Charles O'Malley, The Irish Dragoon, Volume 2

“Who is he?” said Mike; “who is he, ahagur?”

“Sorra one o’ me knows,” said the other; “but it’s the chap that shot Lieutenant Mahony, and I never took my eye off him after; and if the lieutenant’s not dead, sure it’ll be a satisfaction to him that I cotch him.”

The lower town was now evacuated by the French, who retired beyond the range of our artillery; the upper continued in the occupation of our troops; and worn out and exhausted, surrounded by dead and dying, both parties abandoned the contest, and the battle was over.

Both sides laid claim to the victory; the French, because, having taken the village of Poço Velho, they had pierced the British line, and compelled them to fall back and assume a new position; the British, because the attack upon Fuentes d’Onoro has been successfully resisted, and the blockade of Almeida – the real object of the battle – maintained. The loss to each was tremendous; fifteen hundred men and officers, of whom three hundred were prisoners, were lost by the allies, and a far greater number fell among the forces of the enemy.

After the action, a brigade of the light division released the troops in the village, and the armies bivouacked once more in sight of each other.

CHAPTER XXIV

A RENCONTRE

“LIEUTENANT O’MALLEY, 14th Light Dragoons, to serve as extra aide-de-camp to Major-General Crawfurd, until the pleasure of his Royal Highness the Prince Regent is known.” Such was the first paragraph of a general order, dated Fuentes d’Onoro, the day after the battle, which met me as I woke from a sound and heavy slumber, the result of thirteen hours on horseback.

A staff appointment was not exactly what I desired at the moment; but I knew that with Crawfurd my duties were more likely to be at the pickets and advanced posts of the army, than in the mere details of note-writing or despatch-bearing; besides that, I felt, whenever anything of importance was to be done, I should always obtain his permission to do duty with my regiment.

Taking a hurried breakfast, therefore, I mounted my horse, and cantered over to Villa Formosa, where the general’s quarters were, to return my thanks for the promotion, and take the necessary steps for assuming my new functions.

Although the sun had risen about two hours, the fatigue of the previous day had impressed itself upon all around. The cavalry, men and horses, were still stretched upon the sward, sunk in sleep; the videttes, weary and tired, seemed anxiously watching for the relief; and the disordered and confused appearance of everything bespoke that discipline had relaxed its stern features, in compassion for the bold exertions of the preceding day. The only contrast to this general air of exhaustion and weariness on every side was a corps of sappers, who were busily employed upon the high grounds above the village. Early as it was, they seemed to have been at work some hours, – at least so their labors bespoke; for already a rampart of considerable extent had been thrown up, stockades implanted, and a breastwork was in a state of active preparation. The officer of the party, wrapped up in a loose cloak, and mounted upon a sharp-looking hackney, rode hither and thither as the occasion warranted, and seemed, as well as from the distance I could guess, something of a tartar. At least I could not help remarking how, at his approach, the several inferior officers seemed suddenly so much more on the alert, and the men worked with an additional vigor and activity. I stopped for some minutes to watch him, and seeing an engineer captain of my acquaintance among the party, couldn’t resist calling out: —

“I say, Hatchard, your friend on the chestnut mare must have had an easier day yesterday than some of us, or I’ll be hanged if he’d be so active this morning.” Hatchard hung his head in some confusion, and did not reply; and on my looking round, whom should I see before me but the identical individual I had so coolly been criticising, and who, to my utter horror and dismay, was no other than Lord Wellington himself. I did not wait for a second peep. Helter-skelter, through water, thickets, and brambles, away I went, clattering down the causeway like a madman. If a French squadron had been behind me, I should have had a stouter heart, although I did not fear pursuit. I felt his eye was upon me, – his sharp and piercing glance, that shot like an arrow into me; and his firm look stared at me in every object around.

Onward I pressed, feeling in the very recklessness of my course some relief to my sense of shame, and ardently hoping that some accident – some smashed arm or broken collar-bone – might befall me and rescue me from any notice my conduct might otherwise call for. I never drew rein till I reached the Villa Formosa, and pulled up short at a small cottage where a double sentry apprised me of the general’s quarters. As I came up, the low lattice sprang quickly open, and a figure, half dressed, and more than half asleep, protruded his head.

