The blockade of Bayonne being now decidedly converted into a siege, Sir John Hope very justly determined, that every brigade of British and Portuguese troops — in other words, every brigade upon which he could at all depend — should take by turns a share in the fatigue and danger attendant upon the progress of operations. The tour of duty allotted to each was accordingly fixed at three days. In consequence of this arrangement, we, who had assumed the care of the works and outposts on the 4th, were relieved on the evening of the 7th; and at an early hour on the morning of the 8th, once more turned our faces in the direction of the pine-wood. The tents which we had pitched in the vicinity of Boucaut were not, however, struck. These we left standing for the benefit of a brigade of Portuguese, which crossed the river to succeed us; and hence, instead of halting where we had formerly sojourned, beside the pond, and under the shadow of the fir-trees, we pushed on as far as the outskirts of Anglette. The morning of the 8th chanced to be uncommonly dark and foggy. It so happened, moreover, that a man, who had got drunk upon duty the night before, was doomed to suffer punishment, as early as circumstances would allow, and the battalion having reached what was supposed to be its ground, formed square in a green field for the purpose. Partly in consequence of the density of the fog, which rendered all objects at the distance of fifty yards invisible, and partly because the country was altogether new to us, we lost our way. Our astonishment may therefore be conceived, when, on the clearing away of the mist, we found ourselves drawn up within less than point-blank range of the enemy’s guns, and close to the most advanced of our own sentinels in this part of the line.

For a moment or two we were permitted to continue thus unmolested, but not longer. The breastworks in front of us were speedily lined with infantry; mounted officers arrived and departed at full speed; a few field-pieces being hurried through a sally-port, were posted upon the exterior of the glacis; and then a sharp cannonade hewn. It was quite evident that the enemy expected an assault: and the accidental appearance of two other British brigades, which chanced at the moment to pass each other in our rear, added strength, without doubt, to that expectation. The scene was highly animating; but the enemy’s guns were too well served to permit our continuing long spectators of it. A ball or two striking in the centre of the square warned us to withdraw; and as we were clearly in a situation where we were never meant to be, as well as because no act of hostility was on our part intended, we scrupled not to take the hint, and to march somewhat more to the rear. There a certain number of houses was allotted to us, and we again found ourselves, for the space of four days, under cover of a roof.

We were thus situated, when a messenger extraordinary arrived at the quarters of the commanding officer, about midnight, on the 11th of April, with intelligence that the allies were in possession of Paris, and that Buonaparte had abdicated. It would be difficult to say what was the effect produced upon us by the news. Amazement — utter amazement — was the first and most powerful sensation excited. We could hardly credit the story; some of us even went so far for a while as to assert, that the thing was impossible. Then came the thought of peace, of an immediate cessation of hostilities, and a speedy return to our friends and relatives in England; and last, though not with the least permanent influence, sprang up the dread of reduction to half-pay. For the present, however, we rather rejoiced than otherwise at the prospect of being delivered from the irksome and incessant labour of a siege; and we anticipated with satisfaction a friendly intercourse with the brave men against whom we had so long fought, without entertaining one rancorous feeling towards them. I fear, too, that the knowledge of what had passed in Paris, caused some diminution in the watchfulness which we had hitherto preserved; at least, I cannot account upon any other principle for the complete surprisal of our outposts in the village of St Etienne, a few nights after.

The messenger who conveyed this intelligence to us went on to say, that Sir John had dispatched a flag of truce to inform the Governor of Bayonne that there was no longer war between the French and English nations. General Thouvenot, however, refused to credit the statement. He had received, he said, no official communication from Marshal Soult; and as he considered himself under the immediate command of that officer, even a dispatch from the capital would have no weight with him, unless it came backed by the authority of his superior. Under these circumstances, no proposals were made on either side to cease front hostilities, though on ours the troops were henceforth exempted from the labour of erecting batteries, in which it was very little probable that guns would ever be mounted. In other respects, however, things continued as they had previously been. The piquets took their stations as usual; all communication between the garrison and the open country was still cut off, and several families of the inhabitants, who sought to pass through our lines, were compelled to return into the town. This last measure was adopted, as it invariably is adopted when a city is besieged, in order not to diminishh the number of persons who must be fed from the stores laid up in the public arsenals.

Though there was peace in Paris, there was no peace before Bayoune. Our brigade having enjoyed its allotted period of rest, accordingly prepared to return to its camp beside Boucaut, for which purpose a line of march was formed on the morning of the 12th; and we again moved towards the floating-bridge. As yet, however, our services at the out-posts were not required; and as working parties were no longer in fashion, we spent that and the succeeding day peaceably in our camp. Not that these days were wholly devoid of interesting occurrences. During the latter, a French officer arrived from the north, bearing the official accounts of those mighty transactions, which once more placed his country under the rule of the Bourbons; and him we sent forward to the city, as the best pledge for the truth of our previous statements, and of our present amicable intentions. Still General Thouvenot disbelieved, or affected to disbelieve, the whole affair; but he returned an answer by the flag of truce which accompanied the aide-de-camp, “that we should hear from him on the subject before long.”

