CHAP. XII. Shewing rough visitors receiving a rough reception. Some living and moving specimens thereof. Tailors not such fractions of humanity as is generally believed. Gentle visitors receiving a gentle reception, which ends by shewing that two shakes joined together sound more melodiously on the heart-strings than two hands which shake of their own accord.

Pass we on to Badajos—to that last, that direful, but glorious night—the 6th of April—"so fiercely fought, so terribly won, so dreadful in all its circumstances, that posterity can scarcely be expected to credit the tale."

Any one who has taken the trouble to read and digest what Napier has said in vindication of the measures adopted by Lord Wellington for the subjugation of those fortresses in the manner in which it was done, must feel satisfied that their propriety admits of no dispute. But as the want of time rendered it necessary to set the arts and sciences at defiance—and that, if carried at all, it must have been done with an extra sacrifice of human life, it will for ever remain a matter of opinion at what period of the siege the assault should have been made with the best prospect of success, and with the least probable loss—and such being the case it must be free to every writer to offer his own ideas.

Lord Wellington, as is well known, waited on each occasion for open breaches, and was each time successful—so far he did well, and they may do better who can. Colonel Lamarre would have attacked Badajos the first night of the siege with better hopes of success than on the last, as the garrison, he says, would have been less prepared, and the defences not so complete. But I differ from him on both positions, for, depend upon it, that every garrison is excessively alive for the first few days after they have been invested. And as to defensive preparations, I have reason to think that few after ones of consequence took place, but those of counteracting the effects of our battering guns.

I am, nevertheless, one of those who would like to see the attempt made at an intermediate period. Breaches certainly serve the important end of distracting the attention of the garrison, and leading them to neglect other assailable points—though, whenever they have the opportunity of retrenching them, as at Badajos, they are undoubtedly the strongest parts of the works. I should therefore carry on the siege in the usual manner until about the time the batteries began to come into operation, and as it might then be fairly presumed that the garrison, by the regular order of proceedings, would be lulled into a notion of temporary security, I should feel monstrously inclined to try my luck. If it turned up trumps it might save valuable time and a thousand or two of valuable lives. If it failed, the loss would be in proportion; but it would neither lose time, nor compromise the result of the siege.

Colonel Jones, an able writer and an able fighter, in his particular department, would have had us do what his great guns ought to have done on that memorable night—namely, to have cleared away the defences on the top of the breach, which he affirms might have been done by the rush of a dense mass of troops. But had he been where I was he would have seen that there was no scarcity of rushes of dense masses of troops; but, independently of every other engine of destruction which human ingenuity could invent—they were each time met by a dense rush of balls, and it is the nature of man to bow before them. No dense mass of troops could reach the top of that breach.

Major (then Lieutenant) Johnston, of ours, who was peculiarly calculated for desperate enterprize, preceded the forlorn hope, in command of a party carrying ropes, prepared with nooses, to throw over the sword blades, as the most likely method of displacing, by dragging them down the breach; but he and his whole party were stricken down before one of them had got within throwing distance.

When an officer, as I have already mentioned, with a presentiment of death upon him, resigned a safe duty to take a desperate one—when my own servant, rather than remain behind, gave up his situation and took his place in the ranks—when another man of ours (resolved to win or to die,) thrust himself beneath the chained sword blades, and there suffered the enemy to dash his brains out with the ends of their muskets—these, I say, out of as many thousand instances of the kind which may be furnished, will shew that there was no want of daring leaders or desperate followers.

The defences on the tops of the breaches ought to have been cleared away by our batteries before the assault commenced. But failing that, I cannot see why a couple of six-pounders (or half a dozen) might not have been run up along with the storming party, to the crest of the glacis. Our battalion took post there, and lay about ten minutes unknown to the enemy, and had a few guns been sent along with us, I am confident that we could have taken them up with equal silence, and had them pointed at the right place—when, at the time that the storming party commenced operations, a single discharge from each, at that range of a few yards, would not only have disturbed the economy of the sword blades and sand-bags, but astonished the wigs of those behind them. As it was, however, when I visited the breaches next morning, instead of seeing the ruin of a place just carried by storm, the whole presented the order and regularity of one freshly prepared to meet it—not a sword blade deranged, nor a sand-bag removed!

