.dt The Project Gutenberg eBook of ADVENTURES OF A SOLDIER

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.sp 4
.h1
ADVENTURES OF A SOLDIER

.sp 2
.nf c
<l>WRITTEN BY HIMSELF.</l>


BEING

<l>THE MEMOIRS</l>

OF

<xl>EDWARD COSTELLO, K.S.F.</xl>

FORMERLY A NON-COMMISSIONED OFFICER IN THE RIFLE BRIGADE,
LATE CAPTAIN IN THE BRITISH LEGION, AND NOW ONE OF THE WARDENS OF
THE TOWER OF LONDON;

COMPRISING

NARRATIVES OF THE CAMPAIGNS IN THE PENINSULA UNDER THE
DUKE OF WELLINGTON,
AND THE SUBSEQUENT CIVIL WARS IN SPAIN.
.nf-

.sp 2
.nf b
                  What, must I tell it thee?
As o’er my ev’ning fire I musing sat
Some few days since, my mind’s eye backward turn’d
Upon the various changes I have pass’d—
How in my youth with gay attire allur’d,
And all the grand accoutrements of war,
I left my peaceful home: Then my first battles,
When clashing arms, and sights of blood were new:
Then all the after-chances of the war;
Ay, and that field, a well-fought field it was.
.nf-

.rj
COUNT BASIL.

.sp 2
.ce
Second Edition.

.sp 2
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<l>LONDON:</l>
<xl>COLBURN AND CO., PUBLISHERS,</xl>
GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET.
1852.
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.sp 4
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LONDON:
Printed by Schulze and Co., 13, Poland Street.
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.sp 4
.nf c
TO

<l>GENERAL SIR A. F. BARNARD, K.C.B, K.C.H.</l>

&c. &c. &c.

COLONEL OF THE RIFLE BRIGADE,

AND GOVERNOR OF CHELSEA COLLEGE,

THIS VOLUME

Is most respectfully Dedicated,

BY THE AUTHOR,
.nf-

.rj
EDWARD COSTELLO.
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.sp 4
.h2
PREFACE||TO||THE FIRST EDITION.

.sp 2
So many Lives of Soldiers have already been written,
and by abler pens than mine, and so many tales have
arisen out of the chequered scenes of the late Peninsular
War, and the short existence of the British Legion,
that I dare not be very sanguine of creating for my
work any great degree of interest.

But every man’s life is a volume of change, felt and
expressed according to his peculiar dispositions and
feelings, which are as varied under a military as they
can be under a civil life. Could the never to be forgotten
Tom Crawley but give his own detail!—could
Long Tom of Lincoln, once one of the smartest of our
regiment, now the forlorn bone-picker of Knightsbridge,
but pen his own eventful track—could Wilkie,
Hetherington, Plunket, and many others of those
humbler heroes, conquerors in such well-contested fields
as Rodrigo, Badajoz, Salamanca, and Waterloo, &c.,
whose exploits form the principal attractions in this
volume, and whose stubborn spirits and perforated
.bn 006.png
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bodies formed key-stones for the fame of our immortal
Wellington, whose standard might have found a sandy
support but for the individual bravery of the soldiers
of his invincible divisions: could they but recount
their varied casts of fortune—who would fail to read
their histories and help to rear a cypress to their
memories?

With these considerations, I send this volume forth,
trusting that the reader will bear in mind that he
who wrote it was both actor and spectator in the
scenes he has narrated, and feels assured that by their
perusal, he will be enabled to guess at what is generally
felt and experienced by the individual soldier.

In the British Legion I held a medium rank. I saw
not only what its soldiers were, but caught a glance at
their officers: with them my military career flickered
out its last moments of existence. Its brighter fortunes,
short as they were, however, gave me sufficient opportunity
to value those unfortunate men—my humbler
comrades, and to be convinced by their deeds, that the
British soldier, with sickness, oppression, the lash, and
other distresses, still possessed his old spirit, and was
as fitted to reap laurels as he had been in more glorious
times.

.rj
EDWARD COSTELLO.
.bn 007.png
.pn vii



.sp 4
.h2
CONTENTS.

.sp 2
.in +2
.ce
#CHAPTER I.:ch01#


.ti -2
Introduction of myself to the reader—To the service—Who would not be a
Soldier?—A recruit—Wilkie—Cupid’s Row-dow—The service endangered by
another—Arrival at Liverpool—I am made prisoner, but not by the French—Recaptured
by our sergeant—Lichfield round-house—St. Paul’s—I join my
regiment, and the regiment joins us—Great numbers of rank and file burnt
alive \ \ \ \ \ \ #1#

.sp 2
.ce
#CHAPTER II.:ch02#

.ti -2
I join Captain O’Hare’s company—He falls in a passion—The “fair” and
“unfair” appointment—Disappointment—Things of a private nature—Tom
Crawley—An example—The Hero—How to catch “flats” in “squads”—New
way to tap a barrel—A Rifleman’s plan for sweeping chimneys and
tap-rooms—Pipe-clay and parade—The regiment embark for Portugal\ \ \ \ \ \ #6#

.sp 2
.ce
#CHAPTER III.:ch03#

.ti -2
Tom Plunket’s Military Career\ \ \ \ \ \ #11#

.sp 2
.ce
#CHAPTER IV.:ch04#

.ti -2
Arrival in Portugal—Crauford’s forced marches—Teetotalism with a vengeance—The
effect of the opposite extreme—Spanish mode of keeping a man from
stealing wine—False reports—Talavera—We arrive the day after the fight—A
battle scene—Sir Arthur Wellesley—General Cuesta—Dough Boy Hill—The
fever—I am taken ill—Elvas hospital—How to cure a fever—Convalescence—Burial
scenes—Our Sextons—March to my regiment—The Germans—Pig-skins
in danger, our own also—Captain Pakenham—Hanging matters—Two
dozen of each—Not sham pain—German discipline\ \ \ \ \ \ #19#
.bn 008.png
.pn viii

.sp 2
.ce
#CHAPTER V.:ch05#

.ti -2
Old Trowsers—Sleeping and waking—O’Hare again—Colonel Beckwith—Two
upon one—Meagher—Barba del Puerco—General Crauford taken by surprise—The
Portuguese incorporation with the light division—Rodrigo—Gallegos—The
Beacon night scenes on picquet—Lord Wellington—Napoleon’s Marriage—Crauford’s
stratagem—The French spy—We retreat to Fort Conception\ \ \ \ \ \ #28#

.sp 2
.ce
#CHAPTER VI.:ch06#

.ti -2
Villa de Mula—Night expedition to Villa de Puerco—Both parties retire—Death
of Colonel Talbot—A soldier’s grave—The effects of a miscarriage—Fort
Conception blown up—A mistake and no mistake—Another mistake, a
ball in the right knee—The bridge over the Coa—A friend in need, a friend
indeed—Charity abroad and at home—A surgeon’s advice—A blessing—A
cough, an uncomfortable companion—Spanish apathy—We arrive at
Fraxedas\ \ \ \ \ \ #34#

.sp 2
.ce
#CHAPTER VII.:ch07#

.ti -2
Mondego—The Coimbra—Figueras—The maggots—Lisbon—Battle of Busaco—Retreat
to Torres Vedras—Lord Wellington’s generalship—Belem—Jack
ashore and Jonathan also—Yankey and Lankey—Billy M’Nabb—The Highland
kite and Lowland tail—Josh. Hetherington—Sperum Poco—Portuguese
piety—Aruda—Doing what the enemy left undone—Tom Crawley again—In
state—A hot berth—Our enemies laugh at Tom in his glory\ \ \ \ \ \ #41#

.sp 2
.ce
#CHAPTER VIII.:ch08#

.ti -2
The enemy retire upon Santarem—We retire upon Vallée—The bridge over the
Rio Mayor—The French out-lying sentries—Their camp ground—Comparative
quietude—The still—Escape from assassination—Tom Crawley’s ghost-story—The
“Death and Glory men”—The charms of a Brunswickian appetite—Their
desertions—Sergeant Fleming—His court-martial—We meet our enemies
on the water and contend—A comment on both sides\ \ \ \ \ \ #50#

.sp 2
.ce
#CHAPTER IX.:ch09#

.ti -2
General Crauford leaves for England—Sir William Erskine takes the command—Mounseer
Strauss—We enter Santarem—Scenes of horror—Mile posts of
the “grande armée”—Retaliations of the Portuguese—Two upon one—Pombal—Smart
work—German gallantry—Auction—A new division—Redinha—An
accident—Long Tom of Lincoln—The deserter—A return of
favours\ \ \ \ \ \ #58#
.bn 009.png
.pn ix

.sp 2
.ce
#CHAPTER X.:ch10#

.ti -2
Our march upon Condeixa—Tom Crawley again—Hot and cold—Affair of Casal
Nova—Death of Major Stewart—The French continue retreating—The two
brothers—Night scene—The French continue their havoc—The Caçadore—The
pet goat—Lord Wellington again—Our old Colonel—The promise of the
Staff—The Recruits—British enthusiasm inspired—The two French prisoners—Particulars
of Massena’s retreat and state of his troops—St. Patrick’s Day—If
I had a donkey—The river Caira—Our distressing privations—O’Brien and
the old Patrone—Arrival at Friexedas—Adjutant Stewart killed—Sabugal—Carrying
of the enemy’s position—Encomiums of our Colonel—Death of
Lieut. Arbuthnot—Disagreeable bed-fellow—A light on the subject—Evacuation
of Portugal by the French, Almeida excepted—The British follow into
Spain—Arrival at Gallegos—The enemy active in Rodrigo—The skulker—Poor
Burke—Expedition and disappointment in search of a convoy\ \ \ \ \ \ #66#

.sp 2
.ce
#CHAPTER XI.:ch11#

.ti -2
Our advance videttes, and the French cavalry—Manœuvring in front of Villa
Formosa—The Suttler and the Dragoons—Sergeant-Major Sharp—Morning
of the 5th May—General Crauford returns—Portuguese welcome—Fuentes
d’Onor—French Dragoon challenges to single combat—Retreat on Navez
d’Aver—Charges of cavalry—A deep game by the French—Squaring it with
the enemy—The 79th Highlanders—A prisoner against his will—The French
sentry and General Crauford—The Light Dragoons again—Sergeant-Major
Sharp again—Scene of discipline—That lash disappointed—The German
fratricide\ \ \ \ \ \ #77#