It will be readily believed, that the idea of future hostilities was not, under all these circumstances, entertained by any individual of any rank throughout the army. For forms sake, it was asserted that the blockade must still continue, and the sentinels must still keep their ground; but that any attack would be made upon them, or any blood uselessly spilled, no man for a moment imagined. The reader may therefore guess at our astonishment, when, about three o’clock in the morning of the 14th, we were suddenly awoke by a heavy firing in front; and found, on starting up, that a desperate sortie had taken place, and that our piquets were warmly engaged along the whole line. Instantly the bugles sounded. We hurried on our clothes and accoutrements, whilst the horses came galloping in from their various stables, and the servants and bat-men busied themselves in packing the baggage; and then hastily taking our places, we marched towards the point of danger, and were hotly and desperately in action in less than a quarter of an hour.

The enemy had come on in two columns of attack, one of which bore down upon the church and street of St Etienne, whilst the other, having forced the barricade upon the high road, pressed forward towards the chateau where our mortar-battery was in progress of erection. So skilfully had the sortie been managed, that the sentries in front of both these posts were almost all surprised ere they had time, by discharging their pieces, to communicate an alarm to those behind them. By this means, and owing to the extreme darkness of the night, the first intimation of danger which the piquets received was given by the enemy themselves, who, stealing on to the very edge of the trench within which our men were stationed, fired a volley directly upon their heads. In like manner, the serjeant’s guard which stood beside the guns in the village was annihilated, and the gun itself captured; whilst the party in the church were preserved from a similar fate, only in consequence of the care which had been taken to block up the various door-ways and entrances, so that only one man at a time might make his way into the interior. It was, however, completely surrounded, and placed in a state of siege; but it was gallantly defended by Captain Forster of the 38th regiment and his men.

Just before the enemy sallied out, a French officer, it appeared, had deserted; but unfortunately he came in through one of the more remote piquets, and hence those which were destined to receive the shock reaped no benefit from the event. His arrival at head-quarters had, however, the effect of putting Sir John Hope on his guard; and hence greater preparations to meet the threatened danger were going forward than we, on whom it came unexpectedly and at once, imagined. A corps of five hundred men, for example, which was daily stationed as a sort of reserve, about a mile in rear of the out-posts, was in full march towards the front when the firing began; and the enemy were in consequence checked before they had made any considerable progress, or had reached any of our more importaut magazines. The blue house, as we were in the habit of naming the chateau, was indeed carried; and all the piles of fascines and gabions, which had cost us so much labour to construct, were burned; but besides this, little real benefit would have accrued to the assailants, had the state of affairs been such as to render a battle at this particular juncture at all necessary, or even justifiable.

Immediately on the alarm being given, Sir John Hope, attended by a single aide-de-camp, rode to the front. Thither also flew Generals Hay, Stopford, and Bradford, whilst the various brigades hurried after them, at as quick a pace as the pitchy darkness of the night, and the rugged and broken nature of the ground, would permit. Behind them, and on either hand, as they moved, the deepest and most impervious gloom prevailed; but the horizon before them was one blaze of light. I have listened to a good deal of heavy firing in my day; but a more uninterrupted roar of artillery and musketry than was now going on, I hardly recollect to have witnessed.

As the attacking party amounted to five or six thousand men, and the force opposed to them fell somewhat short of one thousand, the latter were, of course, losing ground rapidly. The blue house was carried; the high road and several lanes that ran parallel with it, were in possession of the enemy; the village of St Etienne swarmed with them; when Sir John Hope arrived at the entrance of a hollow road, for the defence of which a strong party had been allotted. The defenders were in full retreat, “Why do you move in that direction?” cried he, as he rode up. “The enemy are yonder, sir,” was the reply. “Well then, we must drive them back — come on.” So saying, the general spurred his horse. A dense mass of French soldiers was before him; they fired, and his horse fell dead. The British piquet, alarmed at the fall of the general, fled; and Sir John Hope, being a heavy man, — being besides severely wounded in two places, and having one of his legs crushed beneath his horse, lay powerless, and at the mercy of the assailants. His aide-de-camp, having vainly endeavoured to release him, was urged by Sir John himself to leave him; and the French pressing on, our gallant leader was made prisoner, and sent bleeding within the walls.

Of this sad catastrophe none of the troops were at all aware, except those in whose immediate presence it occurred. The rest found ample employment, both for head and hand, in driving back the enemy from their conquests, and in bringing succour to their comrades, whose unceasing fire gave evidence that they still held out in the church of St Etienne. Towards that point a determined rush was made. The French thronged the street and churchyard, and plied our people with grape and canister from their own captured gun; put the struggle soon became more close and more ferocious. Bayonets, sabres, the butts of muskets, were in full play; and the street was again cleared, the barricade recovered, and the gun retaken. But they were not long retained. A fresh charge was made by increasing numbers from the citadel, and our men were again driven back. Numbers threw themselves into the church as they passed, among whom was General Hay; whilst the rest gradually retired till reinforcements came up, when they resumed the offensive, and with the host perfect success. Thus was the street of St Etienne, and the field-piece at its extremity, alternately in possession of the French and allies; the latter being taken and retaken no fewer than nine times, between the hours of three and seven in the morning.