The advance of the fourth division had been delayed by some accident, and the head of their column did not reach the ditch until our first attack had been repulsed, and when considerable confusion consequently prevailed.

The seventh Fusileers came gallantly on, headed by Major ——, who, though a very little man, shouted with the lungs of a giant, for the way to be cleared, to "let the royal Fusileers advance!" Several of our officers assisted him in such a laudable undertaking; but, in the mean time, a musket-ball found its way into some sensitive part, and sent the gallant major trundling heels over head among the loose stones, shouting to a less heroic tune—while his distinguished corps went determinedly on, but with no better success than those who had just preceded them, for the thing was not to be done.

After we had withdrawn from the ditch and reformed the division for a renewal of the attack, (it must have been then about two or three o'clock in the morning,) some of those on the look-out brought us information that the enemy were leaving the breaches, and our battalion was instantly moved forward to take possession.

We stole down into the ditch with the same silence which marked our first advance—an occasional explosion or a discharge of musketry continued to be heard in distant parts of the works; but in the awful charnel pit we were then traversing to reach the foot of the breach, the only sounds that disturbed the night were the moans of the dying, with an occasional screech from others suffering under acute agony; while a third class lying there disabled, and alive to passing events, on hearing the movement of troops, (though too dark to distinguish them,) began proclaiming their names and regiments, and appealing to individual officers and soldiers of the different corps, on whose friendly aid they seemed to feel that they could rely if they happened to be within hearing.

It was a heart-rending moment to be obliged to leave such appeals unheeded; but, though the fate of those around might have been ours the next instant, our common weal, our honour, and our country's, alike demanded that every thing should be sacrificed to secure the prize which was now within our grasp; and our onward movement was therefore continued into the breach with measured tread and stern silence, leaving the unfortunate sufferers to doubt whether the stone walls around had not been their only listeners.

Once established within the walls we felt satisfied that the town was ours—and, profiting by his experience at Ciudad, our commandant (Colonel Cameron) took the necessary measures to keep his battalion together, so long as the safety of the place could in any way be compromised—for, knowing the barbarous license which soldiers employed in that desperate service claim, and which they will not be denied, he addressed them, and promised that they should have the same indulgence as others, and that he should not insist upon keeping them together longer than was absolutely necessary; but he assured them that if any man quitted the ranks until he gave permission he would cause him to be put to death on the spot. That had the desired effect until between nine and ten o'clock in the morning, when, seeing that the whole of the late garrison had been secured and marched off to Elvas, he again addressed his battalion, and thanked them for their conduct throughout: he concluded with, "Now, my men, you may fall out and enjoy yourselves for the remainder of the day, but I shall expect to see you all in camp at the usual roll-call in the evening!"

When the evening came, however, in place of the usual tattoo report of all present, it was all absent, and it could have been wished that the irregularities had ended with that evening's report.

As soon as a glimpse of day-light permitted I went to take a look at the breach, and there saw a solitary figure, with a drawn sword, stalking over the ruins and the slain, which, in the grey dawn of morning, appeared to my astonished eyes like a headless trunk, and concluded that it was the ghost of one of the departed come in search of its earthly remains. I cautiously approached to take a nearer survey, when I found that it was Captain M'Nair, of the 52d, with his head wrapped in a red handkerchief.

He told me that he was looking for his cap and his scabbard, both of which had parted company from him in the storm, about that particular spot; but his search proved a forlorn hope. I congratulated him that his head had not gone in the cap, as had been the case with but too many of our mutual companions on that fatal night.

When our regiment had reformed after the assault we found a melancholy list of absent officers, ten of whom were doomed never to see it more, and it was not until our return to the camp that we learnt the fate of all.

The wounded had found their way or been removed to their own tents—the fallen filled a glorious grave on the spot where they fell.