.sp 2
.ce
#CHAPTER XII.:ch12#

.ti -2
Almeida closely invested by the fifth division, but not close enough—Evacuation
by the French—Suicide of the Colonel of the 4th—Sabugal—We cross the Coa—The
comet—Much ado about nothing—Tom Crawley’s fears—March through
Castello Branco—Portalegre, &c., to Campo Mayor—Tom Crawley poisoned—Blockade
of Ciudad Rodrigo—Atalaya—Hunting excursion with the Staff—Our
third battalion joins us—Colonel Barnard—Tommy Searchfield—Middy
ashore—Deficiency of rations—A new arrival—His adventure—Spanish spite—The
pigs—Rodrigo relieved by the French—Our division—We rejoin the
army—Battle of El Bodon—We return to Guinaldo—Again invest Rodrigo—January,
1812—Fort Piquerine stormed—The stripping of the prisoners by the
Portuguese—Tom Crawley again—Cure for a skulk\ \ \ \ \ \ #86#

.sp 2
.ce
#CHAPTER XIII.:ch13#

.ti -2
Cold reception—Preparation to storm Rodrigo—I join the “Forlorn-Hope”—The
breaches—General Crauford killed—Uniacke mortally wounded—Major
Napier wounded—Taking of the town—A rough customer—Wilkie again—Death
of Wilkie—A gift—The left breach after the battle—Wilkie’s grave—Horrors
of a storm—This is my niece, Sir—The right breach—Captain Uniacke—The
Light Division leave Rodrigo in disguise—Who the devil are those
fellows?—We enter El Bodon\ \ \ \ \ \ #94#
.bn 010.png
.pn x

.sp 2
.ce
#CHAPTER XIV.:ch14#

.ti -2
Burial of General Crauford—Anecdote of Ladrone! Ladrone!—Corporal Miles—Burial
of Uniacke—A French seat of honour in jeopardy—A wolf! a wolf!—Deserters
shot—Scene of execution—March to Castello de Vide across
the Tagus—Execution of Corporal Arnal for desertion—Badajoz—A man
dreaming of his head being off with his head on; singular fulfilment—Tom
Crawley’s dislike to conchology—His alarms—The Duke of Wellington saluted
by the enemy—Remarkable feature of the case—A French curative or an ill-wind,
&c.\ \ \ \ \ \ #102#

.sp 2
.ce
#CHAPTER XV.:ch15#

.ti -2
Storming of Badajoz—I join the Forlorn-Hope again—Presentiments of Major
O’Hare and Captain Jones—Their deaths—The stormers—The Ladder-men—I
am wounded—The French prisoner—O’Brien—Sacking of the town—Scene
of horror—Reflections—The Duke of Wellington and his men—Johnny Castles
introduced with a rope round his neck—The drummer-boy—A firelock goes
off, and so does a Corporal—I return to the camp—Casualties at Badajoz—The
French prisoner and a new acquaintance—His account of the evacuation
of Almeida—His opinion of the British soldiers\ \ \ \ \ \ #114#

.sp 2
.ce
#CHAPTER XVI.:ch16#

.ti -2
I recover from my wounds and rejoin my regiment at Ituera—“Nine holes”—March
for Salamanca—Sergeant Battersby—The grenadier and the murder of
his wife, &c., &c.—Marmont out-manœuvred—Assault of Fort St. Vincent—Retreat
of the enemy—We arrive at Rueda—The wine-vaults—My descent
into one—Fright, &c.—Manœuvring of the two armies—Skirmishing—A gallant
Frenchman—Pratt and his prisoner\ \ \ \ \ \ #126#

.sp 2
.ce
#CHAPTER XVII.:ch17#

.ti -2
Battle of Salamanca—My wounds break out afresh—I go into the Hospital at
Salamanca—The Germans and their prisoners—A recognition—Michael Connelly—His
death and burial—Josh. Hetherington again—A new acquaintance—His
accounts of the Guerillas, &c.—A keepsake for a sweetheart—The
Guerilla—The army retrace their steps to Salamanca—Proceed to Rodrigo—Heavy
wet—Spanish payment; acknowledgment—A dry coat—Lord Charles
Spencer and his acorns—We continue our march—The babes in the wood—Hard
skirmishing with the enemy’s advanced-guard—A woman in distress—Pepper—Hunger,
cold, and fatigue—Finish of the Burgos retreat\ \ \ \ \ \ #133#

.sp 2
.ce
#CHAPTER XVIII.:ch18#

.ti -2
Head-quarters at Grenalda—Don Julian Sanchez, the celebrated Guerilla Chief—Weakness
of our numbers—Incorporation of Spaniards into our regiments—A
thief—Punishment of, and opinion of the men—General orders for a collection
among the men and officers to relieve Russian losses—A ball, in which
.bn 011.png
.pn xi
thousands were present—Campaign of <target id='date-a'>1813 commenced—The Life Guards and
the Blues join us—The French retreat to Burgos—Secret expedition for bread—Our
surprise—Retreat—General Sir Lowry Cole—His temple spectacles
made use of to reconnoitre—Our escape—A few remarks—Three alternatives—A
cavalry affair on the 18th June—German brotherhood again\ \ \ \ \ \ #144#

.sp 2
.ce
#CHAPTER XIX.:ch19#

.ti -2
We encamp near Puebla, on the road to Vittoria—Battle of Vittoria—A man
obliged to hold his jaw—Affair of Bayonets—The 88th—Blanco—Daly—French
defeated—A prisoner rescued—The carriage of Joseph Napoleon—His wife,
&c.—His bâton—A prise—Attempt to rob me—Sergeant Lee—Night scenes
after the battle—The sale of the spoils—I distribute my money for safety—We
march on Salvatierra—Halt at Pampeluna—Another brush wanted—Lesaca—The
enemy on the heights of Santa Barbara dislodged—The French
attempt to relieve Pampeluna—The Bidassoa—The French too late for the
“fare”—We also—A race back by way of “hurry”—The Regiment’s birth-day—Sergeant
Fawfoot’s loss and re-instalment—My treasure—My comrade—His
good faith—Siege and storm of San Sebastian—The four hundred gallant
Frenchmen—Their charge and escape—The 52nd and their badges—Remarks,
&c.\ \ \ \ \ \ #153#

.sp 2
.ce
#CHAPTER XX.:ch20#

.ti -2
We encamp on the banks of the Bidassoa—Scenes on the water-edge—A narrow
escape with a lady in question,“Ah, there’s the rub”—Tom Crawley and the
biscuits—Our third battalion carry the heights of Vera—The French camp,
“the last of the French”—The Pyrenees—The mountain father—Up hill and
down dale—The battle of the Nivelle—Manly and Spanish affection—Blanco
again—His gallantry—Tom Crawley—A hug from a granny dear—The last
struggle—Crawley’s departure—A tear for Tom—A reel—St. Jean de Lus—The
French endeavour to make a stand—Colonel Sir Andrew Barnard wounded—Death
messengers fly fast\ \ \ \ \ \ #168#

.sp 2
.ce
#CHAPTER XXI.:ch21#

.ti -2
9th December—Our picquets driven in—We are nearly outflanked—We retire—A
rally under the eye of Wellington—Lieutenant Hopwood and Sergeant
Brotherwood killed—Excellent feeling between the French and English
soldiers—Consequent General Order—Johnny Castles in the advance—Picquet-house—Murder
at Tarbes—Blanco again—Collection made for the widow—Battle
of Toulouse—“Amende Honorable”—We encamp on the banks of the
Garonne—“Fall in”—The Spaniards make a mistake—General Picton rectifies
it—The enemy retreat into Toulouse—They evacuate the town—French
leave—Theatre of Toulouse—“A Rifleman on the look out.”\ \ \ \ \ \ #176#

.sp 2
.ce
#CHAPTER XXII.:ch22#

.ti -2
We continue to pursue the enemy on their retreat—Halted on the second day—A
carriage brings Soult and peace—French troops disbanded—Friendly intercourse
with our men—Castle Sarazin—Our men prefer the ground for a bed,
.bn 012.png
.pn xii
in preference to a feather one—The French sergeant—The invitation—Parade—The
dinner—Farewell to the Spaniards and Portuguese—Cupid enlisting
deserters—Poor Blanco—Embarkation for England—The ‘Ville de Paris’—The
sergeant in hope of a wife—Arrival at Portsmouth—The sergeant in search of
a wife—Their meeting and parting\ \ \ \ \ \ #182#

.sp 2
.ce
#CHAPTER XXIII.:ch23#

.ti -2
Quartered in Dover—Receive our new clothing, &c.—May, 1815—Receive orders
to embark for Ostend—We arrive safe—Bruges—Ghent—Brussels—15th of
June—Belong to the fifth division under General Picton—Descend the wood of
Soignies to Waterloo—Duke of Wellington arrives from Brussels—Battle of
Waterloo—I receive a wound in my right hand, shatters one of my fingers—Return
to Brussels—The pretty house-keeper—The child—Its dead mother—Genappe—Scenes
on the road to Brussels—Arrival at Brussels—Numbers of
wounded in the streets—Kindness and attention of the Brussels’ ladies—The
fair surgeon\ \ \ \ \ \ #189#

.sp 2
.ce
#CHAPTER XXIV.:ch24#

.ti -2
Brussels’ hospitals—The British and French soldiers under amputation—I lose
my finger—Another loss also—I leave the hospital and am removed to the
Provost Guard—The Belgian marauders bared to the skin—The point of
honour—Sensation produced on their comrades—The Belgian regiment under
arms—Guard-house surrounded—Narrow escape—Removal of the Belgians—Assassination
of a French Count by a Cossack officer—Medals sent from
England—Consequent dissensions—Poor Wheatley—Quarters at Mouvres—Augustine—An
old acquaintance—A rival—Augustine leaves her father’s house—Pursued—Her
father’s despair—Removal to Cambray—The regiment receives
orders to embark for England—We part\ \ \ \ \ \ #197#

