Here, mighty Nature!—in this school sublime
I weigh the hopes and fears of suffering Spain:
For her consult the auguries of time,
And through the human heart explore my way,
And look and listen,—gathering where I may
Triumph, and thoughts no bondage can restrain.
William Wordsworth 1808
Composed while the author was engaged in writing
a tract, occasioned by the convention of Cintra.
Composed while the author was engaged in writing a tract, occasioned by the Convention of Cintra,Following the events near Mentzeta we met up with the main British forces withdrawing west toward Corunna. I’ll not write an account of that battle as I was evacuated ahead of my companions under Blount’s command and the battle has been widely reported on elsewhere. Suffice to say it wasn’t until a month later and some considerable personal expense that I was reunited with Captain Blount and his men in Portugal. He had been assigned to act as the personal escort of a Hannoverian exploring officer from the KGL named Major Tarqa DeOttor. By all accounts it had been a fairly dull time as all the Major seemed to explore was the vineyards and ale houses of Northern Portugal. That was until Soult crossed the border at least, the rapid French advance caught the Portugese off guard and the rag-tag force drawn together to face the French was smashed at Braga.
In the chaos of the retreat the Major received word that some Portuguese regulars were escorting something of importance away from Braga towards Lisbon and that we should do everything possible to ensure that these men were able to make it back safely with their cargo. Despite my attempts to uncover the nature of the cargo it still eludes me to this very moment. It took several days for Blount’s force of light infantry to meet up with the Lisbon bound Portuguese, they looked exhausted when we approached but I could see a steely determination in their faces as they marched on. Their officer was a well-dressed young man who had no time for me at all and only spoke to Captain Blount when required to, his men spoke no English at all and when I attempted to engage with them in Spanish I was met with jeers and what I can only assume were less than savoury accusations as to my mother’s character. Juan later informed me they were probably border men and that there’s no love lost between the two countries in that mountainous region.
Less than a day after we had linked up with the Portugese we spotted dust on the horizon ahead of us. When Major DeOttor returned he informed us that a small French force had cut the road ahead near the Town of Pena. With the cart with us and the fields still being boggy from the recent rains Blount had little choice but to force a way through and make a run for it on the road.
I remember the battle quite clearly, Blount had advised me to ride with Major DeOtter who would be able to guide me back to Lisbon should he not be able to force a way through the French. As a result I saw the action from atop a ridge that ran parallel to the road. At first it seemed like the French had left the location where DeOtter had spotted them as there was no movement from the edge of the town. It wasn’t until the column of Portuguese infantry neared the buildings flanked by Blount’s riflemen to their left and the Light infantry under Masterson to their right that we saw movement. From round the buildings erupted some French dragoons, they evidently sought to sweep aside Masterson and his men before coming up behind the Portuguese and seizing the cart. The boggy ground was to prove their undoing though as they quickly became slowed by the mud, their horses slipping and flailing as they attempted to canter through allowing the Portuguese to swiftly form into line along the road and pour fire into the cavalry whilst Masterson’s men took cover in the hedgerows and added their fire. The French cavalry tried to push forward in the mud but the volleys from the portugese were so intense that the edge of the road was obscured by smoke and the accurate peppering from the skirmishers from the flank was too much for them and many dismounted and ran while their horses panicked.
With the cavalry driven off the Portuguese began to form back into column on the road ahead of the cart only to find their way no blocked by a large French force pouring out from behind some buildings and forming line ahead of them. I heard a distant shout and saw many Portuguese dive into the drainage ditches either side of the road as the French line disappeared in a thunderous volley. Seeing the new threat Blount ordered his riflemen forwards to engage the line, the highly accurate rifles taking a punishing toll on the Frenchmen, so much so that after only a minute or so of being on the receiving end of the rifle fire I spied some troops being split off to push the riflemen back away from the line, Blount’s men showcased they skill and experience easily circumventing this distraction and continuing their rain of death into the flank of the French line. I saw the French officer leading these troops stagger clutching his side to be caught by one of his NCO’s a red stain spreading across his white and blue coat. This bought the Portuguese time to form up again on the road and begin trading volleys at close range. On the far side of the Portuguese I could make out Masterson’s men picking their way through the field where the Dragoons had struggled and they appeared to be suffering similarly and it was slow going, as they neared the chapel at the edge of the village the situation was made worse as puffs of smoke from the chapel windows accompanied by the sprays of mud around the light infantry forced them to halt and return fire before attempting to move on. I was amazed at their tenacity, where many men may have given up and tried to retreat the Irish lads of the light infantry worked in pairs, firing and moving slowly across the field.
Despite Blount’s daring and vision, it wasn’t to go all in the rifleman’s favour however, their fire and movement brought them close to a copse of trees on the edge of the village that suddenly began spitting smoke. It turned out that a group of dismounted dragoons had taken up residence in the copse of trees and waited for the riflemen to get close before springing their trap. I saw several riflemen go down in the moments before Blount’s whistle signalled the withdrawal to safer ground, the riflemen firing as they went in good order. The trap had stung but wasn’t decisive and the carnage on the road was now clearly going in the Portuguese’s favour as the Line ahead of them broke and ran. Masterson’s skirmishers had made it to the cover of the field’s boundary and were now pouring fire back at the windows of the chapel with the returning shots become more and more sporadic and wild. Within minutes the remainder of the French force withdrew, their officer being supported by his men as he nursed his wound. The way to Lisbon was clear, as we helped our wounded and quickly buried our dead I was forced to wonder if whatever we were brought south was worth the sacrifice of these brave men.
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