“Well, what has happened? Anything wrong?” said he, whom I now recognized to be General Crawfurd.

“No, nothing wrong, sir,” stammered I, with evident confusion. “I’m merely come to thank you for your kindness in my behalf.”

“You seemed in a devil of a hurry to do it, if I’m to judge by the pace you came at. Come in and take your breakfast with us; I shall be dressed presently, and you’ll meet some of your brother aides-de-camp.”

Having given my horse to an orderly, I walked into a little room, whose humble accommodations and unpretending appearance seemed in perfect keeping with the simple and unostentatious character of the general. The preparations for a good and substantial breakfast were, however, before me, and an English newspaper of a late date spread its most ample pages to welcome me. I had not been long absorbed in my reading, when the door opened, and the general, whose toilet was not yet completed, made his appearance.

“Egad, O’Malley, you startled me this morning. I thought we were in for it again.”

I took this as the most seasonable opportunity to recount my mishap of the morning, and accordingly, without more ado, detailed the unlucky meeting with the commander-in-chief. When I came to the end, Crawfurd threw himself into a chair and laughed till the very tears coursed down his bronzed features.

“You don’t say so, boy? You don’t really tell me you said that? By Jove! I had rather have faced a platoon of musketry than have stood in your shoes! You did not wait for a reply, I think?”

“No, faith, sir, that I did not!”

“Do you suspect he knows you?”

“I trust not, sir; the whole thing passed so rapidly!”

“Well, it’s most unlucky in more ways than one!” He paused for a few moments as he said this, and then added, “Have you seen the general order?” pushing towards me a written paper as he spoke. It ran thus: —

G.O. ADJUTANT-GENERAL’S OFFICE, VILLA FORMOSA,

May 6, 1811.

Memorandum. – Commanding officers are requested to send in to the military secretary, as soon as possible, the names of officers they may wish to have promoted in succession to those who have fallen in action.”

“Now look at this list. The Honorable Harvey Howard, Grenadier Guards, to be first lieutenant, vice– No, not that. Henry Beauchamp – George Villiers – ay, here it is! Captain Lyttleton, Fourteenth Light Dragoons, to be major in the Third Dragoon Guards, vice Godwin, killed in action; Lieutenant O’Malley to be captain, vice Lyttleton, promoted. You see, boy, I did not forget you; you were to have had the vacant troop in your own regiment. Now I almost doubt the prudence of bringing your name under Lord Wellington’s notice. He may have recognized you; and if he did so, why, I rather think – that is, I suspect – I mean, the quieter you keep the better.”

While I poured forth my gratitude as warmly as I was able for the general’s great kindness to me, I expressed my perfect concurrence in his views.

“Believe me, sir,” said I, “I should much rather wait any number of years for my promotion, than incur the risk of a reprimand; the more so, as it is not the first time I have blundered with his lordship.” I here narrated my former meeting with Sir Arthur, at which Crawfurd’s mirth again burst forth, and he paced the room, holding his sides in an ecstasy of merriment.

“Come, come, lad, we’ll hope for the best; we’ll give you the chance that he has not seen your face, and send the list forward as it is. But here come our fellows.”

As he spoke, the door opened, and three officers of his staff entered, to whom, being severally introduced, we chatted away about the news of the morning until breakfast.

“I’ve frequently heard of you from my friend Hammersley,” said Captain Fitzroy, addressing me. “You were intimately acquainted, I believe?”

“Oh, yes! Pray, where is he now? We have not met for a long time.”

“The poor fellow’s invalided; that sabre-cut upon his head has turned out a sad affair, and he’s gone back to England on a sick leave. Old Dashwood took him back with him as private secretary, or something of that sort.”

“Ah!” said another, “Dashwood has daughters, hasn’t he? No bad notion of his; for Hammersley will be a baronet some of these days, with a rent-roll of eight or nine thousand per annum.”

“Sir George Dashwood,” said I, “has but one daughter, and I am quite sure that in his kindness to Hammersley no intentions of the kind you mention were mixed up.”

“Well, I don’t know,” said the third, a pale, sickly youth, with handsome but delicate features. “I was on Dashwood’s staff until a few weeks ago, and certainly I thought there was something going on between Hammersley and Miss Lucy, who, be it spoken, is a devilish fine girl, though rather disposed to give herself airs.”

