With Wellington in Spain: A Story of the Peninsula
CHAPTER XIV
One of the Forlorn Hope
"A terribly hard nut to crack," observed Jack, for perhaps thetwentieth time, as he and Tom sat their horses on a ridge aboveBadajoz, and looked down upon the fortress. "It'll be interestingto see how Wellington sets about the matter. Suppose there'll be atremendous cannonade, and then an assault. Wish we were going to bein it."
"I mean to, whatever happens," came from our hero, who was staringdown at the fortress, as if he wished to guess in which house hisfather and Don Juan were imprisoned. "As to how it'll be done,there's no saying; for I've never witnessed a siege before. Butapparently the sappers and miners dig their way toward the fortress,erecting batteries as they go, till they are so close that our gunscan batter down the walls. Then comes the grand assault. I canimagine that that is a terrific business. Well, let's ride round theplace and see what's happening. There's very little else for us to dojust now, and we can leave the men with Alfonso."
For two weeks past the combined command of Portuguese and Spanishguerrillas whom Tom had charge of had been operating about themagnificent fortress which Wellington had determined to capture.Throwing a circle completely about the place, they had cut thegarrison off entirely from the outside world, and thus had enabledWellington to concentrate his men without alarming the French. Forhere again, as in the case of Ciudad Rodrigo, it was all-importantthat the siege operations should not be disturbed by the arrivalof a large French force, against whom our troops would have to actbefore taking the fortress. As in the case of Ciudad Rodrigo, hadinformation leaked out the enemy could easily have concentrated aforce in the neighbourhood, sufficient to delay and make impossibleall siege operations. But, thanks to secrecy in his preparations,thanks, too, in no small measure to the work of such corps as Tomcommanded, the intentions of Wellington were quite unknown, till,of a sudden, in the March following his capture of Ciudad Rodrigo,he turned his divisions in the direction of Badajoz, a fortresssometimes known as "the gate of Spain," and, crossing the RiverGuadiana on the 16th, caused the place to be invested by the threedivisions commanded by Beresford and Picton. The remainder of histroops, some 60,000 in all, counting Spanish and Portuguese allies,covered the siege operations.
Looking down from the point of vantage to which they had ridden, Tomand his chum could obtain a bird's-eye view of the ancient fortressof Badajoz, and could easily trace its outline. But the arrivalof a staff officer helped them wonderfully to understand what wasoccurring before their eyes. Cantering up the hill at this moment,and looking the smart fellow he was, this officer drew rein close tothe two young fellows, acknowledging their salutes with one as brisk,and with a smile.
"Taking the air?" he asked. "We shall have plenty of it before we'vedone with the Frenchies. Ah! that's Clifford, I believe."
Tom saluted again and flushed.
"The officer the French refuse to fight, eh?"
Our hero was compelled to agree, with heightened colour, whereat theofficer laughed loudly.
"And his adjutant along with him, too," he remarked, looking theunabashed Jack up and down, and reflecting that he seemed to be avery smart and jovial fellow. "You chaps know how you're spoken of,perhaps, eh?" he asked with another smile, causing both the lads toshake their heads.
"Then I'll tell you. Never is one seen but the other is at his heels.So throughout the army you're known as the 'twins.' Good name, isn'tit?"
Once more they heard his hearty laughter, which they shared withhim; for this was news to our two heroes. Not that they could helpadmitting that there was reason for the name they had earned, sinceJack Barwood had become Tom's veritable shadow. They seemed to hauntthe same piece of ground always, and even when with their commandthe jovial Jack was ever at the side of his superior. There wasa whisper also amongst the men, fostered not a little by volublesayings of Andrews and his brother rifleman, that these two youngofficers, occupying such posts of responsibility, were neverthelessnot above a little skylarking. Indeed, if Tom and Jack had provedthat they were eager and ready to lead their men into action, theyhad also more than once shown a disposition to lead them intomischief.
"Well, now, let's have a look at the place," said the officer,producing a short spyglass. "You can see for yourselves how thefortress is placed. It stands on an eminence at the junction of theRivers Guadiana and Rivillas, the former being crossed by a longbridge, which you can see for yourself. There's the castle, perched ahundred feet above the level of the rivers, and occupying almost theapex of the point of confluence. The town spreads behind it fan-wise,and is walled, presenting eight strong bastions, with curtains,counterscarps, glacis, and covered ways, without doubt, all helpingto make the place extremely strong. There are five gates, thoughyou can't see them all from this point. There, take a look; you canactually observe people moving in the streets."
