The Battle of Pamplona
Sergeant John Spencer Cooper, 7th Royal Fusiliers

28-30 July, 1813

Early in the morning of July 28th, we were under arms. The French covered the opposite heights, waiting orders to rush through the opening on our left. First, they sent forward a few cavalry with a trumpeter, along the opposite mountain side to reconnoitre. We watched their progress till they came to a corner of the road, when suddenly they went scampering back. A few minutes afterwards, a column of the enemy moved down on our left, along the high road to Pampeluna. To prevent their passing, we descended, and attacked them in flank. At the same time other heavy bodies were launched against our right and centre, and the firing became heavier and closer. The leading column of the enemy succeeded in passing us, and marched boldly forward to the brow of a hill 300 yards beyond our flank, when, to their surprise, a concealed division of ours rose up, and rushing upon them, poured a storm of fire into the loose mass, which sent them back in disorder. Our fire was now redoubled, and was no doubt destructive. A Portuguese company of cacadores that was joined to us, hearing the French crying out "Espanoles! Espanoles!" to make us believe they were friends, cried out "No Espanoles! Mais fuego! mais fuego!" ("More fire! more fire!") We all did so, and men fell fast on both sides. While I was kneeling and firing, a drill-sergeant named Brooks, who afterwards got a commission, came and helped to get my cartridges out more quickly. We got on bravely until a ball knocked off his cap. He, perhaps thinking the place too hot, left me to help myself.

All our officers were at this time wounded. One of them whose leg was broken I assisted out of the fray a few yards. A brother sergeant, a morose fellow, and no friend of mine, I helped upon the adjutant's horse. He was shot in the loins or spine. I think he died. Why he was my enemy I never knew.

In the midst of all this, I was very ill; the fever and ague had returned most furiously. Parched with thirst, and pained all over, I could hardly drag my limbs along.

Major Crowder, who commanded the left wing of our regiment, now came, and seeing that our officers were hors-de-combat, ordered me to go and tell the Colonel our case. In doing this, I had to pass through a cross fire. I found the Colonel on foot, close to the enemy. While speaking to him, the senior Major's horse was killed close by the Colonel, and some men were wounded just behind me. Without giving any answer to my request for officers, the Colonel (Edward Blakeney) put his hands on my shoulders and said, "Sergeant Cooper, go up the hill and tell the Brigade-Major to send down ammunition immediately, or we must retire." This was necessary, as our men were taking cartridges out of the wounded men's pouches.

I scrambled up the steep, and performed my duty with difficulty, as my legs would hardly obey me. I then dragged a Spaniard with his mule laden with ball cartridge down to my company. The poor fellow was terribly frightened at the whizzing of the balls about him, and kept exclaiming, "Jesus, Maria! Jesus, Maria!" However, I pushed him forward to my former station. Having unloaded his beast, he disappeared in an instant.

Throwing off my knapsack, I smashed the casks, and served out the cartridges as fast as possible, while my comrades blazed away. Close by me, a sergeant named Tom Simpson sat on his pack, pale as death, holding his breast. "Tom," said I, "are you wounded?" Tom spoke not. He had just received a shot in his left side.

Hardly had I served out the ammunition and thrown on my knapsack, before a swarm of the enemy suddenly rushed over the brow of the hill, and swept our much reduced company down the craggy steep behind. Some of them seized the captain of the 9th company and attempted to pull off his epaulets, but he resented this by a blow of his left fist. However, he was led off a prisoner.

By jumping down among the rocks, my dress cap fell off, having my forage cap in it, and thus I was left bareheaded under a blazing sun. However, whatever number of balls followed me, they all missed, and I had the pleasure of seeing a fresh body of red jackets coming in haste to our relief; and by them the enemy were swept off the hill in their turn.

With great difficulty I gained the hill top, and found the company and the rest of the regiment. After repeated attacks, and as many repulses, the enemy gave up the contest, and retired up the slopes.

