SUFFERINGS of the army between Astorga and Villa Franca - Cruelty of the French - March from Villa Franca to Castro - March to Lugo - Bravery of the stragglers - Affecting occurrence - Skirmishes at Lugo - Relaxed state of discipline, and its consequences.
From Astorga to Villa Franca de Bierzo, is about sixty miles. From Salamanca to Astorga may be called the first and easiest part of this tragedy, in which we endured many privations and much fatigue; from Astorga to Villa Franca, the second, and by far the more severe part. Here we suffered misery without a glimpse of comfort. At Astorga there were a great many pairs of shoes destroyed. Though a fourth of the army were in want of them, and I amongst the rest, yet they were consumed alongst with the other stores in the magazines.
The first sixteen miles the road lay wholly up the mountain, to the summit of Foncebadon; and the country was open. At this time it was a barren waste of snow. At the top of the mountain is a pass, which is one of the strongest, they say, in Europe. It is about eight or nine miles long. All the way through this pass the silence was only interrupted by the groans of the men, who, unable to proceed farther, laid themselves down in despair to perish in the snow; or where the report of a pistol told the death of a horse, which had fallen down, unable to proceed. I felt an unusual listlessness steal over me. Many times have I said, "These men who have resigned themselves to their fate, are happier than I. What have I to struggle for? Welcome death! happy deliverer!" These thoughts passed in my mind involuntarily. Often have I been awakened out of this state of torpor by my constant friend, Donald, when falling out of the line of march to lie down in despair. The rain poured in torrents; the melted snow was half knee-deep in many places, and stained by the blood that flowed from our wounded and bruised feet. To add to our misery, we were forced, by turns, to drag the baggage. This was more than human nature could sustain. Many waggons were abandoned, and much ammunition destroyed. Our arrival at Villa Franca closed the second act of our tragedy.
From Villa Franca we set out on the 2d January 1809. What a New-year's day had we passed! Drenched with rain, famished with cold and hunger, ignorant when our misery was to cease. This was the most dreadful period of my life. How differently did we pass our hogmonay, (1) from the manner our friends were passing theirs, at home? Not a voice said, "I wish you a happy new year;" each seemed to look upon his neighbour as an abridgment to his own comforts. His looks seemed to say, "One or other of the articles you wear would be of great use to me; your shoes are better than those I possess: if you were dead, they would be mine!"
Before we set out there were more magazines destroyed. Great numbers would not leave the town, but concealed themselves in the wine cellars, which they had broken open, and were left there; others, after we were gone, followed us. Many came up to the army dreadfully cut and wounded by the French cavalry, who rode through the long lines of these lame, defenceless wretches, slashing among them as a school-boy does among thistles. Some of them, faint and bleeding, were forced to pass alongst the line as a warning to others. Cruel warning! Could the urgency of the occasion justify it? There was something in the appearance of these poor, emaciated, lacerated wretches, that sickened me to look upon. Many around me said, "Our commanders are worse than the French: will they not even let us die in peace, if they cannot help us?" Surely this was one way to brutalize the men, and render them familiar to scenes of cruelty.
Dreadful as our former march had been, it was from Villa Franca that the march of death may be said to have begun. On, the day after we left that place, we were attacked by the French, but drove them back, and renewed our forlorn march.
From Villa Franca to Castro, is one continued toil up Monte del Cebiero. It was one of the sweetest scenes I ever beheld, could our eyes have enjoyed any thing that did not minister to our wants. There was nothing to sustain our famished bodies, or shelter them from the rain or snow. We were either drenched with rain or crackling with ice. Fuel we could find none. The sick and wounded that we had been still enabled to drag with us in the waggons, were now left to perish in the snow. The road was one line of bloody foot-marks, from the sore feet of the men; and, on its sides, lay the dead and the dying. Human nature could do no more. - Donald M'Donald, the hardy Highlander, began to fail. He, as well as myself, had long been barefooted and lame; he that had encouraged me to proceed, now himself lay down to die. For two days he had been almost blind, and unable, from a severe cold, to hold up his head. We sat down together; not a word escaped our lips. We looked around - then at each other, and closed our eyes. - We felt there was no hope. - We would have given in charge a farewell to our friends; but who was to carry it? There were, not far from us, here and there, above thirty in the same situation with ourselves. There was nothing but groans, mingled with execrations, to be heard, between the pauses of the wind. - I attempted to pray, and recommend myself to God; but my mind was so confused I could not arrange my ideas. I almost think I was deranged. We had not sat half an hour; sleep was stealing upon me, when I perceived a bustle around me. It was an advanced party of the French. Unconscious of the action I started upon my feet, levelled my musket, which I had still retained, fired, and formed with the other stragglers. The French faced about and left us. There were more of them than of us. The action, and the approach of danger, in a shape which we had it in our power to repel, roused out dormant feelings, and we joined at Castro.
From Castro to Lugo is about forty-eight miles, where we were promised two days rest. Why should I continue longer this melancholy narrative? Donald fell out again from sickness, and I from lameness and fatigue. When the French arrived, we formed with the others as before, and they fell back. I heard them, more than once, say, as they turned from the points of our bayonets, that they would rather face a hundred fresh Germans, than ten dying English, - so great was the alarm we caused in them. How mortifying to think, at these moments, that we were suffering all our misery, flying from an enemy who dared not fight us, and fled from us, poor wretches as we were! How unaccountable was our situation! None could be more galling to out feelings. While we ran, they pursued: the moment we faced about, they halted. If we advanced, they retired. Never had we fought but with success; never were we attacked but we forced them to retire. "Let us all unite, whether our officers will or not, and annihilate these French cowards, and show our country it is not our fault that we run thus; let us secure our country from disgrace, and take a sweet revenge." This was the language of the more spirited men, and in it the others joined, from a hope of relieving their miseries.