The view was, in fact, an enchanting one; for Badajoz at that timewas not an erection of a few years, but one of great antiquity. Ithad withstood sieges against the Moors and Goths, and had been takenand retaken many a time; and there it was fully prepared for anothersiege, garrisoned by some 5000 of the enemy, and packed to repletionwith guns, ammunition, and food; in fact with all that makes defencepossible.
"And how will the siege be conducted?" asked Tom, when he had taken along look at the place. "Shall we endeavour to make a breach at onepoint or at many?"
"Many," came the short answer. "No doubt Wellington will launch hisattacking parties in several directions. But first he must smashup that work you see on the far side of the river, known as FortPicurina. Batteries will be placed elsewhere, and I believe the anglenearest us has been selected, as well as that farthest away, close tothe Trinidad and St. Vincent bastions respectively. In a few hoursthe guns will be thundering in a manner which will open your eyes."
The bombardment that followed was, in fact, a revelation to ourhero; for, though Wellington might easily have been better equippedfor a siege, and have had a far superior battering train, the gunshe possessed were nevertheless of service. Nor must it be forgottenthat these same guns had been brought into position only after thevery greatest labour and secrecy; for they had been sent round by seafrom Lisbon, had then been transported up the River Setubal in smallboats, to Alcacer do Sal, and thence by land across the Alemtejo tothe River Guadiana.
Think of the labour involved in such an operation, of the secrecynecessary to keep the movement from the knowledge of the French.Think also of the small army of helpers, all taking part in this war,and yet working out of sound of gun shot, and far from the presenceof the enemy. That, perhaps is a question which escapes the noticeof many. The tale of some campaign brings to light narratives ofgallant deeds, of fierce attacks, of strenuous fighting; it leavestoo often to the imagination of one ignorant of the life of asoldier, and of the needs of a campaign, all the numerous servicesupon which success of an army in the field depends. For if there beno one to supervise the stores, and to dispatch them to the seatof war, how can troops operate in a country devoid almost of food,where ammunition cannot be obtained, and where boots, clothing, anda thousand other necessary trifles wear out, are lost, or destroyedwith alarming rapidity? Think, then, of the host labouring out ofsight of the enemy, but labouring nevertheless. Think also of theother numerous band marching with troops as non-combatants, and yetsubject to as great dangers, the very same privations, and bearingon their shoulders equal, if not greater, responsibilities; for withthe troops there must be men to see to the distribution of food, togather stores, and apply for all that is necessary. There must betrained officers to look to the ailments of horses, and, above all,perhaps, there must be an army of surgeons to care for the woundedand the thousands more who go down under privation and exposure.
Riding round the bivouacs of the besieging army after their chat withthe staff officer, Tom began to gather a better impression than hehad ever had before of the numerous duties attached to soldiering.
In the background, well away from the investing regiments, werem
any horse lines, where rows of animals were picketed, their ridersbeing encamped near at hand. Closer to the fortress lay the linesof regiments engaged in the actual work of the siege, and here manya camp fire blazed. Whole rows of camp kettles sat over the longtrenches dug in the muddy ground, while the flames from wood firesswept beneath them and sent billows of odorous steam into the air.Butchers were at work slaughtering beasts bought for the feeding ofthe troops, while not far away a sentry stood guard over a springwhich was the drinking supply for that portion of the army. Butit was still nearer the fortress that the real interest lay; forthere hundreds of men were delving, cutting trenches, and steadilyadvancing them toward the enemy. Indeed, that very day, they had needof every bit of cover; for guns opened from Badajoz, and clouds ofgrapeshot swept across the open.
"Hot work, ain't it?" grinned Jack, who with Tom was making a tourof inspection. "Put your head up, Tom, and take a squint at thoseFrenchies."
"And get it shot to pieces for my trouble. Thanks!" came the laughinganswer. "George! Listen to that."
"My uncle!" came from the young adjutant. "A regular torrent. Howlong and how often do they pepper you like that?" he asked of thesapper ensign who had invited them to inspect the work.
