Iberia Won 35

Iberia Won 35

And, England, mourn for him the youthful Chief,

Whose noble promise Death hath there struck down,

Survived by Blanca for a moment brief,

And followed soon beneath the rampart’s frown.

Oh, perished there young Love and young Renown,

And budding Glory in the path of arms.

Mourn for the brave who fell before the town,

Nor least for Morton, first ’mid War’s alarms

To prove the patriot glow the Briton’s heart that warms.

 

 

XXXVIII.

 

Still roars the thunder-storm--Day wears the gloom

Of Night’s black canopy, and wears it well.

That pall o’erspreads more horrors than the tomb;

Beneath its folds are done the deeds of Hell!

And chiefs who seek the demon strife to quell

Are slaughtered by their men. Drunk volunteers,

Mad soldiers, vile camp-followers, knaves who swell

The array of War, and know nor shame nor fears,

A plundering pathway hew thro’ havoc, blood, and tears.

 

 

XXXIX.

 

Still roars the volleying thunder. Dost not feel

Appalled, thou villain, by that lightning-flash,

Nor dream when brandishing thy dripping steel,

That crimes like thine the Eternal arm will lash?

Doth not that thunder-clap thine eye abash?

For not more fell was Attila than thou;

Not Alaric’s self, whose Visigothic clash

Made Spain and Rome, beneath Honorius, bow,

Led monsters to the assault of much more shameless brow.

 

 

XL.

 

Such are War’s lessons--such the hideous brood

Spawned by the Passions in the hour of strife;

Such the dire Madness fed by scent of blood,

Where plunder tempts and sullying gold is rife,

Wine fires each appetite and whets the knife;

Dissolved the bands of Discipline, the mould

Of duty broke, restored barbarian life;

Honour and Valour both to Rapine sold.

Look here, Ambition, here: thy handiwork behold!

 

 

 

 

HISTORICAL AND ILLUSTRATIVE NOTES TO CANTO VI.

 

 

The incidents of the first part of this Canto are derived in common

from Napier, Jones, and Gleig. The tearing down of the Tricolor,

which I have assigned to Nial, must be historically attributed to

the real performer of this bold exploit.

 

“The French colours on the cavalier were torn away by Lieutenant

Gethin of the eleventh regiment.”--Napier, _Hist._ book xxii. chap.

2.

 

The magnificent achievement of maintaining for a considerable

period a fire from our whole artillery, against the curtain wall,

over the heads of the storming party, is thus coldly, but (on the

whole) accurately, described by General Jones:--“From the superior

height of the curtain, the artillery in the batteries on the right

of the Urumea, were able to keep up a fire on that part during the

assault, without injury to the troops at the foot of the breach,

and being extremely well served, it occasioned a severe loss to the

enemy, and probably caused the explosion which led to the final

success of the assault.” The General’s coldness is owing to the

departure from the rules of art, and to the contempt of the maxims

of “Marshal Vauban, who had served and directed at fifty sieges,”

as he triumphantly describes him. Vauban’s maxim was certainly

not British: “At a siege never attempt any thing by open force,

which can be obtained by labour and art.” Gen. Jones is incorrect

in stating that the fire on the curtain was “without injury to

the troops.” Napier says: “A sergeant of the ninth regiment was

killed by the batteries close to his commanding officer, and it is

probable that other casualties also had place.” _Hist._ book xxii.

chap. 2.

 

The impassable chasm beyond the breach is thus described by

Jones: “At the back of the whole of the rest of the breach was a

perpendicular wall, from fifteen to twenty-five feet in depth.”

(_Journals of Sieges_, Sup. Chap.) He thus describes the advance

of the Portuguese column: “Five hundred Portuguese, in two

detachments, forded the river Urumea near its mouth, in a very

handsome style, under a heavy fire of grape and musketry.” (Jones,

_Journals of Sieges_, Sup. Chap.) This does not quite do justice to

the gallantry of the party. “When the soldiers reached the middle

of the stream,” says Napier, “a heavy gun struck on the head of

the column with a shower of grape; the havoc was fearful, but the

survivors closed and moved on. A second discharge from the same

piece tore the ranks from front to rear, still the regiment moved

on.”--_Hist._ book xxii. c. 2.