.sp 2
.ce
#CHAPTER XXV.:ch25#

.ti -2
Disembark at Dover—Shorn Cliff Barracks—I am Invalided, and pass the Board
at Chelsea—Augustine’s arrival—Sixpence a day—Sir Andrew Barnard—Sir
David Dundas—My hopeless condition—Blood money—The Honourable
Doctor Wellesley—Mr. Walsford—Augustine returns with me to France—I
retrace my steps alone to Calais—To Dover—Dreadful extremes—A new field
for practice—A friend in need—Another “Forlorn-Hope”—Colonel Ford—A
Rifleman without an appetite—Death of Augustine\ \ \ \ \ \ #207#

.sp 2
.ce
#CHAPTER XXVI.:ch26#

.ti -2
I enter the British Legion as Lieutenant—I raise a regiment of Riflemen—Appoint
the non-commissioned officers—Recruiting districts—The peer and the
dustmen—General Evans thanks—Embark at Gravesend—Voyage across the
Bay of Biscay—Arrival in Spain—We land at Portugaletta—Pat’s logic—Spanish
sentries shoot a man by mistake—A bad omen—Men confined for not
wearing that which they never had—Modern rifle officers—Colonel de Rottenburgh—Legion
officers classified—Fine appearance of the men—Rifles march
to Zorossa—Head quarters at Bilboa—Bad quarters of the men—Severe drills—Bad
beginning—The men begin to droop through ill-treatment—“Cats” indiscriminately
used—Lieutenant Robinson drowned\ \ \ \ \ \ #213#
.bn 013.png
.pn xiii

.sp 2
.ce
#CHAPTER XXVII.:ch27#

.ti -2
Intention of the Spanish Government respecting our winter quarters—March to
Vittoria—Enemy oblige us to go round—The rear of the Legion engaged—Baggage
divided from it—Commencement of the plunder at Bilboa—Arrival at
Castro—Enemy supposed to be in the vicinity—We remain at Castro—March
the next day—Mountainous route—An accident—The pass of Las Goras—March
to Bonia—My company placed in the advance—Orders to prepare for cavalry—Doubts
and fears—A narrow escape—Arrival at Breviesca—Breviesca—Head
Quarters—My old Patrone—Hints to revolutionists—System of regular drill
begun—Riflemen drilled collectively—I practice my company in sham fighting—Provosts
and hardship—Lay in a winter stock of sickness—Legion paid up
to November, 1835—Last payment—March of death—We march for Vittoria—Pass
of Pancorbo—The dead Patrone—Approach to Vittoria—My old recollections—The
45th—Halt about three miles from the city—Spanish troops
come out to meet us—Triumphant entry into Vittoria—The veteran Colonel\ \ \ \ \ \ #222#

.sp 2
.ce
#CHAPTER XXVIII.:ch28#

.ti -2
Vittoria as it then was—A bad wind that blows nobody any good—Rifles rather
comfortable at first—Severe weather—Morning scenes and cries in Vittoria—The
flogging system—Men not starved—A comparison of facts—Hospitals get
crammed with sick—Singular economy—The old Colonel’s two sons—The Chapelgorris
decimated by order of Espartero—The Rifles march to Matuca—The
whole Legion assemble at Matuca—Cordova engaged—A Carlist village—A
confession—A night retreat—Colonel’s anxiety—Arlaban—Change of looks
both in the men and the inhabitants—March to Trevina—Sharp winter of
1835\ \ \ \ \ \ #232#

.sp 2
.ce
#CHAPTER XXIX.:ch29#

.ti -2
Return to Vittoria—The mortality and state of the hospitals—Deaths among the
medical officers—Scenes in the wards—Legion supposed to be poisoned—Don
José Elgoez—His first ordeal—A discovery—Execution of the two bakers—Description
of the “Garotta”—Legion march and counter-marches—Mode of
warfare adopted by General Evans—Frequent desertion\ \ \ \ \ \ #238#

.sp 2
.ce
#CHAPTER XXX.:ch30#

.sp 2
.ti -2
Sudden and unjust dismissal of the officers—Copies from General Orders—Spanish
compliments to the French and British Legions—Cordova between
two fires—Some French officers resign—Difference betwixt the British and
French Legion—Parting moments between a French Colonel and his men—Legion
receive orders to proceed to San Sebastian—The sick left behind to
guard the sick—March through the country to Santander—Arrival at the
Convent of Carbon—New clothing—Recruits, &c.—My opinion of the
Legion\ \ \ \ \ \ #244#
.bn 014.png
.pn xiv

.sp 2
.ce
#CHAPTER XXXI.:ch31#

.ti -2
Embark for San Sebastian—A thirty-two-pounder, and no mistake—A bloody
force—Brains where they were wanted, unfortunately—A prize—Arrival at San
Sebastian—Anticipated attack—Colonel de Rottenberg taken ill—Major Fortescue—Opinions—His
maiden speech—Two companies broke up the others of
the regiment—5th of May—Attack on the lines of San Sebastian—A hullabaloo—6th
Scotch taken for enemies—Helter-skelter—I receive a severe wound—Am
carried into San Sebastian—My letter to my wife\ \ \ \ \ \ #250#

.sp 2
.ce
#CHAPTER XXXII.:ch32#

.ti -2
The loss of my company in the late action—Apprehensions about my leg—<target id='medal'>Medal
and pewter—A candidate for Knighthood—Captain Plunkett—His death, &c.—A
Rifleman assassinated—Fire-eaters—Sketch of San Sebastian—Lord John
Hay’s battery—Ramble towards Passages—Something serious—Awkward
squads—Singular decline of Spanish Bigotry—A Sectarian alarmed\ \ \ \ \ \ #256#

.sp 2
.ce
#CHAPTER XXXIII.:ch33#

.ti -2
Disorganised state of the Legion—Three months’ pay—A holiday—The 6th and
8th Scotch lay down their arms—Reasons—My wishes to retire from the Legion—I
give up the command of the company—A reflection—I embark for Santander—Report
myself to Colonel Arbuthnot—My new command—The convent of
Carbon—Short description—Inhabitants of—First sample—A speculation—A
Quarter-master’s conscience—I place him under arrest—A horse! A
horse!\ \ \ \ \ \ #263#

.sp 2
.ce
#CHAPTER XXXIV.:ch34#

.ti -2
An orderly dragoon puts us all in confusion—A stir—Retreat upon Santander—The
dangers of forgetfulness—Cure for a fever—We return to our old quarters—Captain
Shields and Major Clark’s visit—An appeal—A new mode of raising
“Volunteers”—Glory or death by famine—One hundred and twenty men are
starved into the service again—Scene in Santander—British soldiers and subjects—More
assassinations—<target id='acbs'>A cold-blooded Spaniard—A peace-loving Commandant—Captain
Oakley and his “cats”—Continued horrors of the convent—Assassination—A
relief from purgatory—A conclusion\ \ \ \ \ \ #268#
.in
.bn 015.png
.pn 1



.sp 4
.nf c
<xl>ADVENTURES</xl>

OF

<xl>A SOLDIER.</xl>
.nf-



.sp 4
.h2 id=ch01
CHAPTER I.

.nf b
To give a young gentleman right education,
The army’s the only good school in the nation.
.nf-

.rj
SWIFT.

.in +2
.ti -2
Introduction of myself to the reader—To the service—Who would not be a
Soldier?—A recruit—Wilkie—Cupid’s Row-dow—The service endangered by
another—Arrival at Liverpool—I am made prisoner, but not by the French—Recaptured
by our sergeant—Lichfield round-house—St. Paul’s—I join my
regiment, and the regiment joins us—Great numbers of rank and file burnt
alive.
.in

.sp 2
<sc>It</sc> has ever been the fashion in story telling to begin, I
believe, with the birth of the hero, and as I do not forget,
for a moment, that I am my own, I can only modestly say
with young Norval I am,

.nf b
  ... ... ... of parentage obscure
Who nought can boast, but my desire to be
A soldier.
.nf-

I was born at the town of Mount Mellick, Queen’s
County, Ireland, on the 26th October, 1788. When I
was seven years old my father removed to Dublin, where
he had been appointed to the situation of tide waiter. As
soon as I became a good sized youth, my father bound me
apprentice to a cabinet-maker, in King William Street, in
the aforesaid city; but urged by a roving and restless
spirit, I soon grew tired of my occupation, which I left
on morning early “without beat of drum.”
.bn 016.png
.pn 2

I next went to live with an uncle, a shoemaker, who
employed several men to work in his business. Among
these was an old soldier, who had lost a leg, fighting under
Sir Ralph Abercrombie, in Egypt. From this old blade, I
think it was, I first acquired that martial ardour that so
frequently infects young men in time of war. There was,
indeed, no resisting the old pensioner’s description of glory.
I became red hot for a soldier’s life, and although rejected
as too young for the regulars, I “listed,” as it is technically
called, in the Dublin Militia on the 17th of June,
1806.

At the latter end of the following year, our regiment
was stationed at Londonderry, in the north of Ireland,
where I volunteered into the 95th, since made the “Rifle
Brigade.” It was rather singular, but I remember I was the
only volunteer from the regiment who joined the rifles.

After receiving my bounty of the eighteen guineas (£4 of
which were deducted for my kit, which I was to have on
joining), the sum allowed at that time to those who volunteered
from the militia, I took the mail coach for Dublin,
where I found a recruiting party of my new regiment,
consisting of one sergeant, a corporal and six privates. I
must say I felt highly delighted with the smart appearance
of the men, as well as with their green uniform. The
sergeant proposed that I should remain in Dublin, being as
it were, almost a native of that city, from which circumstance
he thought I might materially assist in raising
recruits.

Recruiting, on the pay of a private soldier, is anything
but pleasant, and particularly if he be confined to the mere
shilling a-day, doled out to him once a-week, for he not
unfrequently spends it all the first night he receives it. I
myself had woefully experienced this, having been frequently
for days without food, through my irregularities and my
unwillingness to acquaint my friends that I was so near
them.

I was crawling about one day in this manner, heartily
tired of my first sample of military life, garbed in an old
green jacket of the sergeant’s, when I was accosted by a
smart young fellow. After eyeing me rather shrewdly from
.bn 017.png
.pn 3
head to foot for several seconds, “I say, green boy,” said
he, “do you belong to the Croppies? D—— me, but I
like your dress. What bounty do you give?”