"How often? Couldn't say," was the laconic answer, as if thethunderous discharge of the guns of the enemy, and the roar of cloudsof grape sweeping overhead were an everyday occurrence, and hardlyworth discussion. "Oh, pretty often, especially at night! But it'd beall right if it weren't for this awful weather. You see, a chap hasto grovel when the guns open, and that's bad for uniforms."
He was something of a dandy, this immaculate ensign of sappers, andstepped daintily along the deep trenches already constructed bythe British working parties. Tom watched him with admiration as hebrushed some dirt from his laced sleeve with a silk handkerchief, andthen wondered satirically for one brief moment if this young officerwere merely a heap of affectation, useless for any real work, merelyan ornament to the profession to which he belonged.
"Certainly not that," he told himself a few seconds later, afterseeing more of the ensign. "He's a born dandy, perhaps, but he's aplucky beggar, and a fine example to his men."
That, in fact, was precisely what this ensign was, as was the casewith many another officer in Wellington's army. Example is everythingwhen men are engaged in strenuous operations; and if those in commandshow coolness, determination, sangfroid, and other virtues, their ownparticular men are wonderfully heartened. And here was this ensigncoolly flicking dirt from his laced sleeve, while a foot overheadgrapeshot swept past in a torrent. There he was, joking and laughingwith the jovial Jack as if he had not so much as a serious thoughtin his head, and as if this were merely a game. But a minute laterhe was leading the way to an outwork, strolling negligently across aportion necessarily exposed to the bullets of the enemy, and showingnot so much as a sign of haste.
"Come along," he sang out to our hero. "It's a little warm crossing,but it's generally all right. We had three caught by the enemy'sbullets yesterday, but that's because they would stop to star gaze.Ah, very neat shooting, eh? I declare, the beggar has cut one of myepaulettes off with his shot!"
It was true enough. Tom had heard a shot fired from the fortress, forthe trench they had just left was within long range of an outworkmanned by the enemy. He had instantly seen the left epaulette of theensign rise in the air, spin round merrily, and then fall to theground. And the young officer only showed annoyance at such an injurybeing done to his uniform! As for the men stationed in the trenchbehind, and those in the earthwork for which they were making, theywatched the little scene with grins of amusement and delight.
"Dicky Silvester, ensign. That's him," growled one of the sappershoarsely to his neighbours. "Joined us a year ago, or less, and looksand acts as if he were a born soldier, and didn't care a fig forbullets or anything else. Who are the other orficers? Ain't they cool'uns too? My hat, Dicky ain't the only one as don't give a hang forbullets!"
The cool behaviour of the three even raised a cheer before they hadentered the earthwork, calling a sharp order from the ensign.
"What's this?" he demanded, dropping slowly out of shot of the enemy,a manoeuvre which Tom and Jack followed. "Laughing and cheering whenthere's work to be done! Here----"
Another patch of dirt on his uniform distracted his attention andcut short the speech. As for the men, they dashed their picks againinto the ground and went on with their delving. Then whispers passedamongst them.
"Blessed ef I don't think as the toff of an orficer in staff uniformain't Mr. Tom Clifford, him as held up them Portuguese in a church,commanding the Frenchies who'd taken him as prisoner," said one."Ain't that the one?"
"And went right into Ciudad Rodrigo t' other day," agreed hiscomrade, "and come galloping out dressed as a gal. He's the boy. Law!He looks at Badajoz as if he was hungry to get inside, and had morealmost to do with this siege than we have."
Tom might indeed have been accused of that, for those wretchedly wetdays in March, 1812, found him frequently in the trenches, watchingas parallels were dug, eagerly measuring the advance of the busy armyof sappers digging their way closer to the fortress. Or he would liebehind one of the batteries by day and by night, and would listento the thunder of the guns, and would watch for the tell-tale spoutof dust which shot into the air as the huge iron ball struck thebastion. Then would come the clatter of falling masonry, followedperhaps by a cheer from the gunners. More often the shot would beanswered by a terrific hail of grape, which pattered overhead, sweptthe entire face of the batteries--and but for the fascines erectedto give cover every one of the gunners would have been killed--thenwhizzed across the open, splashing into the many pools of water whichhad been left by the heavy and almost continuous rain. It seemed,indeed, slow work this siege operation; slow and perhaps not too sure.
"For even when the breaches are practicable there are the defendersto be dealt with," thought Tom. "There will be mines to blow us up,obstructions of every sort, and grape and shot showered down upon us.But take the place we will; I mean to be one of the very first insidethe fortress."
