on the morrow. Every account made the British numerically greater than the enemy—and though the French had been reinforced, still Moore’s army was stronger by fully five thousand men.

All dispositions were made for the intended attack. At eight at night, the army were to move in two columns—and the right, which was to force the bridge and penetrate to Saldanha, was actually getting under arms, when couriers arrived “loaded with heavy tidings.” The French were moving in all directions to cut the English off;[55] the corps which had been marching south, was suddenly halted at Talavera; two strong divisions were moving from Placentia; the Badajoz army was in full march on Salamanca—and Napoleon himself in the field, determined, as it was reported, to “sweep the British before him to the ocean.”

This was, in truth, disastrous intelligence. The orders to advance were countermanded instantly—the troops, who had already been mustering, were retired to their quarters, and the object of the expedition seemed virtually ended. The campaign was indeed a tissue of mistakes—“operating with feeble allies, acting on false information, advancing to-day, retiring to-morrow, with every thing to harass and nothing to excite the soldier, until at last, the ill-fated and ill-planned expedition terminated in a ruinous retreat.”[56]

In making preparations for a rapid march before an enemy, that from report was overwhelming if not avoided, the 23rd of December was consumed, and the general plan for regressive operations was arranged by instantly retreating on Gallicia.

To pass the Esla, three routs were open,—one by the bridge of Mansilla, a second by the ferry of Valencia, and a third by the bridge of Castro Gonsalo, over which the great road to Benevente leads. Mansilla was occupied and exhausted by the Spanish army, and the roads of Valencia and Gonsalo afforded the best retreat. A double means of retirement would expedite the movements—and neither the magazines at Lamora nor Benevente would be left to the French. Astorga was named the point of union, as there, if pressed, battle could be offered. Romana was requested to move upon Leon—after holding, to the last extremity, the bridge of Mansilla.

All arrangements being completed, Moore commenced retreating on the 24th. Hope’s division fell back on Castro Gonzalo, and Baird’s on Valencia; while cavalry patrols were pushed forward on the Carion, with orders to retire at nightfall of the 25th, giving the reserve and light infantry, which formed the rear-guard, a start of some three or four hours in advance. All was admirably executed—and the columns, unmolested, reached their respective destinations.

The retreat continued, marked by some occasional affairs between the cavalry of the advanced and rear-guard, which terminated invariably in favour of the latter. The hussar regiments behaved most nobly—and on every occasion, regardless of numbers, or the more discouraging movements of a retreat, they sought the combat, and always came off the conquerors.

The infantry already began to experience the annoyance of long marches, severe weather, and a very indifferent commissariate. To march over cut-up roads, and through an exhausted country, where no friendly place of strength protects, no well-supplied magazine refreshes, soon harasses the over-loaded soldier. But that, when accomplished in the dead of winter,—in cold and darkness, sleet and rain,—was enough to have subdued the spirit of any army but a British one, retiring under every privation, and with seventy thousand veteran troops marching on their flanks and rear.

The army reached Benevente on the 27th—and the crossing of the Esla,[57] though exceedingly troublesome, was effected with inconsiderable loss. The roads were wretched, the weather bad, and the French pursuit marked by the fiery character of their emperor. He crossed[58] the Carpenteras, regardless of obstacles that would have discouraged the boldest—and, in a hurricane of sleet and hail, passed his army over the Guadarama, by a rout declared impracticable even to a mountain peasant.

This bold operation, worthy of the conqueror of Italy, was followed up by an immediate advance. On the 26th the main body of the British continued retreating on Astorga,—the bridge across the Esla was destroyed—and the night of the 27th passed over in tolerable quiet. In the morning, however, the French were seen actively employed. Five hundred cavalry of the guard tried for the ford above the ruined bridge, found it, and passed over. The pickets forming the rear-guard at once confronted them,—and, led on by Colonel Otway, charged repeatedly, and checked the leading squadron. General Stuart put himself at the head of the pickets, while Lord Anglesea rode back to bring up the 10th. Charges were made on both sides; the pickets gave ground—the French advanced, but the 10th were speedily at hand, and came forward. The pickets rallied,—they cheered and cut boldly in at speed—the French were overthrown and driven across the river, with the loss of their Colonel (Le Fevre), and seventy officers and men.

This brilliant encounter had the results that boldness wins. The French kept a respectful distance, and thus, the column was enabled to gain Astorga without further molestation.

But the danger was momently increasing. From prisoners taken in the cavalry affair on the Esla, it was ascertained that, on the preceding evening, the head-quarters of Napoleon’s own corps were but sixteen miles from the bivouacs of the British—and to reach Villa Franca before the French was imperatively necessary. On that event how much depended,—for on the possession of that road, in a great degree, would rest the safety or destruction of the British, as it opens through a defile into a country that for miles renders cavalry movements impracticable, and entirely protects the flanks of a retiring army.

It is astonishing how quickly a retreat in bad weather destroys the morale of the best army. The British divisions had marched from Sabugal on the 24th in the highest order; on the 30th, on reaching Astorga, their disorganization had commenced—they seemed a mob flying from a victorious enemy, and General Moore himself exhibited a despondency that was apparent to all around him. “That he was an officer of great distinction every one acknowledged during his life, and posterity will never deny it; but it was too manifest that a fear of responsibility, a dread of doing that which was wrong, of running himself and his troops into difficulties from which they might not be able to extricate themselves, were a great deal too active to permit either his talents or his judgment properly to exert their influence. Sir John Moore had earned the highest reputation as a general of division; he was aware of this, and perhaps felt no inclination to risk it; at all events he was clearly incapable of despising partial obstacles in the pursuit of some great ultimate advantage;—in one word, he was not a Wellington. Of this no more convincing proof need be given than the fact that, even at the moment when the preparations for the brief advance were going on, his whole heart and soul seemed turned towards the Portuguese frontier.”[59]

Romana had unfortunately given up the Leon rout, and marching on Astorga, encumbering the roads with the ruins of his baggage, and worse still, filling the villages he passed through with crowds of ragged followers unable to get on—some from absolute decrepitude and want, and more from being attacked by fever of the worst type.