“Eighteen guineas,” replied I.

“Come then,” said he, “tip us a shilling. I’m your
man.” Unfortunately for me, I had not a farthing, for I
had eaten nothing for that and the whole of the previous
day. However, knowing that we received two pounds for
every recruit, I hurried into a public-house near at hand,
and requested of the landlord to lend me a shilling, telling
him the use for which I wanted it. This he very kindly
did, and I handed it over to the recruit, who, chucking it
instantly on the counter, called for the worth of it in
whiskey. While we remained drinking, the sergeant,
whom I had sent for, arrived, and supplying us with money,
the recruit passed the doctor and was sworn in for our corps.

His name was Wilkie, he was an Englishman; his father
having been sent for from Manchester to superintend a glass
manufactory in Dublin, accounted for his being here. He
was a fine young fellow of about five feet eight inches in
height, and possessed all the genuine elements of a soldier,
that is, was quarrelsome, generous and brave, of which
qualities he gave us a specimen the evening he enlisted, by
quilting a pair of coal-heavers. After a few days, he
introduced me to his family, consisting of his parents and
a sister, a remarkably pretty girl of about seventeen. Had
war not claimed me with her iron grasp as her proselyte, I,
no doubt, should have interwoven my destinies with the
silken web of Cupid, who, very naturally, when my youth
and early passions are considered, for I was but nineteen,
tapped me very seriously on the shoulder.

I, however, went on recruiting, and the two pounds I
received for enlisting Wilkie, I handed <target id='over'>over to my landlady
in advance for future food, which my last misfortune had
taught me to value. This precaution, as is generally the
case, was now no longer necessary, for in a short time after,
we enlisted so many recruits, that money became very
plentiful, and I was enabled to get coloured clothes. While
we remained in Dublin, I became a constant visitor at the
house of Wilkie’s father, and the young lady I have
.bn 018.png
.pn 4
alluded to, not disapproving of my advances, a serious
attachment followed. But my stay threatened to be
speedily terminated, as the sergeant and his party received
orders to join his regiment immediately, then at Colchester,

.nf b
Mars and Cupid <em>beat to arms</em>,
.nf-

.ti 0
and placed me in the predicament of the donkey betwixt
the hay stacks. I became bewildered as to which to take,
both being, as it were, necessary to the calls of my nature.

At last, the time for parting arrived, which took place
after a little private snivelling and simpering, and the usual
vows of eternal fidelity, passion and remembrance—which
last I have kept to this day. She and her mother accompanied
Wilkie and myself towards the Pigeon House,
Ringsend, and in something more than twenty-four hours,
we found ourselves cheek by jowl with the quays of Liverpool.
It was past midnight when <em>we</em> cast anchor. We were
ordered to remain on board; but Wilkie’s and my own
anxiety to see the place took advantage of a loop hole in
the waterman’s pocket, and we got ashore in our coloured
clothes; from the lateness of the hour, however, we were
obliged to take lodgings in a cellar. We had not been long
settled and asleep below stairs, before I was awoke by the
bright glare of a bull’s eye lanthorn staring me full in the
face, and some five or six rough sailors all armed to the
teeth, standing before us.

The first thing they did was to feel our hands, which,
finding to be rather soft, one remarked to the other, that
we had never been sailors, though nevertheless they took
us as lawful prey. Wilkie, at first, wanted to fight with
them, but was persuaded by half a dozen <em>bull dogs</em>, and
some cutlasses to walk quietly to the tender, in which we
most probably should have taken a voyage, but, for one
thing, we had been <em>sea-sick</em> and were <em>sick of the sea</em>, and on
being examined by the officer on board the next morning,
we gladly sent for our sergeant, who, claiming us, accordingly,
we were liberated.

Our party continued their march, and Wilkie, whom for
more reasons than one I was growing exceedingly attached
.bn 019.png
.pn 5
to, was always my companion and many a scrape he got me
into. He was continually in hot water; on several occasions
and particularly at Lichfield where we were caged,
for kicking up disturbances amongst some Irish recruits in
which, however, I supported my friend, we were detained
for want of means to pay for the damage done to a public-house,
the scene of riot. Sergeant Crooks (for that was
our sergeant’s name) had not unfortunately the means to
satisfy this demand, having nothing but the men’s bare
allowance to carry us to London. Meanwhile, we remained
in the cage, which was in a very conspicuous part of the
market-place.

The fact of an Irishman being there, seemed to have
aroused all the little brats and blackguards of the neighbourhood,
(my countrymen were not so plentifully scattered
then as they are now), and every minute of the
day we were annoyed by, “I say Paddy, Hilloa Paddy,
which way does the bull run?” Taking both of us for
Irish, the young devils kept twirling their fingers on their
noses, even through the bars of the cage. The poor
sergeant, who was a mild good fellow, arranged matters,
after all, with the magistrates; the money was to be sent
to the injured parties as soon as we joined the regiment,
and deducted from our pay—which was done accordingly.

Wilkie, however, continued his pranks, and once while
in London when on a visit to St. Paul’s Cathedral, stopped
the pendulum of the clock, and set the bells ringing; for
this we were again imprisoned, but escaped this time, by
paying a fine of five shillings for being drunk, after which
nothing occurred till we arrived at Colchester. Here
I joined the 1st battalion, then under the command
of Colonel Beckwith, afterwards known as General Sir
Sidney Beckwith, and was attached to Captain Glass’s
company.

Shortly after my arrival, the regiment was ordered to
Spain, the campaign having then commenced. But not
being perfect in my exercises, I was left behind as depôt,
until time and practice had made me a greater proficient in
Light Infantry duty. Although this was a necessary consequence
to a mere recruit, at that time, I felt not a little
.bn 020.png
.pn 6
mortification at being prevented sharing in the glory,
which I believed the regiment about to reap.

As it was, however, I had no great reason to complain.
I became an adept in my drill, and a tolerable shot along
with some other recruits, before the regiment returned.
This took place in the month of January, 1809, at Hythe,
where we were at that time stationed, the depôt having
moved from Colchester.

The Rifle regiment, it is well known, had distinguished
itself, and had suffered severely, especially in the retreat to
Corunna under the gallant Moore. From thence, they
had embarked for England, where, on their landing, they
presented a most deplorable sight. The appearance of the
men was squalid and miserable in the extreme. There was
scarcely a man amongst them, who had not lost some of
his appointments, and many, owing to the horrors of that
celebrated retreat, were even without rifles. Their clothing,
too, was in tatters, and in such an absolute state of filth as
to swarm with vermin. New clothing was immediately
served out and the old ordered to be burnt, which order
was put into execution at the back of our barracks amid the
jests of the men, who congratulated each other on thus getting
effectually rid of those myriads of enemies, that had
proved such a source of personal discomfort to them abroad.



.sp 4
.h2 id=ch02
CHAPTER II.

.in +2
.ti -2
I join Captain O’Hare’s company—He falls in a passion—The “fair” and
“unfair” appointment—Disappointment—Things of a private nature—Tom
Crawley—An example—The Hero—How to catch “flats” in “squads”—New
way to tap a barrel—A Rifleman’s plan for sweeping chimneys and tap-rooms—Pipe-clay
and parade—The regiment embark for Portugal.
.in

.sp 2
<sc>Shortly</sc> after the return of the regiment, I was drafted
into the company commanded by Captain Peter O’Hare; a
man whose eccentric habits were equalled only by his
extremely ugly countenance. Peter, for that was the cognomen
by which he was generally known to the men, was
as brave as a lion; and had risen, it was said, to his present
commission from the ranks.
.bn 021.png
.pn 7

While here, he got in tow with a young lady of Hythe,
whom he was in the habit frequently of escorting about
the barracks and the neighbouring heights. This the men
as often took advantage of, and throwing themselves in his
way, when arm-in-arm with the lady, would ask any favour
they might have required of him. This Peter, who we
presumed had an eye to the opinion and future requital of,
perhaps, his own wishes upon the fair one herself, would
always readily grant; until, at last, through their importunities
he became awake to the scheme, and swore he
would flog the first man who made another attempt of the
kind, when the lady was present.

A rather humorous adventure, which came to my
knowledge through his servant, occurred while here. One
day at Hythe with a dinner party, at which the young
lady was present, he chanced, unintentionally, to give
offence to some Militia officer, one of the party; the consequence
was, that the next morning he received, what he
perhaps supposed a <i><lang='fr'>billet-doux</lang></i>, but which, to his surprise,
turned out to be a challenge. He was sitting shaving
himself when the note was delivered to him by his servant,
and of course dropped the razor to peruse it.

“John,” said he, calling his man back; “who brought
this? Faith, it’s a challenge.”

“A gentleman!” replied John, “now waiting at the
door.”

“Oh, then,” says Peter, “tell the gentleman that I am
going to Spain, and that if he follows me, he’ll not find
me behind a hedge; and with my compliments, tell him
also to take back this bit of paper to the humbug who
sent it; for by Jove!” he continued, closing the door,
“captain’s commissions are not to be got every day!”

Our commanding officer, who was considered as one of
the most humane of the whole army, was an excellent
man, and well deserving of his fame; he seldom had recourse
to the “cats,” thinking, perhaps, with a great deal
of truth, that it was necessary only in extreme cases. The
plan of punishment, generally adopted by him, was to put
the offender on extra drill with all his accoutrements on.
When, however, the men became incorrigible, he would
.bn 022.png
.pn 8
order a six pound shot to be affixed to the leg, with a long
chain attached to it, and so oblige them to trail it about
with them.

We had in our regiment, at this time, a man of the
name of Tom Crawley, who was always getting into
scrapes, and who was one of those singular characters
with which every regiment abounds. To enormous
strength, and great meekness of temper, he added an
infinity of dry humour, which I shall better illustrate by
introducing him to the reader at once, as bearing no little
part in my career—in which he first became known to me
as one of the “incorrigibles.” Tom, however, made light
of every punishment, even of the “six-pounder,” which
he would generally chuck under his arm as if it were a
mere toy. To obviate this, another move was made by
our Colonel, which was the obliging him to wear a kind of
long smock-frock, with a green cross painted on the back
and front of it. The barrack in which we were, being
only temporary, presented no outward wall to prevent our
free intercourse with the town where Tom was a general
favourite. Tom used, therefore, at night, while under disgrace,
to take advantage of the dusk, and steal by the
sentries into the town. Here, of course, his strange dress
elicited innumerable queries.