The first tent that I entered was Johnston's, with his shattered arm bandaged; he was lying on his boat-cloak fast asleep; and, coupling his appearance with the recollection of the daring duty he had been called on to perform but a few hours before, in front of the forlorn hope, I thought that I had never set my eyes on a nobler picture of a soldier. His whole appearance, even in sleep, shewed exactly as it had been in the execution of that duty; his splendid figure was so disposed that it seemed as if he was taking the first step on the breach—his eyebrows were elevated—his nostrils still distended—and, altogether, he looked as if he would clutch the castle in his remaining hand. No one could have seen him at that moment without saying, "there lies a hero!"

Of the doomed, who still survived, was poor Donald Mac Pherson, a gigantic highlander of about six feet and a half, as good a soul as ever lived; in peace a lamb—in war a lion. Donald feared for nothing either in this world or the next; he had been true to man and true to his God, and he looked his last hour in the face like a soldier and a Christian!

Donald's final departure from this life shewed him a worthy specimen of his country, and his methodical arrangements, while they prove what I have stated, may, at the same time, serve as as a model for Joe Hume himself, when he comes to cast up his last earthly accounts.

Donald had but an old mare and a portmanteau, with its contents, worth about £15, to leave behind him. He took a double inventory of the latter, sending one to the regiment by post, and giving the other in charge of his servant—and paying the said worthy his wages up to the probable day of his death; he gave him a conditional order on the paymaster for whatever more might be his due should he survive beyond his time—and, if ever man did, he certainly quitted this world with a clear conscience.

Poor Donald! peace be to thy manes, for thou wert one whom memory loves to dwell on!

It is curious to remark the fatality which attends individual officers in warfare. In our regiment there were many fine young men who joined us, and fell in their first encounter with the enemy; but, amongst the old standing dishes, there were some who never, by any chance got hit, while others, again, never went into action without.

At the close of the war, when we returned to England, if our battalion did not shew symptoms of its being a well-shot corps, it is very odd: nor was it to be wondered at if the camp-colours were not covered with that precision, nor the salute given with the grace usually expected from a reviewed body, when I furnish the following account of the officers commanding companies on the day of inspection, viz.

Beckwith with a cork-leg—Pemberton and Manners with a shot each in the knee, making them as stiff as the other's tree one—Loftus Gray with a gash in the lip, and minus a portion of one heel, which made him march to the tune of dot and go one—Smith with a shot in the ankle—Eeles minus a thumb—Johnston, in addition to other shot holes, a stiff elbow, which deprived him of the power of disturbing his friends as a scratcher of Scotch reels upon the violin—Percival with a shot through his lungs. Hope with a grape-shot lacerated leg—and George Simmons with his riddled body held together by a pair of stays, for his was no holyday waist, which naturally required such an appendage lest the burst of a sigh should snap it asunder; but one that appertained to a figure framed in nature's fittest mould to "brave the battle and the breeze!"

I know not to what particular circumstances British tailors were in the first instance indebted, for ranking them so low in the scale of humanity, but, as far as my knowledge extends, there never was a more traduced race. Those of our regiment I know were among the best soldiers in it, and more frequently hit than any, very much to our mortification; for the very limited allowance of an officer's campaigning baggage left him almost constantly at their mercy for the decoration of his outward man; but as the musket-balls shewed no mercy to them, we could not of course expect them to extend it to us.

Our master-man having at this time got his third shot, we deemed it high time to place him on the shelf, by confining his operations in the field, to the baggage guard. So long as we could preserve him in a condition to wield the scissors, we luckily discovered that there were minor thimble-plyers ready to rally round him, for we should otherwise have been driven sometimes to the extraordinary necessity of invading the nether garments of the ladies!

The last night at Badajos had been to the belligerents such as few had ever seen—the next, to its devoted inhabitants, was such as none would ever wish to see again, for there was no sanctuary within its walls.

I was conversing with a friend the day after, at the door of his tent, when we observed two ladies coming from the city, who made directly towards us; they seemed both young, and when they came near, the elder of the two threw back her mantilla to address us, shewing a remarkably handsome figure, with fine features, but her sallow, sunburnt, and careworn, though still youthful countenance, shewed that in her, "The time for tender thoughts and soft endearments had fled away and gone."