Any doubts Tom may have had as to the determination of LordWellington were soon set at rest; for, the weather still continuingatrocious, and the trenches being flooded and almost uninhabitable,an assault of the Picurina was ordered, and the fort carried withbrilliant dash by 500 men of the 3rd Division. The storm of shotand shell poured into the fort after we had gained possession ofit was such that one wondered how the new garrison could live, forPhillipon, the commander of the French, did his utmost to drive usout. But our men stuck grimly to the task, and again plying theirbusy spades, soon had advanced to a point where batteries could beerected. And then began a trial of skill and endurance between thegunners of France and those of England. By day and by night theneighbourhood echoed to the roar. A pall of smoke hung over fortressand encampment, while in the depths of night guns flashed redly, andspluttering portfires hovered here and there as the gunners stood totheir pieces. At length the work was done; the breaches were declaredpracticable, though to view them and the grim lines hovering inrear, prepared to defend every inch of the steeply-sloping rubbish,would have caused any but brave men to shiver. But Wellington's menwere as determined as he; they had set their hearts on gaining thefortress. The call for a forlorn hope, as ever, produced a swarmof volunteers. That night of 6 April, a night the anniversary ofwhich is ever kept with loving memory by those who now serve in theregiments then present at Badajoz, found 18,000 bold fellows cravingfor the signal which should launch them to the attack, craving forthe signal which, alas! would launch many and many a gallant officerand lad into eternity. Let us, too, remember those heroes withhonour, recollecting that by their gallantry and dash they helped inthe work in progress, and that every fortress won in this Peninsulacampaign was yet another step forward, a step that would add to thedifficulties of Bonaparte, and which, with those which followed,ultimately brought about his downfall. Let us honour them as gallants
ouls who cast off the yoke then weighing upon the peoples of Europe.
"You'll go with the stormers?" asked Jack of Tom, almost beneath hisbreath, as the two stood side by side in the trenches.
"I've obtained permission, and go I shall," came the determinedanswer. "Now recollect, Jack, what I've said. If Badajoz is taken,the rascal who has captured my people will do his best to get out ofthe place. See that our men are lively when the first streak of dawncomes, and let them arrest any civilian."
"Good luck! Take care," gasped Jack, loath to part with his oldfriend. "I'll watch outside and see that all is done as you'vedirected; but do take care. Recollect, the regiment can't do withoutyou."
He was sent off with a merry laugh from Tom, and straightwayclambered up a rise from which he could view the proceedings. Astrange silence hung about the fortress. Within and without thetrenches, packed in the batteries, and in many another part lay thestormers, waiting, waiting for that signal. Picton's division on theright crouched over their scaling ladders, ready to rush to the wallsof the castle. On the left, Sir James Leith's division waited to makea false attack on the Pardeleras, an outside work. But the Bastion deSan Vincente was the real point of attack, and Walker's brigade, partof this division, was destined to assault it. The Light Division wasto dash for the Santa Maria quarter, while the 4th was to hurl itselfagainst the breach in the Trinidad quarter. The St. Roque bastion,in between these two latter, was to be stormed by Major Wilson, whowas in command of the guards of the trenches. Finally, the Portuguesewere to see what could be done with the Tete de Pont, the outwork onthe far bank of the River Guadiana, commanding the head of the bridge.
A dull hum above the trenches told of excitement. Flickering lightsand a subdued murmur above the fortress showed that the defenderswere prepared. Silently men gathered before the 4th and the LightDivision, men provided with ladders and axes, with but few rounds ofammunition, and freed of their knapsacks. Each carried a sack filledwith hay, which, it was hoped, would give some cover. And beforethose two parties waiting in front of the two divisions, and eachcounting 500 men, there fell in yet again two parties of heroes,the forlorn hopes, the officers and men who were sworn to enter thefortress, to show the way in, or to die in the attempt, noble soulswho worked not for gold as a reward, but only for the honour andglory of their country.