“Arrah and sure!” Tom would reply with a knowing
side leer of the eye, “sure and is it not the new regulation
of the Duke of York, and musn’t all the likes of me,
that are Catholics in our regiment, wear the cross on their
dress!”

The first parade we had after our men had received
their new equipments, was imprinted upon my memory
from a circumstance attending it, that was well calculated
to make an impression upon the mind of a youthful
soldier, such as I then was; and to inspire that <i><lang='fr'>esprit de
corps</lang></i> in a regiment, which is absolutely essential to even
disciplined valour. I had previously, more than once,
heard a man of the name of Tom Plunket eulogised by
the men for his courage. He was a smart, well-made
fellow, about the middle height, in the prime of manhood;
with a clear grey eye, and handsome countenance; and was
.bn 023.png
.pn 9
a general favourite with both officers and men, besides being
the best shot in the regiment.

On the occasion I have above alluded to, we were formed
into hollow square, and ordered to face inwards; as we
knew it was not a punishment parade, we naturally expected
some address from the commanding officer, and
wondering in our own minds what was coming, when
Colonel Beckwith broke the silence by calling out:

“Private Thomas Plunket, step into the square.” All
eyes, it is needless to say, were fixed upon Plunket, as he
halted with his rifle shouldered, in the finest position of
military attention, within a few paces of his officer.

“Here, men,” exclaimed the commanding officer, pointing
to Plunket, “here stands a pattern for the battalion!”
Then addressing Tom, he added, “I have ordered a medal
for you, in approval of your late gallant conduct at Corunna.
Present yourself, Sir, to the master tailor and get
on a corporal’s stripes, and I will see you do not want
higher promotion, as you continue to deserve it. I love to
reward conduct such as yours has hitherto been!”

Making his salute, Tom retired, when we formed into
column and marched back to our barracks, duly fired with
a love of emulation to deserve the praise that had been
bestowed on the fortunate Plunket. I have since often
thought of the judicious conduct pursued by our Colonel
in the foregoing instance, as I am convinced that it was
attended with the happiest effects among many of the
men, and, perhaps, indeed, induced much of that spirit of
personal gallantry and daring for which our corps afterwards
became celebrated.

Our regiment was shortly afterwards raised to one
thousand strong, chiefly through volunteering from the
Militia, our common medium of supply at the time at which
I write, and it is justly due to the Militia regiments, to say,
that in the knowledge and exercise of their military duties,
during the war, they were very little inferior to the troops
of the line. The men who joined our battalion, were in
general a fine set of young fellows, and chiefly the <i><lang='fr'>élite</lang></i> of
the light companies of the different provincial corps.

For his qualifications, as before stated, Tom Plunket,
.bn 024.png
.pn 10
with a few others, was selected to recruit from the Lincoln
Militia, which lay at Hythe, while we remained in temporary
barracks on the heights.

While the volunteering went on, the Militia colonels
were ordered to give their men full liberty to do as they
liked, and the better to obtain the object in view, barrels of
beer with the heads knocked in, were, by order of government,
placed in the different streets of the town, for those
to partake of who chose. The butts, consequently, were
dipped into by every kind of person with utensils of every
description. This we must not wonder at, when we consider
the double thirst those times gave rise to, “Barclay” as
well as “Glory.”

Tom’s manner of attack was rather singular, but joined
to the profusion of government, very efficacious. The
Rifles, from the dark colour of their uniforms, and the
total absence of all ornament, had gained the nick-name of
“Sweeps,” an appellation, which, nevertheless, held out a
kind of temptation to the “wide awake” of the squads.
The pipe clay and button stick were always hateful to the
eyes of all soldiers; but to none so much as to the Riflemen,
who looked upon them as fitted only for men less useful
than themselves. This, Tom took advantage of on all occasions.
He was the soul of every company he mixed in,
and amongst his other accomplishments, numbered that of
dancing excellently.

One day, the better to attract the “awkwards,” he commenced
a shuffle on the head of one of the aforesaid barrels
of beer, to the infinite amusement of a very large crowd;
in the course of a few steps, however, the head suddenly
gave way, and soused Tom up to his neck in the liquid.
The whole crowd laughed uproariously. But Tom, whose
head only was to be seen, stared very gravely round the
edge of the cask, then suddenly recovering himself, and
bolting out of the butt, he made his way instantly to the
public-house chimney, which, having ascended some distance
and descended, he as quickly re-appeared amongst
the crowd.

“There now,” said he, giving himself a Newfoundland
shake, that opened a wide and instantaneous circle of militia
.bn 025.png
.pn 11
men, “there now,” he exclaimed, “d—n your pipe clay,
now I’m ready for the grand parade!”

I must now notice an order that arrived for our immediate
embarkation for Portugal, to join the army under Sir
Arthur Wellesley. We went on board the transports lying
for us at Dover in March, 1809, in the best of spirits;
such, in fact, as sportsmen feel in anticipation of the pleasures
of the chase.

Shipboard, though perhaps not quite so forlorn as Doctor
Johnson has portrayed it, soon becomes sufficiently irksome
and unpleasant to those not accustomed to it, especially
when three or four hundred men are crowded into a small
vessel. Our officers, who were mostly a jolly set of fellows,
had recourse to various expedients to while away the time
on our voyage. Among these was one extremely popular,
and that was getting Plunket to dance a hornpipe to the
music of our band upon the quarter-deck. Tom danced it
famously; and the beating of his feet, in the “double
shuffle” used to draw the loudest plaudits from our men
and the crew of the vessel.

As I have already been induced to mention Plunket,
while we are now on our voyage to Portugal, I will introduce
a sketch of his life, which well known as it is to
many individuals formerly in the regiment, possibly may
not form an unamusing episode in my own.



.sp 4
.h2 id=ch03
CHAPTER III.

.nf b
When I’m in want I’ll thankfully receive
Because I’m poor; but not because I’m brave.
.nf-
.rj
TOM PLUNKET TO THE LIFE.

.sp 2
.h3
Tom Plunket’s Military Career.

<sc>Plunket’s</sc> first career in arms was in South America
with General Whitelocke, where he acquired the
reputation, in his company, of a good soldier. It was at
the retreat of Corunna, some years afterwards, that an
opportunity particularly presented itself of getting distinguished,
and which Tom took in the nick of time. The
rear-guard of the British, partly composed of the Light
.bn 026.png
.pn 12
Brigade, notwithstanding the gallantry of some of our
cavalry, were exceedingly pressed by the French horse,
who were vastly superior to us in that arm. In the
neighbourhood of Astorga, in particular, they made
several determined charges. In these onsets, a French
general, named Colbert, was remarkably active, as well as
conspicuous, from riding a grey horse, and, though frequently
aimed at by our men, seemed to bear a charmed
life, as he invariably escaped. In one of the French
charges, headed by this officer, our General, Sir Edward
Paget, rode up to the rifles, and offered any man his
purse who would shoot this daring Frenchman, whom he
pointed out. Plunket immediately started from his company,
and running about a hundred yards nearer to the
enemy, he threw himself on his back on the road, which
was covered with snow, placing his foot in the sling of his
rifle, and taking a deliberate aim, shot General Colbert.
His Trumpet-Major riding up to him, shared the same
fate, from Tom’s unerring rifle. Our men, who had been
anxiously watching Tom, immediately cheered him; and
he had just time, by running in upon the rear-most sections,
to escape some dozen troopers who made chase
after him. Our General immediately gave Tom the purse
he had promised, with encomiums upon his gallantry, and
promised to recommend him to his Colonel, which he did
in high terms to Colonel Beckwith. A few days afterwards,
when the French attacked Sir John Moore’s position
at Corunna, Plunket again became noted for his cool
bravery and daring, especially in making some admirable
shots, by which they lost many officers.

But the truth must be told. Like all heroes, Tom had
his faults. Among these, in particular, was one which, in
its destructive consequences, was calculated to counterbalance
in a soldier a thousand virtues. In other words,
Tom was a thirsty soul, and exceedingly fond of a “drop.”
This was his unfortunate failing through life, and but for
which he must have got on in the service.

One deplorable instance of insubordination, arising from
this vice, I well remember, which took place at Campo
Mayor, after the battle of Talavera. Tom had been promoted
.bn 027.png
.pn 13
to the rank of sergeant, and was in the Hon. Captain
Stewart’s company. One morning, when the company was
on private parade, Tom appeared quite tipsy, and, in
giving the words of command for inspection, previous to
the arrival of the officers, he set the men laughing. The
pay-sergeant, his superior in rank, immediately ordered
him to desist. Tom refused, and, while an altercation was
going on, Captain Stewart came up, who, perceiving the
state he was in, put him under arrest, and ordered him to
be confined to his quarters.

Here he was no sooner left alone than, conceiving that a
great indignity had been placed upon him, thoughts of vengeance
immediately suggested themselves to his mind.
Under the influence of intoxication that man, who, when
sober, was noted for his good humour and humanity, now
conceived the diabolical intention of shooting his Captain.
He immediately barricaded the door of the room, and then
set about loading some ten or twelve rifles, belonging to
men, then on fatigue duty. Taking up one of these, and
cocking it, he placed himself at an open window for the
avowed purpose, as he stated to several of the men, of
shooting Captain Stewart as he passed.

Fortunately the Captain got notice of the danger of going
near the house, while several of the men, by coaxing and
force, alternately, endeavoured without effect to get into
the room Tom had barred. At length the unfortunate
Plunket was induced to relent on the appearance of a Lieutenant
of the company named Johnson, who was a great
favourite with the men, among whom he was known by a
very familiar nick-name. The door was opened and Tom
made prisoner.

Although Tom was a general favourite, and his conduct
had resulted from the madness of intoxication, his insubordination
was too glaring to stand a chance of being
passed over. He was brought to a regimental court-martial,
found guilty, and sentenced to be reduced to the ranks,
and to receive three hundred lashes. Poor Plunket, when
he had recovered his reason, after the commission of his
crime, had experienced and expressed the most unfeigned
contrition, so that when his sentence became known, there
.bn 028.png
.pn 14
was a general sorrow felt for him throughout the regiment,
particularly on account of the corporal punishment. In
this feeling, I believe, the officers participated almost as
much as the men.