On calling the roll I found my company had lost twenty men. One of these, named Malony, that I had returned as missing, soon after made his appearance. I said, "Malony, where have you been?" "Fighting, sure," said Pat. "You have been skulking." "Have I? Look there!" said he, ripping open his jacket and shewing his blackened breast. A ball had struck his breast plate. I could say no more; but I felt sorry for being so hasty. Our regimental loss this day was about 200.

During the night there was a panic; all started up in an instant and seized their arms; but no enemy appeared. What caused the stir no one knew; but these panics frequently occurred.

Little was done on the 29th besides burying the dead; but on the 30th the game of war began again, by our cannonading the masses that attempted to break through our line in two places. Both these attacks failed, and we had the pleasure of seeing them driven down the steeps in glorious confusion by our brave Light Division. Immediately after this repulse, of which we were only spectators, Lord Wellington ordered a general advance on the enemy's position, as they were observed retreating hastily towards France, and leaving the garrison of Pampeluna to its fate. That place soon after surrendered. Unfortunately, I was not able to move, being in a hot fit of ague. The doctor came to me as I was lying on the ground shaded by a bush and blanket. "What ails you, Sergeant Cooper?" "It's my old complaint, sir." "Well," said he, pointing to the retiring columns of the enemy, "the French are off yonder; we cannot leave any one with you. When the fit goes off, go down to that village below, and report yourself to the first doctor you see." Thus I was left alone on a mountain in a blazing sun, without water.

When a little recovered, I slung my knapsack and fusee, and tottered down the steep to the village of Sorauren, and threw myself down in a stable among some straw. Looking about, I saw a surgeon who formerly belonged to our regiment. I told him my case, and was directed to go to a large house close by, and take charge of a captain and a lieutenant who were both mortally wounded. "They are your own officers, and both will die," said he; "see that their servants do not rob them." I went accordingly. The captain was wounded in the left side, and so was the lieutenant, but the shot had gone quite through the lieutenant's body.

Lieutenant Frazer died on the second or third day after the battle; Captain Wemyss on the fourth or fifth. There was something very affecting in the case of the captain's death. He had a brother who was an aide-de-camp in General Hill's division, and who had been wounded some days before in a skirmish. He, hearing that his brother was mortally wounded, rode off in search of him; but for some days fruitlessly. At last he ascertained where his brother was lying, and hastened to the place. A short time before he came to the door, the dying captain asked his servant if he could read. He said he could. "Then," said the captain, "take that Prayer Book, and read to me." The servant did so. Soon after, there was a loud knocking at the street door, and then a well known voice on the stairs. The dying man sprang from his bed, flew to the door, and fell dead into his brother's arms. His parents lived on Southsea Common in 1815, to whom I took a letter from our colonel, but did not make myself known. A coffin was made of some old furniture, and the captain was buried in a garden beside the lieutenant.

While here, I heard that one of my oldest comrades was lying wounded in the next house. As soon as possible I set off to see him, carrying some tea, etc. I found him in a large room that was full of wounded-all bad cases. His thigh was broken near the hip. I saw that my attention, and his own condition, affected him. I think there was a starting tear in the poor fellow's eyes. He might probably recollect his bad behaviour to me on two occasions. His wound proved mortal. Next to him, sitting on his bed, was a comrade sergeant named Bishop, sadly disfigured with blood and bandages. A ball had passed quite through his head. I did not know him at the first look; but he knew me and moved. Whether he lived or died I never ascertained. In Clonmel, Sergeant Bishop married a young Irishwoman, who had just before been married to a drummer belonging to a regiment ordered on foreign service. She accompanied Bishop for three or four years in the Peninsula. Being one day caught stealing, the provost-marshal flogged her on the breech. After this she left poor Bishop, and went to live with Colonel E., of the ________ regiment. In a corner close by, lay a man that I knew very well, breathing hard, and quite insensible. He died, and was buried. But where? In a horse-dunghill!

Here for several days I had an ague fit every afternoon. While in one, Major Crowder, who was wounded in the late battle, called to see the two officers that I had in charge. He gave me a few words also which were encouraging. However, thank God, by taking a few doses of Peruvian bark, I got rid of my disorder for a short time.