Ah! a blaze of light from a carcass hurled from the wall showed oneof those advance parties. Shouts echoed from the fortress, then therecame the splash of flame from guns, the spurting tongues of firebelched from muskets, and the thunder of the explosions. Cheers andhurrahs broke from our men. What matter if the alarm had been soundedhalf an hour before Wellington was to give the fatal signal? Theywere ready--the boys of the Light Brigade, the heroes of the 4thDivision--the stormers all along the walls were ready. A mad babelbroke the former silence or semi-silence, portfires flashed in alldirections, while fireballs were hurled into the ditches, lightingthe way of the stormers. Pandemonium was let loose at Badajoz thatnight. A cloudy, star-strewn sky looked down upon horrors which onehopes may never be repeated. For on the side of the French was showngreat bravery and demoniacal cunning. Every artifice of the besiegedwas employed, while on the side of the British soldiers a mad, afrantic courage was displayed. What if mines did burst and blowhundreds to pieces? Their comrades dashed down into the ditch withouthesitation, and cast themselves into the selfsame breach where thetragedy had been perpetrated. What if the enemy did cast bags ofgunpowder into the confused ranks of the stormers? It was all themore inducement to them to dash onward.
To describe all that occurred would be beyond us. Let us follow ourhero, though, and see what happened in his direction. Tom was one ofthe forlorn hope. Shouldering his hay pack, and gripping his sword,he dashed at the breach before him when the alarm was given. Thestunning discharge of a cannon to his front almost swept him from hisfeet, and cleared a lane through the comrades before him. A fireballdanced down the steep slope of the breach and blazed brightly,showing the faces and figures of the enemy plainly, the muskets theywere levelling, and an appalling _chevaux de frise_ erected at thetop of the breach. Composed of naked sabre blades secured to logs ofwood, this obstacle awaited the stormers before they could come tohand grips with the enemy. But that was not all. Tom stumbled over aboulder, floundered on to his face, and was then lifted boldly andflung aside by a mighty concussion.
"A mine," he thought. "Am I alive or not? What's happened to theothers?"
He might well ask that. The poor fellows were swept out of existencealmost to a man; but behind them were the noble five hundred, and inrear again the gallant Light Division. Before them was the breach;that terrible breach, with its defenders, its guns, its awfulobstacle, and the hundred-and-one means there for the destructionof the stormers. Time and again did men dash at it. Gallant souls,driven crazy by the hazard they endured, and filled with fearfuldetermination, clambered to that _chevaux de frise_ and were thereslaughtered. Officers stood in full sight of the enemy calling totheir men, leading them upward. And yet none could enter.
Elsewhere the fighting had been equally strenuous. After many andmany an attempt the castle was at length won, and later Walker'sbrigade tore its gallant way over the San Vincente Bastion,victorious in spite of mines and guns fired at point-blank range.It was from that quarter, in fact, that success at length came;for the Light and the 4th Divisions had as yet failed to bursttheir way through the breaches before them. But an advance from thedirection of San Vincente took the defenders in the rear, and justas our men had retired at the orders of Wellington, preparatory to afresh attack, those breaches were taken. Men burst in now from alldirections; the enemy fled for the most part to Fort Christoval,over the river, and Badajoz was ours. Cheers and counter cheerswere heard in all quarters. The wounded sat up as best they couldand joined in the jubilation, and then pandemonium again broke outin every street of the city; for the victorious troops straightwaygot out of hand. They poured in a torrent through the streets ofBadajoz, rifling the houses, and, breaking into the cabarets, helpedthemselves to the wines of Spain. That early morning, in fact,discovered a terrible situation in the fortress; for of order therewas none. Drunken soldiers staggered over the pavements committingviolence everywhere, while as many more were pillaging or doingactual violence to the unfortunate inhabitants. And all that whileTom Clifford lay on the slope of the breach which with many anothergallant soul he had endeavoured to storm. Regiments passed overhim. The surgeons and their bearers came and went in search of thewounded, and passed him always. For Tom lay stark and still. With hisface half-buried in the torn tunic of a soldier who had died whiledoing his duty, and his limbs curled up as if he were asleep, he laywithout a movement, appearing not even to breathe, lifeless to thosewho cast a casual glance at him.
"Dead!" groaned Jack and Andrews when at length they found him."Killed by the mine which wiped out every man of 'the forlorn hope.'Poor Tom!"
"Breathing!" shouted Alfonso, who also accompanied him. "I tell youhe is still alive."
That brought them all about him, and within a few minutes our herowas being carried from the breach. But was he living still? WasBadajoz to see the end of a promising career, and put a stop to hisquest? Or would Tom Clifford appear upon the scenes again, and stillhave something to say to the rascal who had abducted both father anduncle?