At length the time arrived when the bravest soldier of
our battalion was to suffer the penalty of his crime in the
presence of those very men before whom he had been held
up as a pattern but some few short months before. The
square was formed for punishment: there was a tree in the
centre to which the culprit was to be tied, and close to
which he stood with folded arms and downcast eyes, in
front of his guard. The surgeon stood by, while the buglers
were busily engaged untangling the strings of the cats.

There was a solemn stillness on that parade that was
remarkable; a pensiveness on the features of both officers
and men, deeper than usual, as though the honour of the
profession was to suffer in the person of the prisoner.
Flogging is at all times a disgusting subject of contemplation:
in the present instance, it seemed doubly so, now
that a gallant, and until within a few days, an honoured and
respected man was to suffer.

The sentence of the court-martial was read by the adjutant
in a loud voice. Poor Tom, who had the commiseration
of the whole regiment, looked deadly pale. That
countenance which the brunt of the fiercest battle had been
unable to turn from its ruddy hue—that countenance
which the fear of death could not change—was now blanched
in dread of a worse fate.

“Buglers, do your duty,” exclaimed Colonel Beckwith,
in a voice husky with emotion, I thought, as the men
seemed to hesitate in their business of stripping and binding
the prisoner to the tree. This, however, was soon
accomplished, Tom only once attempting to catch the eye
of his colonel with an imploring glance, while he exclaimed
in broken accents—

“Colonel, you won’t, will you? You won’t—you cannot
mean to flog <em>me</em>!”

The appeal, although it went to the heart of every one
present, was vain. Colonel Beckwith betrayed much
uneasiness; I beheld him give a slight start at the commencement
.bn 029.png
.pn 15
of the punishment; but his sense of duty
became paramount the moment he beheld the punishing
bugler laying on rather lighter than was common.

“Do your duty, Sir, fairly!” he uttered in a loud voice.

The first man had bestowed his quantum of punishment,
twenty-five lashes, when he was succeeded by another.
This man, as if determined that his reputation as a flogger
should not suffer, however his victim might, laid on like a
hardened hand. Plunket’s sufferings were becoming
intense: he bit his lip to stifle the utterance of his pangs;
but nature, too strong for suppression, gave place more
than once to a half agonized cry, that seemed to thrill
through the very blood in my veins. Happily this wretched
scene was destined to a brief termination: at the thirty-fifth
lash, the Colonel ordered the punishment to cease,
and the prisoner to be taken down. When this was done,
he addressed Plunket: “You see, Sir, now, how very easy
it is to commit a blackguard’s crime, but how difficult it is
to take his punishment.”

So ended the most memorable punishment-scene I have
ever witnessed. It has usually been contended, by those
averse to the system of flogging, common in our army, that
it destroys the pride and spirit of the man. That it has
had that effect, in many instances, I have myself witnessed,
where the character of the soldier was not previously
depraved. But with reference to Plunket, he appeared
soon to get over the recollection of his former disgrace.
He got into favour with his officers again, and, notwithstanding
little fits of inebriety, was made corporal, and
went through the sanguinary scenes of the Peninsula,
unscathed from shot or steel. His usual luck, however,
forsook him at Waterloo, where a ball struck the peak of
his cap and tore his forehead across, leaving a very ugly
scar. I recollect having gone wounded at the time to the
rear, where I saw him under the hands of the surgeon.

After Waterloo, he was invalided to England, where he
passed the board at Chelsea; but only being awarded the
pittance of sixpence a-day for his wound and long services,
he felt disgusted, and expressed himself to the Lords Commissioners
in a way that induced them to strike him off
.bn 030.png
.pn 16
the list altogether. The following day he started off for
Ireland, where he duly arrived in rags and wretchedness.
To relieve himself, he again enlisted in either the thirty-first
or thirty-second regiment of the line, then quartered
somewhere in the north.

While wearing a red coat, he had a singular meeting
with his former Colonel, then General Sir Sydney Beckwith,
which I have often heard him relate. It is customary, as
the reader may probably be aware, to have half-yearly
inspections of our regiments at home. Shortly after Tom’s
having enlisted, it so happened, on one of the above occasions,
when his regiment was formed for inspection, that
the duty devolved upon his old commander, Sir Sydney,
who was in command of the district.

In walking down the front rank, scrutinising the appearance
of the men, the General suddenly came to Tom,
distinguished as he was by two medals on his breast.

“Do my eyes deceive me?” said Sir Sydney. “Surely
you are Tom Plunket, formerly of my own regiment.”

“What’s left of me, Sir,” replied Tom, who was seldom
deficient in a prompt reply.

“And what has again brought you into the service?”
inquired Sir Sydney. “I thought you had passed the
board at Chelsea?”

“So I did,” said Tom; “but they only allowed me
sixpence a-day, Sir; so I told them to keep it for the
young soldiers, as it wasn’t enough for the old, who had
seen all the tough work out.”

“Ha! the old thing, Tom, I perceive,” observed Sir
Sydney, shaking his head; then immediately remarked to
the Colonel of the regiment, as he proceeded down the
ranks—“One of my bravest soldiers.”

The same day the General dined at the officers’ mess,
when Tom was sent for after dinner.

“Here, Plunket, I have sent for you to give us a toast,”
observed Sir Sydney, as he handed him a glass of
wine.

“Then, Sir, here’s to the immortal memory of the poor
fellows who fell in the Peninsula, Sir,” said Tom.

The toast was drunk by all with much solemnity, when
.bn 031.png
.pn 17
Tom was dismissed with a present from Sir Sydney. The
following day Tom was made a corporal, and shortly afterwards,
through the medium, I believe, of Sir Sydney, went
up and passed the pension board at Kilmainham, which
granted him a shilling a-day.

But I had forgotten to mention, in its place, an event
common in man’s life—I mean his marriage. Shortly after
the battle of Waterloo, Tom had wedded a lady remarkable
for being deficient in one essential to beauty—she actually
had no <em>face</em>, or, at all events, was so <em>defaced</em>, it amounted
to the same thing. This slight flaw in the beauty of Tom’s
wife, who

.nf b
Had gallantly follow’d the camp through the war,
.nf-

.ti 0
arose from the bursting of an ammunition-waggon at Quatre
Bras, near to which the lady stood, and by which her
countenance was rendered a blue, shapeless, noseless mass.
This event was duly commemorated by the government,
who allowed the heroine a shilling a-day pension, in allusion
to which Tom used facetiously to say—“It was an
ill blowing up of powder that blew nobody good.”

The story of Tom Plunket, already narrated at greater
length than I had intended, draws fast to a close. Imbued
with roving inclinations, partly owing to his nature, and
more perhaps to his profession, for nothing more unsettles
a man than the ever-changing chequered course of a
soldier’s life, he at one time determined to become a settler
in Canada, and, accordingly, accepted the offer held out by
government to all pensioners, of allowing them so much
land, and giving them four years’ pay for their pensions.
Plunket, ever eager for the handling of cash, got two years’
pay down here, and started off with some two or three
hundred others to try their fortune. This proved to be a
very miserable one: Tom was not a man to rusticate on the
other side of the Atlantic amid privations, and with the
recollection of old England fresh in his mind.

Before a year had elapsed, he returned to England with
his wife, and, by way of apology to his friends, stated
his grant of land was so wild and swampy that it made him
quite melancholy, looking at it in a morning out of the
.bn 032.png
.pn 18
chinks of a wretched log hut he had managed to erect upon
his estate. He returned home swearing loudly against
forest-land, a swampy soil, and a bad climate, having, of
course, duly forfeited his own pension for ever.

The last time I saw Tom Plunket was in Burton Crescent,
most picturesquely habited, and selling matches. I did
not disdain to speak to an old comrade who had been less
fortunate in “life’s march” than myself. I asked him
how he got on, when with one of his usual cheerful smiles
he informed me, that the match-selling business kept him
on his legs.

“I should have thought, Tom, you had seen enough
of <em>firing</em>,” I remarked, “without endeavouring to live by
it now.”

“A man must do something these hard times for bread,”
replied Tom, as he passed his hand thoughtfully across the
furrow made by the bullet at Waterloo.

Poor Tom! I felt for him. I was sorry to see him
neglected; others, whose service were many days march
behind his, were taken better care of. But Tom’s incorrigible
failing was his own stumbling-block.

I did not, however, leave him my mere reflection, but
giving him a portion of that coin, he so well knew how
to get rid of, I wished him success in his new business,
and went my way, musing on the strange vicissitudes of a
soldier’s life.[1]

.nf b
Alas! the brave too oft are doom’d to bear,
The gripes of poverty, the stings of care.
.nf-

But after this digressive sketch, it is high time to return
to my own career in the field that was just now commencing.
.bn 033.png
.pn 19
Returning to ship-board, from whence I conducted the
peruser of this veritable narrative, allow me to say, that
after a tolerably pleasant voyage we anchored off Lisbon.
From thence, in a few days, we proceeded in open boats
up the river Tagus, and landed about four miles from
Santarem, where we encamped for the night.

On the following morning, we marched into the city of
Santarem amid the cheers of its inhabitants, who welcomed
us with loud cries of “<i><lang='es'>Viva os Ingleses valerosos!</lang></i>” Long
live the brave English!

Here we immediately became brigaded with the 43rd and
52nd regiments of Light Infantry, under the command of
Major-General Crauford.



.sp 4
.h2 id=ch04
CHAPTER IV.