The retreat was renewed next morning—and the marching continued with such constancy that, by abandoning the sick and wounded, wasting the ammunition, and destroying the stores, the British outstripped pursuit, and on the 3rd of January found themselves in comparative safety. The cavalry, as usual, distinguished themselves; and at Cacabelos, where the rear-guard was overtaken, behaving with their customary esprit, they repelled the advance of the French hussars, and prevented the light troops from being surrounded and cut off. Indeed the escape of the rifles was wonderful. They were retreating through the town, and part of the rear-guard had already crossed the bridge, when the French cavalry came suddenly on in overwhelming force, and galloping into the rear companies of the 95th, succeeded in making some prisoners. The rifles instantly broke into skirmishing order, and commenced retiring up the hill, when a body of voltigeurs rushed to the support of the cavalry, and the affair became serious. The 95th, however, had now thrown themselves into the vineyards behind the town, and kept up a rapid and well-directed fire. The French attempted to get in their rear, and charged boldly up the road, led on by General Colbert. But the fusilade from the vineyard, was maintained with such precision that the French were driven back, leaving a number of dead on the field, among whom their brave and daring leader was included.

Sir John was also threatened with attack at Villa Franca. A strong column of infantry appeared on the heights, in full march on that division which was in position on the opposite hill. The artillery opened, and an engagement appeared inevitable. But checked by the cannonade, the forward movement of the French was arrested; and Sir John, anxious to reach the better position of Lugo, continued his retreat, and prudently avoided coming to a general action, where the ground had no military advantage to induce him to risk a combat. The main body marched to Herrieras, the reserve to Villa Franca, and the rear-guard moved at ten o’clock, and reached its bivouac at midnight.

The cavalry, no longer serviceable in a country rough, hilly, and wooded, with numerous enclosures around vineyards and plantations of mulberry trees, were sent on to Lugo; the infantry and artillery marching for the same place. During the whole day and night that distressing movement was executed—and forty miles were passed over roads on every side broken up, and in places, knee-deep. Never will that dreadful march be forgotten by those who witnessed it.[60] The men dropped down by whole sections on the wayside and died—some with curses, some with the voice of prayer in their mouths—while women and children—of whom an immense number had injudiciously been allowed to accompany the army—shared a similar fate. Horrible scenes momentarily occurred,—children frozen in their mothers’ arms, women taken in labour, and, of course, perishing with their ill-fated progeny. Some were trying by the madness of intoxication to stimulate their worn-out frames to fresh exertion—or, when totally exhausted, to stupify the agonies of the slow but certain death that cold and hunger must inevitably produce before another sun dawned. It was awful to observe the different modes, when abandoned to die, in which the miserable wretches met their fate. Some lay down in sullen composure—others vented their despair in oaths, and groans, and curses—and not a few in heart-rending prayers to heaven that the duration of their sufferings might be abridged.

From an early period of the retreat, the discipline of the troops was shaken by rapid movements and an absence of regular supplies. Hence, the men were obliged to shift as they best could,—and this laxity in discipline gradually increasing, ended in frequent scenes of drunkenness, rioting, and robbery. Every town and village was sacked in search of food, the wine stores plundered, and the casks, in mere wantonness, broken and spilled. Nothing could check the licentious spirit of the troops; and when a man was hanged at Benivedre, even that sad example had not the least effect, for many of the marauders were detected in the act of plundering within sight of the fatal tree.

During this distressing movement, the French had pressed the British rear-guard closely, and a constant scene of skirmishing ensued. Though invariably checked by the light troops, still the army was hourly becoming less effective—every league reducing it both in numbers and resources. Quantities of arms and necessaries were abandoned or destroyed; and two bullock carts loaded with dollars were thrown over a precipice into the bed of a mountain torrent.[61] All these things proved how desperately reduced that once fine and well-appointed army had become. Indeed its appearance was rather that of a procession of maimed invalids with a caravan of sick soldiers, than an army operating in front of a determined enemy, and expecting momently to come to action.

It was a matter of surprise to all, that the French leader did not force on an engagement; but, on the contrary, Soult followed this half-ruined army with a caution that appeared unaccountable and unnecessary. Still the moment of attack could not be distant; and it was certain that the Marshal only waited for some embarrassment in the march, to throw his leading divisions on the retreating brigades of England, and force on a decisive battle.

This event was particularly to be dreaded while passing the bridge and village of Constantino. A long and difficult mountain road leads to the summit of a bold height, down which it winds again by a gradual descent till it meets the bridge. The occupation of this height, before the columns had passed the river, would expose them to a heavy fire; and Sir John Moore determined to check the French pursuit, and hold the hill, until the rear of the main division had cleared the bridge and village. His dispositions were quickly made,—the 28th regiment with the rifle corps were drawn up beside the river—and the 20th, 52nd, and 91st on a hill immediately in their rear, flanked by the horse artillery.

The French attacked with their usual spirit. The cavalry and tirailleurs advanced against the bridge; but the fire from the British riflemen, assisted by the guns on the height, drove them back with loss. A second and a third attack, made with equal boldness, ended in a similar result—and darkness put a stop to the fighting. The French withdrew their light troops, the British continued their retreat, and before morning broke the rear-guard joined the army, now bivouacked in position, or cantoned in and around the town of Lugo.