She at once addressed us in that confident heroic manner so characteristic of the high bred Spanish maiden, told us who they were, the last of an ancient and honourable house, and referred to an officer high in rank in our army, who had been quartered there in the days of her prosperity, for the truth of her tale.

Her husband she said was a Spanish officer in a distant part of the kingdom; he might or he might not still be living. But yesterday, she and this her young sister were able to live in affluence and in a handsome house—to day, they knew not where to lay their heads—where to get a change of raiment or a morsel of bread. Her house, she said, was a wreck, and to shew the indignities to which they had been subjected, she pointed to where the blood was still trickling down their necks, caused by the wrenching of their earrings through the flesh, by the hands of worse than savages who would not take the trouble to unclasp them!

For herself, she said, she cared not; but for the agitated, and almost unconscious maiden by her side, whom she had but lately received over from the hands of her conventual instructresses, she was in despair, and knew not what to do; and that in the rapine and ruin which was at that moment desolating the city, she saw no security for her but the seemingly indelicate one she had adopted, of coming to the camp and throwing themselves upon the protection of any British officer who would afford it; and so great, she said, was her faith in our national character, that she knew the appeal would not be made in vain, nor the confidence abused. Nor was it made in vain! nor could it be abused, for she stood by the side of an angel!—A being more transcendantly lovely I had never before seen—one more amiable, I have never yet known!

Fourteen summers had not yet passed over her youthful countenance, which was of a delicate freshness, more English than Spanish—her face though not perhaps rigidly beautiful, was nevertheless so remarkably handsome, and so irresistibly attractive, surmounting a figure cast in nature's fairest mould, that to look at her was to love her—and I did love her; but I never told my love, and in the meantime another, and a more impudent fellow stepped in and won her! but yet I was happy—for in him she found such a one as her loveliness and her misfortunes claimed—a man of honour, and a husband in every way worthy of her!

That a being so young, so lovely, so interesting, just emancipated from the gloom of a convent, unknowing of the world and to the world unknown, should thus have been wrecked on a sea of troubles, and thrown on the mercy of strangers under circumstances so dreadful, so uncontrollable, and not to have sunk to rise no more, must be the wonder of every one. Yet from the moment she was thrown on her own resources, her star was in the ascendant.

Guided by a just sense of rectitude, an innate purity of mind, a singleness of purpose which defied malice, and a soul that soared above circumstances, she became alike the adored of the camp and of the drawing-room, and eventually the admired associate of princes. She yet lives, in the affections of her gallant husband in an elevated situation in life, a pattern to her sex, and the every body's beau ideal of what a wife should be.

My reader will perhaps bear with me on this subject yet a little longer.

Thrown upon each other's acquaintance in a manner so interesting, it is not to be wondered at that she and I conceived a friendship for each other, which has proved as lasting as our lives—a friendship which was cemented by after circumstances so singularly romantic, that imagination may scarcely picture them! The friendship of man is one thing—the friendship of woman another; and those only who have been on the theatre of fierce warfare, and knowing that such a being was on the spot, watching with earnest and unceasing solicitude over his safety, alike with those most dear to her, can fully appreciate the additional value which it gives to one's existence.

About a year after we became acquainted, I remember that our battalion was one day moving down to battle, and had occasion to pass by the lone country-house in which she had been lodged.

The situation was so near to the outposts, and a battle certain, I concluded that she must ere then have been removed to a place of greater security, and, big with the thought of coming events, I scarcely even looked at it as we rolled along, but just as I had passed the door, I found my hand suddenly grasped in her's—she gave it a gentle pressure, and without uttering a word had rushed back into the house again, almost before I could see to whom I was indebted for a kindness so unexpected and so gratifying.

My mind had the moment before been sternly occupied in calculating the difference which it makes in a man's future prospects—his killing or being killed, when "a change at once came o'er the spirit of the dream," and throughout the remainder of that long and trying day, I felt a lightness of heart and buoyancy of spirit which, in such a situation, was no less new than delightful.

I never, until then, felt so forcibly the beautiful description of Fitz James's expression of feeling, after his leave-taking of Helen under somewhat similar circumstances:—