 

The following account is from Gleig’s _Subaltern_:--

 

“Things had continued in this state for nearly a quarter of

an hour, when Major Snodgrass, at the head of the thirteenth

Portuguese regiment, dashed across the river by his own ford, and

assaulted the lesser breach. This attack was made in the most cool

and determined manner, but here, too, the obstacles were almost

insurmountable; nor is it probable that the place would have been

carried at all but for a measure adopted by General Graham, such

as has never perhaps been adopted before. Perceiving that matters

were almost desperate, he had recourse to a desperate remedy, and

ordered our own artillery to fire upon the breach. Nothing could be

more exact or beautiful than this practice. Though our men stood

only about two feet below the breach, scarcely a single ball from

the guns of our batteries struck amongst them, whilst all told

with fearful exactness among the enemy. The fire had been kept

up only a few minutes, when all at once an explosion took place

such as drowned every other noise, and apparently confounded, for

an instant, the combatants on both sides. A shell from one of

our mortars had exploded near the train which communicated with

a quantity of gunpowder placed under the breach. This mine the

French had intended to spring as soon as our troops should have

made good their footing or established themselves on the summit,

but the fortunate accident just mentioned anticipated them. It

exploded whilst 300 grenadiers, the élite of the garrison, stood

over it; and instead of sweeping the storming party into eternity,

it only cleared a way for their advance. It was a spectacle as

appalling and grand as the imagination can conceive, the sight of

that explosion. The noise was more awful than any which I have ever

heard before or since, whilst a bright flash, instantly succeeded

by a smoke so dense as to obscure all vision, produced an effect

upon those who witnessed it such as no powers of language are

adequate to describe. Such, indeed, was the effect of the whole

occurrence, that for perhaps half a minute after not a shot was

fired on either side. Both parties stood still to gaze upon the

havoc which had been produced! insomuch, that a whisper might

have caught your ear for a distance of several yards. The state

of stupefaction into which they were at first thrown did not,

however, last long with the British troops. As the smoke and dust

of the ruins cleared away, they beheld before them a space empty

of defenders, and they instantly rushed forward to occupy it.

Uttering an appalling shout, the troops sprang over the dilapidated

parapet, and the rampart was their own. Now then began all those

maddening scenes which are witnessed only in a storm, of flight and

slaughter, and parties rallying only to be broken and dispersed,

till finally, having cleared the works to the right and left, the

soldiers poured down into the town.”

 

It is nearly incredible, and certainly not very creditable, that

General Jones in his detailed account of the siege and storming of

San Sebastian, says not one word of the horrible excesses which

our soldiers there committed. Some men’s notions of history do not

differ very widely from the concoction of a political pamphlet.

Napier’s history abounds with frank admission and reprobation

of these horrors. I find a distinct allusion to them almost at

its very commencement: “No wild horde of Tartars ever fell with

more license upon their rich effeminate neighbours, than did the

English troops upon the Spanish towns taken by storm.”--_Hist. War

Penins._ i. 5.

 

The part which the Portuguese took in this assault was sufficiently

creditable to make quite unnecessary the boasting spirit which

disfigures their national literature. It abounds in the great work

of their greatest poet. Thus, for instance:--

 

Que os muitos por ser poucos não temamos;

O que despois mil vezes amostramos.

Camóens, _Lus._ viii. 36.

 

 

“We don’t fear many because we are few, which we have shown a

thousand times!” And in the previous stanza he relates that

“seventeen Lusitanians, being attacked by 400 Castilians (desasete

Lusitanos subidos de quatro centos Castelhanos), not only defended

themselves, but offended their adversaries!!”

 

Que não só se defendem, mas offendem!

 

This ridiculous boasting and inane swagger, which was a vice in

the Portuguese blood in the days of Camóens, exists unchanged to

the present hour, and has been disgustingly manifested in a piece

called “Magriço” lately selected for the opening of the National

Theatre at Lisbon, in which Spaniards and Englishmen are alike

insulted. “We are not accustomed to count numbers!” was a sentiment

vehemently applauded in this piece. Let the Portuguese not deceive

themselves by an imagined resemblance to their forefathers; and if

their historical recollections are glorious, let them endeavour

practically to revive them. They should remember that it is little

more than a century since their entire army ran away from the

Spaniards and French at Almanza, and left their English, Dutch, and

German auxiliaries in the lurch.

 

 

I. “Upon the Chofre stood the dauntless Graham,

And marked the slaughter with determined eye.”

 

Mas luego que los fija en el cercano

Altisimo torreon, bramando en ira

Jura rendir el enemigo muro

En general asalto y choque duro.

Campo-redondo, _Las Armas de Aragon en Oriente_.

 

“Full fifty cannon streaming death on high.”

 

----Le macchine ...

A cui non abbia la città riparo.

Tasso, Ger. _Lib._ iii. 74.

 

 

IV. “What were thy triumphs, Greece, on Elis’ plain?”

 

Sunt quibus Elææ concurrit palma quadrigæ.

Propert. l. iii. Eleg. 9.

 

ἐμὲ δ’ ἐπὶ ταχυτά-

των πόρευσον ἁρμάτων

ἐς Ἆλιν, κράτει δὲ πέλασον.

Pind. _Olymp._ i.

 

“Carry me on swiftest chariots to Elis, and bear me to Victory!”

 

“Olympian dust Alpheus’ margin strewing.”