With feelings such as these, with a gradual increase of sufferings, we struggled onwards. Towards the close of this journey my mind became unfit for any minute observation. I only marked what I myself was forced to encounter. How I was sustained I am unable to conceive. My life was misery. Hunger, cold, and fatigue, had deprived death of all its horrors. My present sufferings I felt; what death was, I could only guess. "I will endure every thing, in hope of living to smooth the closing years of my mother's life, and atone for my unkindness. Merciful God! support me." These ejaculations were always the close of my melancholy musing; after which I felt a new invigoration, though, many times, my reflections were broken short by scenes of horror that came in my way. One, in particular, I found, after I came home, had been much talked of.
After we had gained the summit of Monte del Castro, and were descending, I was roused by a crowd of soldiers. My curiosity prompted me to go to it; I knew it must be no common occurrence that could attract their sympathy. Judge of the feelings which I want words to express. In the centre lay a woman, young and lovely, though cold in death, and a child, apparently about six or seven months old, attempting to draw support from the breast of its dead mother. Tears filled every eye, but no one had the power to aid. While we stood around, gazing on the interesting object, then on each other, none offered to speak, each heart was so full. At length one of General Moore's staff-officers came up, and desired the infant to be given to him. He rolled it in his cloak, amidst the blessings of every spectator. Never shall I efface the benevolence of his look from my heart, when he said, "Unfortunate infant, you will be my future care."
From the few remaining waggons we had been able to bring with us, women and children, who had hitherto sustained without perishing all our aggravated sufferings, were, every now and then, laid out upon the snow, frozen to death. An old tattered blanket, or some other piece of garment, was all the burial that was given them. The solders who perished lay uncovered until the next fall of snow, or heavy drift, concealed their bodies.
Amidst scenes like these, we arrived at Lugo. Here we were to have obtained two days' rest; but fate was not yet weary of enjoying our miseries. On our arrival I tried all in my power to find a place for Donald. The best I could find was a bake-house. He lay down in one of the baking-troughs; I put a sack over him. In two minutes the steam began to rise out of the trough in a continued cloud; he fell asleep, and I went in search of some refreshment. I was not half an hour away, when I returned with a little bread; he was still asleep, and as dry as a bone: I was wet as mire. I felt inclined more than once to wake him; I did not, but lay down on a sack, and fell asleep. I awoke before him, quite dry. There were three or four more, lying down on the floor beside me, asleep. My haversack had been rifled while I slept, and my little store of bread was gone. It was vain to complain; I had no resource. Cautiously, I examined those around me asleep, but found nothing. Again I sallied forth; and, to my great joy, I saw a soldier lying unable to rise, he was so drunk. His haversack seemed pretty full: I went to him, and found in it a large piece of beef, and some bread. I scrupled not to appropriate them to myself. I hastened back to Donald, and we had a good meal together. I felt stronger, and Donald was in better spirits.
The bridges between Villa Franca and Lugo had been imperfectly destroyed. The French made their appearance on the 5th of January, and took up a position opposite to our rear guard; a small valley only dividing them from it. This night we remained standing in the fields until day broke; our arms piled. The sky was one continued expanse of stars; not a cloud to be seen, and the frost was most intense. Words fail me to express what we suffered from the most dreadful cold. We alternately went to the calm side of each other, to be sheltered from the Wind. In this manner, when day at length broke upon us, we had retrograded over two fields from the spot where we had piled our arms. Many had lain down, through the night, overcome by sleep, from which the last trumpet only will awaken them.
On the 6th, the enemy attacked our out-posts but were received by our fatigued and famished soldiers with as much bravery as if they had passed the night in comfortable barracks. They repulsed the French in every assault. The sound of the battle roused our drooping hearts - "Revenge or death!" said my comrades, a savage joy glistening in their eyes. But the day closed without any attack farther on either side.
On the 7th they came upon us again, and were more quickly repulsed than on the day before From the first moment of the attack, and as long as the French were before us, discipline was restored, and the officers were as punctually obeyed as if we had been on parade at home. We felt not our sufferings; so anxious were we to end them by a victory, which we were certain of obtaining But Soult seemed to know our spirits better than our own commanders; and, after these two last samples, kept a respectful distance. We stood to our arms until the evening, the enemy in front, amidst snow, rain, and storms. Fires were then lighted, and we commenced our retreat after dark.
Before our reserve left Lugo, general order were issued, warning and exhorting us to keep order, and to march together; but, alas! how could men observe order amidst such sufferings! or men, whose feet were naked and sore, keep up with men who, being more fortunate, had better shoes and stronger constitutions? The officers, in many points, suffered as much as the men. I have seen officers of the guards, and others, worth thousands, with pieces of old blankets wrapt round their feet and legs; the men pointing, at them, with a malicious satisfaction, saying, "There goes three thousand a-year;" or, "There goes the prodigal son on his return to his father, cured of his wanderings." Even in the midst of all our sorrows, there was a bitterness of spirit, a savageness of wit, that made a jest of its own miseries.
The great fault of our soldiers, at this time. was an inordinate desire for spirits of any kind. They sacrificed their life and safety for drink, in many ways; for they lay down intoxicated upon the snow, and slept the sleep of death; or staggering behind, were overtaken and cut down by the merciless French soldiers: the most favourable event was to be taken prisoners. So great was their propensity to drown their misery in liquor, that we were often exposed to cold and rain for a whole night, in order that we might be kept from the wine-stores of a neighbouring town.
Why should I detain the reader longer on our march? - every day of which was like the day that was past, save in our inability to contend with our hardships.
(1) The last day of the year is so called in Scotland.
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