Nor was the action less sanguinary in other parts of the field. Along the sides of the various glens, in the hollow ways, through the trenches, and over the barricades, the most deadly strife was carried on. At one moment, the enemy appeared to carry everything before them, at another, they were checked, broken, and dispersed, by a charge from some battalions of the Guards; but the darkness was so great that confusion everywhere prevailed, nor could it be ascertained, with any degree of accuracy, how matters would terminate. Day at length began to dawn, and a scene was presented of absolute disorder and horrible carnage. Not only were the various regiments of each brigade separated and dispersed, but the regiments themselves were split up into little parties, each of which was warmly and closely engaged with a similar party of the enemy. In almost every direction, too, our men were gaining ground. The French had gradually retrograded; till now they maintained a broken and irregular line, through the churchyard, and along the ridge of a hill, which formed a sort of natural crest to the glacis. One regiment of Guards, which had retained its order, perceiving this, made ready to complete the defeat. They pushed forward in fine array with the bayonet, and dreadful was the slaughter which took place ere the confused mass of fugitives were sheltered within their own gates. In like manner, a dash was made against those who still maintained themselves behind the churchyard wall; and they, too, with difficulty escaped into the redoubt.

A battle, such as that which I have just described, is always attended by a greater proportionate slaughter on both sides, than one more regularly entered into, and more scientifically fought. On our part, nine hundred men had fallen; on the part of the enemy, upwards of a thousand; and the arena within which they fell was so narrow, that even a veteran would have guessed the number of dead bodies at something greatly beyond this. The street of St Etienne, in particular, was covered with killed and wounded; and round the six-pounder they lay in heaps. A French artilleryman had fallen across it, with a fuse in his hand; there he lay, his head cloven asunder, and the remains of the handle of the fuse in his grasp. The muzzle and breech of the gun were smeared with blood and brains; and beside them were several soldiers of both nations, whose heads had evidently been dashed to pieces by the butts of muskets. Arms of all sorts, broken and entire, were strewed about. Among the number of killed on our side was General Hay; he was shot through one of the loop-holes, in the interior of the church. The wounded, too, were far more than ordinarily numerous; in a word, it was one of the most hard-fought and unsatisfactory affairs which had occurred since the commencement of the war. Brave men fell, when their fall was no longer beneficial to their country, and much blood was wantonly shed during a period of national peace.

A truce being concluded between General Colville, who succeeded to the command of the besieging army, and the Governor of Bayonne, the whole of the 15th was spent in burying the dead. Holes were dug for them in various places, and they were thrown in, not without sorrow and lamentations, but, with very little ceremony. In collecting them together, various living men were found, sadly mangled, and hardly distinguishable from their slaughtered comrades. These were, of coarse, removed to the hospitals, where every care was taken of them; but not a few perished from loss of blood ere assistance arrived. It was remarked, likewise, by the medical attendants, that a greater proportion of incurable wounds were inflicted this night than they remembered to have seen. Many had received bayonet-thrusts in vital parts; one man, 1 recollect, whose eyes were both torn from the sockets, and hung over his cheeks; whilst several were cut in two by round shot, which had passed through their bellies, and still left them breathing. The hospitals accordingly presented sad spectacles, whilst the shrieks and groans of the inmates acted with no more cheering effect upon the sense of hearing, than their disfigured countenances and mangled forms acted upon the sense of sight.

It is unnecessary to remind the reader, that whilst our column of the army was thus engaged before Bayonne, Lord Wellington, following up his success at Orthies, had gained the splendid victory of Toulouse. As an immediate consequence upon that event, the important city of Bourdeaux was taken possession of by Lord Dalhousie, and declared for Louis XVIII.; whilst farther conquests were prevented only by the arrival of Colonels Cook and St Simon, the one at the head-quarters of Lord Wellington, the other at those of Marshal Soult. By them official information was conveyed of the great change which had occurred in the French capital. An armistice between the two generals immediately followed; and such an order being conveyed to General Thouvenot, as he considered himself bound to obey, a similar treaty was entered into by us and the governor. By the terms of that treaty all hostilities were to cease. The two armies were still, however, kept apart, nor was any one from our camp allowed to enter Bayonne without receiving a written pass from the adjutant-general. Foraging parties only were permitted to come forth from the place at stated periods, and to collect necessaries from any point within a circle of three leagues from the walls. Yet the truce was regarded by both parties, as an armed one. After so late an instance of treachery, we felt no disposition to trust to the word or honour of the French governor; whilst the enemy, guessing, perhaps, that our bosoms burned for revenge, exhibited no symptoms of reposing confidence in us. On each side, therefore, a system of perfect watchfulness continued. We established our piquets, and planted our sentinels, with the same caution and strictness as before; nor was any other difference distinguishable between the nature of those duties now and what it had been a week ago, except that the enemy suffered us to show ourselves without firing upon us. So passed several days, till, on the 20th, the war was formally declared to be at an end.