I felt my cheek and my temples boiling like a furnace; my hand trembled as I lifted my coffee to my lips; and I would have given my expected promotion twice over to have had any reasonable ground of quarrel with the speaker.

“Egad, lads,” said Crawfurd, “that’s the very best thing I know about a command. As a bishop is always sure to portion off his daughters with deaneries and rectories, so your knowing old general always marries his among his staff.”

This sally was met with the ready laughter of the subordinates, in which, however little disposed. I was obliged to join.

“You are quite right, sir,” rejoined the pale youth; “and Sir George has no fortune to give his daughter.”

“How came it, Horace, that you got off safe?” said Fitzroy, with a certain air of affected seriousness in his voice and manner. “I wonder they let such a prize escape them.”

“Well, it was not exactly their fault, I do confess. Old Dashwood did the civil towards me, and la belle Lucie herself was condescending enough to be less cruel than to the rest of the staff. Her father threw us a good deal together; and in fact, I believe – I fear – that is – that I didn’t behave quite well.”

“You may rest perfectly assured of it, sir,” said I; “whatever your previous conduct may have been, you have completely relieved your mind on this occasion, and behaved most shamefully.”

Had a shell fallen in the midst of us, the faces around me could not have been more horror-struck than when, in a cool, determined tone, I spoke these few words. Fitzroy pushed his chair slightly back from the table, and fixed his eyes full upon me. Crawfurd grew dark-purple over his whole face and forehead, and looked from one to the other of us without speaking; while the Honorable Horace Delawar, the individual addressed, never changed a muscle of his wan and sickly features, but lifting his eyes slowly from his muffin, lisped softly out, —

“You think so? How very good!”

“General Crawfurd,” said I, the moment I could collect myself sufficiently to speak, “I am deeply grieved that I should so far have forgotten myself as to disturb the harmony of your table; but when I tell you that Sir George Dashwood is one of my warmest friends on earth; that from my intimate knowledge of him, I am certain that gentleman’s statements are either the mere outpourings of folly or worse – ”

“By Jove, O’Malley! you have a very singular mode of explaining away the matter. Delawar, sit down again. Gentlemen, I have only one word to say about this transaction; I’ll have no squabbles nor broils here; from this room to the guard-house is a five minutes’ walk. Promise me, upon your honors, this altercation ends here, or as sure as my name’s Crawfurd, you shall both be placed under arrest, and the man who refuses to obey me shall be sent back to England.”

Before I well knew in what way to proceed, Mr. Delawar rose and bowed formally to the general, while I imitated his example; silently we resumed our places, and after a pause of a few moments, the current of conversation was renewed, and other topics discussed, but with such evident awkwardness and constraint that all parties felt relieved when the general rose from table.

“I say, O’Malley, have you forwarded the returns to the adjutant-general’s office?”

“Yes, sir; I despatched them this morning before leaving my quarters.”

“I am glad of it; the irregularities on this score have called forth a heavy reprimand at headquarters.”

I was also glad of it, and it chanced that by mere accident I remembered to charge Mike with the papers, which, had they not been lying unsealed upon the table before me, would, in all likelihood, have escaped my attention. The post started to Lisbon that same morning, to take advantage of which I had sat up writing for half the night. Little was I aware at the moment what a mass of trouble and annoyance was in store for me from the circumstance.

CHAPTER XXV

ALMEIDA

On the morning of the 7th we perceived, from a movement in the French camp, that the wounded were being sent to the rear, and shortly afterwards the main body of their army commenced its retreat. They moved with slow, and as it were, reluctant steps; and Bessiéres, who commanded the Imperial Guard, turned his eyes more than once to that position which all the bravery of his troops was unavailing to capture. Although our cavalry lay in force to the front of our line, no attempt was made to molest the retreating French; and Massena, having retired beyond the Aguada, left a strong force to watch the ford, while the remainder of the army fell back upon Cuidad Rodrigo.

During this time we had succeeded in fortifying our position at Fuentes d’Onoro so strongly as to resist any new attack, and Lord Wellington now turned his whole attention to the blockade of Almeida, which, by Massena’s retreat, was abandoned to its fate.