.in +2
.ti -2
Arrival in Portugal—Crauford’s forced marches—Teetotalism with a vengeance—The
effect of the opposite extreme—Spanish mode of keeping a man from
stealing wine—False reports—Talavera—We arrive the day after the fight—A
battle scene—Sir Arthur Wellesley—General Cuesta—Dough Boy Hill—The
fever—I am taken ill—Elvas hospital—How to cure a fever—Convalescence—Burial
scenes—Our Sextons—March to my regiment—The Germans—Pig-skins
in danger, our own also—Captain Pakenham—Hanging matters—Two
dozen of each—Not sham pain—German discipline.
.in

.sp 2
<sc>On</sc> the third day after our arrival at Santarem, we
commenced a series of forced marches to join the main
army under Sir Arthur Wellesley, at Talavera, then almost
hourly expecting an engagement with the French corps
commanded by Marshal Victor. Our men suffered dreadfully
on the route, chiefly from excessive fatigue and the
heat of the weather, it being the melting month of July.
The brain fever soon commenced, making fearful ravages in
our ranks, and many men dropped by the road-side and
died. One day I saw two men of the 52nd, unable to bear
.bn 034.png
.pn 20
their sufferings, actually put a period to their existence by
shooting themselves.[2]

The greatest efforts possible were made by Major-General
Crauford to arrive in time to join the Commander-in-chief,
previously to a battle being fought. The excellent
orders our brigadier issued for maintaining order and discipline
on the line of march on this occasion, though exceedingly
unpopular at first, have since become justly celebrated
in the service. No man, on any pretext whatever, was
allowed to fall out of the ranks without a pass from the
officer of his company, and then only on indispensable
occasions.

This pass, however, was not a complete security,
for on the return of the stragglers to camp, the orderly
sergeants were compelled to parade them before their
regimental-surgeons, when, if pronounced as skulkers, they
were instantly tried by a drum-head court martial, and
punished accordingly; thus, frequently, when almost dying
with thirst, we were obliged to pass springs of the finest
water by the road-side untasted. But all this apparent
severity, as we afterwards learnt, was considered as absolutely
essential to the great purpose General Crauford had
in view—dispatch. If the General found a man fall out
without a pass, his plan was to take his ramrod and ride off.
.bn 035.png
.pn 21
It was not unfrequently you might see him ride into camp
with a dozen ramrods, when the adjutant of each regiment
was ordered to find those that had no ramrods, each of
which received two dozen lashes.

Fortunately for us, our longest halt took place during
the heat of the day, and our longest marches were made at
night, at this time, therefore, it was a usual scene to see a
number of men who had been flogged, with their knapsacks
on their heads, and their bodies enveloped in the loose
great coats—to ease the wounds inflicted by the lash. But
yet with all this, strange as it may appear, Crauford maintained
a popularity among the men, who, on every other
occasion, always found him to be their best friend.

A few days before we came to Malpartida de Placentia,
we were going through a small town, the name of which I
forget, when in passing the gaol, a man looking through
one of the high barred windows of the building, vociferated,
in accents not to be mistaken—

“Od’s blood and ’ounds, boys, are you English?”

On several of our men answering in the affirmative, the
prisoner exclaimed, in a tone that set our men in a roar
of laughter—

“Oh! by Jasus, the Spaniards have poked me into this
hole for getting a drop of wine, boys;—get me out, pray.”

When we halted about half a mile on the other side,
Colonel Beckwith sent, and obtained the man’s release.
He proved to be one of the 23rd Light Dragoons, who
had been taken prisoner by the French, but had made his
escape in the dress of a peasant; when, in passing through
this place, he had been incarcerated on a charge of taking
some wine from a man without paying for it. Much merriment
was excited by his appearance, and the droll and
earnest manner in which he narrated his adventures.

On the following day, we bivouacked near Malpartida de
Placentia, when a report reached our corps that a battle
had been fought at Talavera, and that the English had
been beaten and dispersed. Although I believe few of us
gave credit to the story, still it created some uneasiness
amongst men and officers. Its effect, however, upon our
brigadier, was to make him hurry forward with, if possible,
.bn 036.png
.pn 22
increased speed. Our bivouac was immediately broken up.
We got under arms, and leaving the sick of the brigade
behind us in the town under charge of a subaltern from
each regiment, we commenced one of the longest marches,
with scarcely a halt or pause, on the military records of any
country. To use the words of our admirable historian of
the Peninsular War, we “passed over sixty-two miles, and
in the hottest season of the year in twenty-six hours.” As
Colonel Napier justly observes, “Had the historian Gibbon
known of such a march, he would have spared his sneer
about ‘the delicacy of modern soldiers.’”

As we approached Talavera, we learned for a fact, that a
battle had been fought from the crowds of disorderly
Spanish soldiery we continued to meet upon the road;
some few of them were wounded. These men were part of
General Cuesta’s army that had been beaten by the French
on the 27th, and who chose to give the most disastrous
account of the English army, which they stated was completely
destroyed. We could not but remark, that these
Spaniards, whom we knew to be a disorganised crew, had
not forgotten to help themselves to plunder in their flight,
as most of them carried some article or other to which they
could have little claim, such as hams, cheese and fowls.
Some, although infantry-men, rode on excellent horses,
while others drove mules, carrying sacks of flour, &c.
Never was seen such a thoroughly demoralized wreck
of an army.

As we advanced nearer to the scene of action the reports
became less formidable, until the heights of Talavera burst
upon our sight, and we hailed, with three loud huzzas, the
news that the British, in the action of the preceding day
with the French, had been victorious.

Our bugles struck up merrily as we crossed the field of
battle early in the morning, on the 29th of July. The
scene, however, was most appalling, especially to the young
soldiers; we had partaken in no encounter as yet, and here
had missed the interest which blunted the feelings of the
men engaged. We “raw ones,” indeed, had as yet scarcely
seen the enemy, and recognised no comrades among the
fallen. The ice still remained to be broken which the
.bn 037.png
.pn 23
experience of one engagement would have done effectually.
The field of action had occupied an extensive valley, situated
between two ranges of hills, on which the British and
French armies were posted. It was now strewn with
all the wreck of the recent battle. The dead and dying,
to the amount of some thousands, conquerors and conquered,
lay diversely in little heaps, interspersed with dismounted
guns, and shattered ammunition-waggons, while
broken horse-trappings, and blood-stained chacots, and
other torn paraphernalia of military pomp and distinction,
completed the reality of the battle scene.

The long grass which had taken fire during the action
was still burning, and added dreadfully to the sufferings of
the wounded and dying of both armies; their cries for
assistance were horrifying, and hundreds might have been
seen exerting the last remnant of their strength, crawling to
places of safety.

In the midst of this, it was that I saw, for the first time,
our immortal chief Sir Arthur Wellesley. I also then
beheld that deformed-looking lump of pride, ignorance and
treachery, General Cuesta. He was the most murderous-looking
old man I ever saw.

On our arrival we were immediately ordered upon outpost
duty: in executing which we had to throw out a line
of sentinels facing the French position. Another and a
more painful duty that devolved upon us, was to carry the
wounded men into the town of Talavera. Many of these
poor fellows, I remarked, were dreadfully burnt.

In consequence of the increasing weakness of the British
army at this period, the ranks of which were daily
thinned through the scantiness and wretched quality of the
food with which they were, of necessity, supplied, as well
perhaps as by the accession of strength which the French
had received, Lord Wellington was induced to retire.
After retracing, for a few days, the route by which we had
arrived, our brigade was left by the main army encamped
upon a rocky eminence partly surrounded by wood, and
overlooking the river Tagus. It was a wild and beautiful
scene, with several corn-fields in our immediate neighbourhood.
.bn 038.png
.pn 24

Our living here became truly savage. Although we
remained at this place for two or three weeks, I think we
scarcely received half a dozen rations during that period,
but existed, as we could, by our own ingenuity. Fortunately
for us, as regards meat, there were some droves of
pigs that were taken into the woods to feed, and which
fattened upon the acorns. To these animals, that were
generally under the charge of some Spaniards, we were
obliged to have recourse for food. For bread we took the
corn from the fields, and, having no proper means of winnowing
and grinding it, were obliged as a substitute to rub
out the ears between our hands, and then pound them
between stones to make into dough, such as it was. From
this latter wretched practice, we christened the place
“Dough Boy Hill,” a name by which it is well remembered
by the men of our division.

From the preceding place we marched to Campo Mayor;
we remained here three months, during which time a
dreadful mortality took place. In our regiment, alone,
the flux and brain fever reigned to so frightful an extent,
that three hundred men died in hospital. I myself was
seized with the prevailing fever shortly after our arrival,
and was sent to the Convent of St. Paul, the general hospital
at Elvas.

I could not help remarking the manner of cure adopted
by our doctors; it principally consisted in throwing cold
water from canteens or mess kettles as often as possible
over the bodies of the patients; this in many cases was
effectual, and I think cured me.

I, however, had a narrow squeak for my life, though I
fortunately recovered after an illness of nearly six weeks,
thanks to my good constitution, but none to the brute
of an orderly, who, during the delirium of the fever,
beat me once most furiously with a broom stick. On
leaving the hospital with other convalescents, I was sent to
the Bomb Proof Barracks, where it frequently became our
duty to see the dead interred. This was a most horrible
office, and obliged us to attend at the hospital to receive
the bodies, which were conveyed away in cart-loads at a
time to the ground appropriated for their burial. This
.bn 039.png
.pn 25
lay outside the town beneath the ramparts, and was so very
small for the purpose required, that we were obliged to get
large oblong and deep holes excavated, in which two stout
Portuguese were employed to pack the bodies, heads and
heels together, to save room. For this duty these two
brutes seemed duly born—for never before did I see two
such ruffianly looking fellows.

It was singularly revolting to witness how the pair went
to work when handing the bodies from the hospital to the
cart; each carried a skin of vinegar, with which they first
soused themselves over the neck and face; this done, with
one jerk they jilted a single corpse at a time across their
shoulders, naked as it was born, and bolted off to the cart,
into which it was pitched as if it had been a log of wood.
The women, however, who fell victims to the epidemic
were generally sewed in a wrapper of calico or some such
thing, but they partook of the same hole as the opposite
sex, and otherwise were as little privileged. Many were
the scores of my poor comrades I thus saw committed to
their first parent, and many were the coarse jests the
grave-diggers made over their obsequies.

While I was confined in hospital, the brigade marched
and took up their cantonments between Ciudad Rodrigo
and Almeida. In the beginning of February about three
hundred convalescents, among whom I was one, were
marched, under charge of an officer of the German Legion,
to join their respective regiments. Nothing of any consequence,
in the march of our party, occurred, with the
exception of a very narrow escape I had of being provosted,
or in other words flogged. As the anecdote serves to show
the light in which the Germans regarded this description
of punishment during the war, I will detail it.