After the death of the two officers, I was ordered to take charge of twenty-five wounded Frenchmen, and escort them to Vittoria. To guard them, I had one corporal and six privates. When mounted on mules, with heads, arms, or legs bandaged, etc., they presented a strange sight.

Having delivered up my charge, I joined the depot at Vittoria. But rest was not allowed to any who could walk; therefore so soon as an officer, two sergeants, including myself, and twenty or thirty men were selected from among the convalescents, we marched to join the army. Before we left Vittoria I went to see a Spanish play acted. I understood little of what was said, but I saw enough in the obscene gestures and dancing that disgusted me.

I also saw in a field close to the town the 151 pieces of artillery which we took in the battle. They were indeed splendid cannon. But I had not curiosity to go over the field again.

After five or six days uneasy marching, we arrived at Wellington's head quarters at Lesaca, a small village surrounded by lofty mountains. Now my plague, the ague, came on again. Here we could hourly hear the thunders of the siege of San Sebastian. One assault had been made, but our men were driven back with great loss.

Not discouraged, though in the presence of a large French army under Soult, Wellington determined to make another grand effort. Accordingly, an order was given to every regiment in our division, to send one sergeant, one corporal, and twenty privates to assist in storming this strong place. I volunteered as soon as I heard the order read. An old corporal, John Styles by name, stammered out "A-a-a-an I'll g-g-g-go too." In a few minutes ten sergeants, and old Styles, volunteered as stormers. We assembled at the colours, and drew lots. The first sergeant who drew got the prize, went, and fell wounded. Old Styles also drew a prize; and when he came back to the tent, said in his way, "Now, my lads, I am going; and as I have heard of Heaven and Hell, lend me a coin, and I'll toss up and see which is my place if I fall." He did toss up; but I have forgotten the result of the toss. Old Jack marched with the stormers next morning, and fell severely wounded in the breach by a musket ball through the knee joint. The struggle was very severe, but our troops succeeded, and the town was taken. The old veteran was taken to hospital, and told that his leg must be amputated the next morning. But when the doctors came, Jack was drunk, and said that he and his leg should not be parted. The medical men left him, and his leg mended in a contracted state; and when strong he joined us in France. He was a cripple, but did his duty as before, and was present afterwards in the battles of Orthes and Toulouse. Poor old Styles loved drink too well, and had at different times received about two thousand lashes.

Marshal Soult knowing the famishing state of the garrison at San Sebastian, pushed forward several thousand men over the Bidassoa river, which divides Spain from France. A Spanish column was sent down from the heights of San Marcial to attack them, while we were kept on the hill in reserve, looking on. The Spaniards being under the command and eye of Wellington himself, drove back the enemy several times in gallant style, and finally, over the river, which they did not again attempt to cross. We cheered the Spaniards heartily after each charge.

While the battle was going on in front between the Spaniards and French, a heavy cannonade on our left plainly told that our troops were storming San Sebastian. Quite in keeping with this, a dense cloud enveloped us on the heights. The wind blew furiously; the rain poured incessantly. My case was such as I shall never forget. Wrapped up in a wet blanket, and shaking in the ague, I was nearly half dead in the morning.

However, when daylight appeared, we had the satisfaction of seeing Soult's legions in full retreat to France, climbing the steep sides of the mountain in front. To cheer us a little more, news arrived that San Sebastian was taken. Next day we returned to our old quarters at Lesaca, and rested a few days.

When we got to our tents I was ordered on duty. Of course I dragged myself to the parade. The Adjutant called me: "You have been ill a long time, Cooper, I'll give you an easier post. Go on the Provost Marshal's guard, and there you may get some rest." I thanked him, and went....

John Spencer Cooper. Rough Notes of Seven Campaigns in Portugal, Spain, France, and America During the Years 1809-10-11-12-13-14-15. (Carlisle: 1914), pp. 99-111.