On the morning of the 10th I accompanied General Crawfurd in a reconnoissance of the fortress, which, from the intelligence we had lately received, could not much longer hold out against our blockade. The fire from the enemy’s artillery was, however, hotly maintained; and as night fell, some squadrons of the Fourteenth, who were picketed near, were unable to light their watch-fires, being within reach of their shot. As the darkness increased so did the cannonade, and the bright flashes from the walls and the deep booming of the artillery became incessant.

A hundred conjectures were afloat to account for the circumstance; some asserting that what we heard were mere signals to Massena’s army; and others, that Brennier was destroying and mutilating the fortress before he evacuated it to the allies.

It was little past midnight when, tired from the fatigues of the day, I had fallen asleep beneath a tree, an explosion, louder than any which preceded it, burst suddenly forth, and as I awoke and looked about me, I perceived the whole heavens illuminated by one bright glare, while the crashing noise of falling stones and crumbling masonry told me that a mine had been sprung; the moment after, all was calm and still and motionless; a thick black smoke increasing the sombre darkness of the night shut out every star from view, and some drops of heavy rain began to fall.

The silence, ten times more appalling than the din which preceded it, weighed heavily upon my senses, and a dread of some unknown danger crept over me; the exhaustion, however, was greater than my fear, and again I sank into slumber.

Scarcely had I been half an hour asleep, when the blast of a trumpet again awoke me, and I found, amidst the confusion and excitement about, that something of importance had occurred. Questions were eagerly asked on all sides, but no one could explain what had happened. Towards the town all was as still as death, but a dropping, irregular fire of musketry issued from the valley beside the Aguada. “What can this mean; what can it be?” we asked of each other. “A sortie from the garrison,” said one; “A night attack by Massena’s troops,” cried another; and while thus we disputed and argued, a horseman was heard advancing along the road at the top of his speed.

“Where are the cavalry?” cried a voice I recognized as one of my brother aides-de-camp. “Where are the Fourteenth?”

A cheer from our party answered this question, and the next moment, breathless and agitated, he rode in among us.

“What is it? Are we attacked?”

“Would to Heaven that were all! But come along, lads, follow me.”

“What can it be, then?” said I again; while my anxiety knew no bounds.

“Brennier has escaped; burst his way through Pack’s Division, and has already reached Valde Mula.”

“The French have escaped!” was repeated from mouth to mouth; while, pressing spurs to our horses, we broke into a gallop, and dashed forward in the direction of the musketry. We soon came up with the 36th Infantry, who, having thrown away their knapsacks, were rapidly pressing the pursuit. The maledictions which burst from every side proved how severely the misfortune was felt by all, while the eager advance of the men bespoke how ardently they longed to repair the mishap.

Dark as was the night, we passed them in a gallop, when suddenly the officer who commanded the leading squadron called out to halt.

“Take care there, lads!” cried he; “I hear the infantry before us; we shall be down upon our own people.”

The words were hardly spoken, when a bright flash blazed out before us, and a smashing volley was poured into the squadron.

“The French! the French, by Jove!” said Hampden. “Forward, boys! charge them!”

Breaking into open order, to avoid our wounded comrades, several of whom had fallen by the fire, we rode down among them. In a moment their order was broken, their ranks pierced, and fresh squadrons coming up at the instant, they were sabred to a man.

After this the French pursued their march in silence, and even when assembling in force we rode down upon their squares, they never halted nor fired a shot. At Barba del Puerco, the ground being unfit for cavalry, the Thirty-sixth took our place, and pressed them hotly home. Several of the French were killed, and above three hundred made prisoners, but our fellows, following up the pursuit too rashly, came upon an advanced body of Massena’s force, drawn up to await and cover Brennier’s retreat; the result was the loss of above thirty men in killed and wounded.

Thus were the great efforts of the three preceding days rendered fruitless and nugatory. To maintain this blockade, Lord Wellington, with an inferior force, and a position by no means strong, had ventured to give the enemy battle; and now by the unskilfulness of some, and the negligence of others, were all his combinations thwarted, and the French general enabled to march his force through the midst of the blockading columns almost unmolested and uninjured.

