The Romance of Modern Sieges. Gilliat Edward
north-east of the town.
At about ten o’clock on the night of the 6th of April, 1812, the Third Division advanced in that profound silence that rendered the coming storm more terrific. Our men were not perceived until they arrived at a little river not very distant from the works, when they distinctly heard the entire line of the French sentries give the alarm, and all the guns of the garrison opened at once.
Volley after volley of grape-shot was fired upon our troops as they advanced; fire-balls rose, and showed the enemy where they were. They quickened pace and got so close under the wall that the guns could not bear upon them, but the fire-balls burned so vividly that they were enabled to direct their musketry upon the assailants, and hurl with fatal precision every kind of missile.
The ladders were placed, the troops cheered and swarmed up, and nothing was heard but mingled cries of despair and shouts of victory. Several ladders broke down under the weight, and men were precipitated on the heads of their comrades below.
“The ladder I mounted was, like many others, too short, and I found that no exertion I could make would enable me to reach the embrasure or descend. In this desperate state, expecting immediate death from the hands of a ferocious Frenchman in the embrasure, I heard a voice above call out:
“‘Mr. – , is that you?’
“‘Yes!’ I shouted.
“The same voice cried out: ‘Oh, murther! murther! What will we do to get you up at all, at all, with that scrawdeen of a ladtherr? But here goes! Hould my leg, Pat!’ and, throwing himself flat on his face in the embrasure, he extended his brawny arm down the wall, seized me by the collar with the force of Hercules, and landed me, as he said himself, ‘clever and clane,’ on the ramparts.
“In the same manner five more were landed. Thus did this chivalrous soldier, with noble generosity, prefer saving the lives of six of his comrades at the risk of his own to the rich plunder which everywhere surrounded him. And this was Tully O’Malley, a private in my company, one of the ‘ragged rascals.’ Well, I found myself standing amongst several French soldiers, who were crowding round the gun in the embrasure. One of them still held the match lighted in his hand, the blue flame of which gave the bronzed and sullen countenances of these warriors an expression not easily forgotten.
“A Grenadier leaned on the gun and bled profusely from the head; another, who had fallen on his knees when wounded, remained fixed in astonishment and terror. Others, whose muskets lay scattered on the ground, folded their arms in deep despair. The appearance of the whole group, with their huge, bushy moustaches and mouths all blackened with biting the cartridges, presented to the eye of a young soldier a very strange and formidable appearance.
“‘Don’t mind them boys, sorr,’ said Tully. ‘They were all settled jist afore you came up: and, by my soul, good boys they were for a start – fought like raal divils, they did, till Mr. S – and the Grenadiers came powdering down on them with the war-whoop. Och, my darlint! they were made smiddreens of in a crack, barring that big fellow you see there, with the great black whiskers – see yonder – bleeding in the side, he is, and resting his head on the gun-carriage. Ah! he was the bouldest of them all. He made bloody battle with Jim Reilly; but ’tis short he stood afore our Jim, for he gave him a raal Waterford puck that tumbled him like a ninepin in a minute; and, by my own sowl, a puck of the butt-end of Jim’s piece is no joke, I tell you! He tried it on more heads than one on the hill of Busaco.’
“Away then flew Tully to join his company, forming in double-quick time to oppose the enemy, who were gathering in force at one of the gates of the citadel.”
They had already opened a most galling fire of musketry from this dark gateway, which was warmly returned by our men, who, under Lieutenant Davern, charged up to the massive gate. This, however, the French closed, so little impression was made. At last a number of the light infantry of the 74th and 85th helped each other to climb up on the archway over the gate, and thence they fired down so unexpectedly that a general panic seized the enemy, and they fled in confusion, followed by many of our men, who now dashed through the gateway.
Here Captain C – came upon Major Murphy, of the 88th, quite exhausted and unable to move from loss of blood, as he had not been able to bind up his wound. This he did for him, and they moved on. One more bayonet struggle in the castle, and the French again fled, leaving the place literally covered with dead and wounded, several of them being officers, whose long narrow-bladed sabres with brass scabbards instantly changed masters.
One officer who was wounded made several thrusts at the sturdy Ranger who was trying to disarm him, but had awkwardly caught the sharp sword-blade in his hand, and was so angry at being cut that he was preparing to rush upon his antagonist. However, the Frenchman unbuckled his waist-belt and threw away his sword.
But Pat was angry, and was not now satisfied with the sword only, for, perceiving a handsome silver-mounted calabash, or flask, by the officer’s side, he coolly transferred it to his own shoulders, after first taking a copious swill. Then, gravely addressing the wounded man, said, while reloading his piece:
“Now, my tight fellow, ye see what ye lost by your contrariness.”
“Ah! monsieur, je suis grievement blessé: rendez-moi mon calabash, je vous prie.”
“Grieving for your calabash! Is that what you mane?” said Pat. “Why, then, I’ll tell you what, my boy: no man shall say that Pat Donovan ever deprived either friend or foe of his little dhrop of dhrink – so there ’tis for you!”
“Grand merci! grand merci!” murmured the officer.
“Oh, don’t bother about axing mercy from me,” said Pat; “but take my advice and keep roaring out ‘Mercy! mercy!’ to all our fellows as they come up to ye, and, by Gor! they’ll not take the least notice of you.”
“Ah! merci! merci! Mais c’est fait de moi! c’est fait de moi!” repeated the poor wounded young French officer.
Fatal presentiment! One hour afterwards the Irishman returned and found him lying on the same spot; but the gallant fellow was at rest, “where the wicked cease from troubling.”
As we were occupied in disarming and securing the prisoners Captain C – happened to capture and save the life of the Colonel commanding the artillery in the citadel at the very moment our men were pursuing him at the point of the bayonet.
He threw himself upon the Captain, and finding he understood French, entreated he would save him from our infuriated soldiers; but this he found it extremely difficult to do, as each successive group, on perceiving his large gold epaulettes and orders, evinced a strong anxiety to make further acquaintance with him. Upon one occasion the Captain was obliged to use his sword to protect him from a few of the 60th, who advanced upon him in rather a suspicious and business-like manner.
The poor Colonel was in a state of violent agitation, and kept a firm hold of his protector’s arm through all the changes of the fight, until they met a field-officer of the British artillery, to whom he gave him in charge.
The Frenchman wanted to bring C – to the bomb-proof, where his baggage was secured, to give him some tokens of his gratitude, and overwhelmed him with thanks; but duty called, and he left him with the field-officer, who, he heard afterwards, reaped a rich reward for his small service.
The first rays of a beautiful morning showed the incredible strength of Badajos, and how dearly the capture of it had cost us. The gallant hearts that beat with devoted bravery the night before now lay in the cold grasp of death. Silence had succeeded to the dreadful din of arms, and rendered more awful the contemplation of this fearful scene of death and suffering and desolation.
A vast number of the enemy lay dead in a heap close by the spot where our men were forming, and while they gazed on these unhappy victims of a fierce and deadly fight, they were not a little astonished to observe a very young French officer who lay amongst them, and whom they thought to be dead also, slowly and cautiously raise himself up; then, after looking about him with a wild stare, he coolly walked over to the other side where the prisoners were standing and delivered himself up!
This wily hero had not been wounded, nor had he received the slightest scratch, but, being