Lord Wellington’s indignation was great, as well it might be; the prize for which he had contested was torn from his grasp at the very moment he had won it, and although the gallantry of the troops in the pursuit might, under other circumstances, have called forth eulogium, his only observation on the matter was a half-sarcastic allusion to the inconclusive effects of undisciplined bravery. “Notwithstanding,” says the general order of the day, “what has been printed in gazettes and newspapers, we have never seen small bodies, unsupported, successfully opposed to large; nor has the experience of any officer realized the stories which all have read, of whole armies being driven by a handful of light infantry and dragoons.”

CHAPTER XXVI

A NIGHT ON THE AZAVA

Massena was now recalled, and Marmont, having assumed the command of the French, army, retired towards Salamanca, while our troops went into cantonments upon the Aguada. A period of inaction succeeded to our previous life of bustle and excitement, and the whole interest of the campaign was now centred in Beresford’s army, exposed to Soult in Estramadura.

On the 15th Lord Wellington set out for that province, having already directed a strong force to march upon Badajos.

“Well, O’Malley,” said Crawfurd, as he returned from bidding Lord Wellington good-by, “your business is all right; the commander-in-chief has signed my recommendation, and you will get your troop.”

While I continued to express my grateful acknowledgments for his kindness, the general, apparently inattentive to all I was saying, paced the room with hurried steps, stopping every now and then to glance at a large map of Spain which covered one wall of the apartment, while he muttered to himself some broken and disjointed sentences.

“Eight leagues – too weak in cavalry – with the left upon Fuenta Grenaldo – a strong position. O’Malley, you’ll take a troop of dragoons and patrol the country towards Castro; you’ll reconnoitre the position the Sixth Corps occupies, but avoid any collision with the enemy’s pickets, keeping the Azava between you and them. Take rations for three days.”

“When shall I set out, sir?”

“Now!” was the reply.

Knowing with what pleasure the hardy veteran recognized anything like alacrity and despatch, I resolved to gratify him; and before half an hour had elapsed, was ready with my troop to receive his final orders.

“Well done, boy!” said he, as he came to the door of the hut, “you’ve lost no time. I don’t believe I have any further instructions to give you; to ascertain as far as possible the probable movement of the enemy is my object, that’s all.” As he spoke this, he waved his hand, and wishing me “Good-by,” walked leisurely back into the house. I saw that his mind was occupied by other thoughts; and although I desired to obtain some more accurate information for my guidance, knowing his dislike to questions, I merely returned his salute, and set forth upon my journey.

The morning was beautiful; the sun had risen about an hour, and the earth, refreshed by the heavy dew of the night, was breathing forth all its luxuriant fragrance. The river which flowed beside us was clear as crystal, showing beneath its eddying current the shining, pebbly bed, while upon the surface, the water-lilies floated or sank as the motion of the stream inclined. The tall cork-trees spread their shadows about us, and the richly plumed birds hopped from branch to branch awaking the echoes with their notes.

It is but seldom that the heart of man is thoroughly attuned to the circumstances of the scenery around him. How often do we need a struggle with ourselves to enjoy the rich and beautiful landscape which lies smiling in its freshness before us! How frequently do the blue sky and the calm air look down upon the heart darkened and shadowed with affliction! And how often have we felt the discrepancy between the lowering look of winter and the glad sunshine of our hearts! The harmony of the world without with our thoughts within is one of the purest, as it is one of the greatest, sources of happiness. Our hopes and our ambitions lose their selfish character when we feel that fortune smiles upon us from all around, and the flattery which speaks to our hearts from the bright stars and the blue sky, the peaked mountain or the humble flower, is greater in its mute eloquence than all the tongue of man can tell us.

This feeling did I experience in all its fulness as I ruminated upon my bettered fortunes, and felt within myself that secret instinct that tells of happiness to come. In such moods of mind my thoughts strayed ever homewards, and I could not help confessing how little were all my successes in my eyes, did I not-hope for the day when I should pour forth my tale of war and battle-field to the ears of those who loved me.

I resolved to write home at once to my uncle. I longed to tell him each incident of my career, and my heart glowed as I thought over the broken and disjointed sentences which every cotter around would whisper of my fortunes, far prouder as they would be in the humble deeds of one they knew, than in the proudest triumphs of a nation’s glory.