The men being from different regiments, and under the
command of a foreigner, some availed themselves of what
they considered a fair opportunity of pilfering from the
country people as we pursued our march, and I am sorry
to say that drunkenness and robbery were not unfrequent.
The German officer, as is usual under such circumstances,
experienced great difficulty in keeping the skulkers and
disorderly from lingering in the rear. In compliment to
.bn 040.png
.pn 26
my steadiness, he had made me an acting corporal, with
strict orders to make the rear men of our detachment keep
up. Just before we arrived at the town of Viseu, then
occupied by the Foot Guards, and the head-quarters of the
Commander-in-chief, I came up to some of our party who
were doing their best to empty a pig-skin of wine they had
stolen. Being dreadfully fatigued and thirsty, I had not
sufficient restraint upon myself to refuse the invitation
held out to me to drink, which I did, and so became a
partner in the crime. I was in the act of taking the jug
of wine from my lips, when a party of the 16th Light
Dragoons rode up and made us prisoners; the peasant,
from whom the wine had been taken, having made his complaint
at head-quarters. We were imprisoned, nine of us
in number, in Viseu. The second day, the Hon. Captain
Pakenham,[3] of the Adjutant-General’s department, paid us
a visit, and told us he had had great difficulty in saving us
from being hanged. Although this was probably said to
frighten, still it was not altogether a joke, as a man of the
name of Maguire of the 27th regiment, who had been with
me in hospital, was hung for stopping and robbing a Portuguese
of a few <i>vintems</i>.

As it was, the German officer in charge of the detachment
received orders, on leaving Viseu, to see that we
received two dozen each from the Provost-Marshal every
morning, until we rejoined our regiments. This comfortable
kind of a breakfast I was not much inclined to relish,
particularly as we had seven days’ march to get through
before we reached our battalion. The following day, the
eight culprits and myself were summoned during a halt, to
appear before the German, expecting to be punished. We
were, however, agreeably deceived by the officer addressing
.bn 041.png
.pn 27
us as follows, to the best of my recollection, in broken
English:

“I have been told to have you mens flogged, for a crime
dat is very bad and disgraceful to de soldier—robbing de
people you come paid to fight for. But we do not flog in
my country, so I shall not flog you, it not being de manner
of my people; I shall give you all to your Colonels, if they
like to flog you, they may.”

Being thus relieved, each of us saluted the kind German
and retired. From that moment, I have always entertained
a high respect for our Germans, which indeed they ever
showed themselves deserving of, from the British, not only
on account of their humanity and general good feeling to
us, but from their determined bravery and discipline in the
field. As cavalry, they were the finest and most efficient
I ever saw in action; and I had many opportunities of
judging, as some troops of them generally did duty with us
during the war. Indeed, while alluding to the cavalry of
the German Legion, I cannot help remarking on the care
and fondness with which they regarded their horses. A
German soldier seldom thought of food or rest for the
night until his horse had been provided for. The noble
animals, themselves, seemed perfectly aware of this attention
on the part of their riders, and I have often been
amused by seeing some of the horses of the Germans run
after their masters with all the playfulness of a dog. The
consequence of this attention to their horses was, they were
in condition when those of our own cavalry were dying, or
otherwise in very deplorable state; this, without wishing
to throw a disparagement upon our own countrymen, I
attributed to the difference of custom between the two
countries. We never saw a German vidette or express
galloping furiously, that we did not immediately know there
was work for some one to do. While on outpost duty their
vigilance was most admirable.
.bn 042.png
.pn 28



.sp 4
.h2 id=ch05
CHAPTER V.

.in +2
.ti -2
Old Trowsers—Sleeping and waking—O’Hare again—Colonel Beckwith—Two
upon one—Meagher—Barba del Puerco—General Crauford taken by surprise—The
Portuguese incorporation with the light division—Rodrigo—Gallegos—The
Beacon night scenes on picquet—Lord Wellington—Napoleon’s Marriage—Crauford’s
stratagem—The French spy—We retreat to Fort Conception.
.in

.sp 2
<sc>I rejoined</sc> my regiment at Barba del Puerco, a small
village near the banks of the river Coa, on the other side of
which the enemy had taken up their position. Our regiment
was cantoned in the surrounding villages, while
nightly we mounted a captain’s picquet on a height facing
a bridge, on the other side of which the French had thrown
out their advanced sentry. Two of our sentries were
posted on the bridge, while a third was stationed half-way
down the steep, to keep up the communication with our
picquet above.

On the 19th of May, the company to which I belonged
was on picquet. It was a fine, though windy night, a
fleecy scud occasionally obscuring the light of the moon.
About twelve o’clock, while our men were mostly asleep,
we were suddenly woke by the rifle reports of our sentries,
and the French drums playing their advance “rub-a-dub-dub,”
which our men designated with the name of “old
trowsers.” I was now, as it were, but a young sleepy-headed
boy, and as yet had been scarcely aroused to a true
sense of the profession I had embraced. I had never been
under the fire of a French musket, and I felt an indescribable
thrill on this occasion. The chilly hour of the night
and peculiar inclination to sleep, at the time, had sunk my
senses below zero. But I was speedily startled out of my
lethargy by the whizzing of the enemies’ bullets, as they
greeted my astonished hearing. My surprise soon, however,
gave place to perfect recollection, and in less than a
minute we were all under arms, the balls of the French
whistling about us as a column came rushing over the
bridge to force our position. Captain O’Hare, with his
characteristic coolness, immediately gave us the word to
“seek cover,” and we threw ourselves forward among the
.bn 043.png
.pn 29
rocky and broken ground, from whence we kept up a galling
fire upon those who had commenced storming our heights.

We were exceedingly hard pressed when three companies
of our regiment, under Colonel Beckwith, came up
to our relief, and the contest for a while was both doubtful
and bloody. But, after about half an hour’s hard fighting,
the enemy were obliged to retreat with much precipitation,
and under a close and murderous fire from us. During
this brief conflict some incidents occurred that, perhaps,
are worth mentioning. Colonel Beckwith actually employed
himself, at one time, in heaving large fragments of stone
upon the French as they attempted to ascend the acclivity
on which we were placed, and, while so engaged, got a
musket-shot through his cap.

Another officer of ours, the Adjutant Lieutenant Stewart,
a fine tall fellow, was engaged in a personal contest with
two <target id='or'>or three grenadiers, a number of whom had managed to
ascend the hill on our right; at this critical moment one
of our men, named Ballard, fortunately came to his aid,
and shot one of his assailants, at which the other instantly
surrendered. The above gallant officer, however, afterwards
fell on our advance from Santarem the following
year.

This was, I believe, the first and last time the French
ever attempted surprising a rifle picquet.

Both our sentries at the bridge were taken prisoners,
one of them badly wounded. A rather interesting recollection
is attached to one of them, named Meagher, who,
when the exchange of prisoners took place in 1814,
returned to England and rejoined us at Dover. He was
with us in France at the time of Waterloo, which, however,
he was not present at on account of the following circumstance.

A quarrel had originated a few nights before the battle
of Waterloo in a wine-house at Brussels, between some of
our men, and the Belgian gens-d’armes, the consequence
was, that the inhabitants were forced to send for the guards.
These, of course, were soon on the spot, but were as soon
attacked and beaten back by the Belgians, who would have
driven them into the guard-house but for Meagher, who,
.bn 044.png
.pn 30
suddenly turning to the assailants, levelled his rifle and
shot the foremost through the body; on this, the whole of
the gens-d’armes retreated, not, however, till after Meagher
had received a cut on the side of the neck. For this affair
he was put into prison, and a general court-martial honourably
acquitted him, not until that battle had been fought
which for ever destroyed Napoleon’s hopes. Our company,
to which Meagher belonged, soon after presented a requisition
to Captain Leach, who then commanded us, and
through his intercession, Meagher obtained a Waterloo
medal.

Shortly after this attempted surprise, we quitted Barba
del Puerco for the town of Gallegos, situated some five or
six miles from Ciudad Rodrigo.

The following laughable incident occurred to me while
we lay at Gallegos:—I happened to be acquainted with
General Crauford’s private servant, a German, chiefly
through my being employed as orderly to the brigadier.
At times when an opportunity offered, we used to take a
glass of wine together upon the most convivial terms. One
morning, however, when I thought the brigadier had gone
out, as was his usual custom, I went to his room to ask the
valet to partake of some wine which I had received from
the patron of the house. On opening the door, I unhesitatingly
went in, and beheld, as I imagined, the individual
I wanted in a morning-gown looking out of the window.
It entered into my head to surprise my servant friend, so,
as he had not been disturbed by my approach, I stepped
softly up to his rear, and with a sudden laugh, gave him a
smart slap on the back. But my consternation and surprise
may be better imagined than described, when the
gentleman in the dressing-gown, starting round with a
“Who the devil is that?” disclosed—not the merry phiz
of the valet, but the stern features of General Crauford
himself.

I thought I should have sunk through the ground at the
moment, had it have opened to swallow me. I could only
attempt to explain the mistake I had made, in a very
humble way, as I gradually retreated to the door.

“And where did you get the wine from, Sir?” inquired
.bn 045.png
.pn 31
the General, with a good-humoured smile; for he observed
the fright I was in.

I informed him.

“Well, well, you may go,” said the General; “but,
pray, Sir, never again do me the honour to take me for my
servant.”

I needed not the permission to vanish in a moment.
And many a laugh and jest were created at my expense
afterwards among the men, as the circumstance got circulated
by the valet.

We were here joined by the 1st and 3rd regiment of the
Portuguese Caçadores. These fellows I never had any
opinion of from the very first moment I saw them. They
were the dirtiest and noisiest brutes I ever came across.
Historians of the day have given them great credit; but
during the whole of the Peninsular War, or, at least, the
time they were with us, I never knew them to perform one
gallant act. On the line of march they often reminded
me of a band of strollers. They were very fond of gambling,
and every halt we made was sure to find them squatted, and
with cards in their hands.

One of these regiments was placed under the command
of a captain of ours, named Elder, a brave officer, who was
made Colonel of the 3rd; and being afterwards severely
wounded at Badajos, returned to England; at the same
period, also, we were incorporated with the 14th and 16th
Light Dragoons, together with the 3rd regiment of German
Hussars, and Captain Bull’s troop of horse artillery.

The French had now commenced laying siege to Rodrigo,
and we were terribly harassed by the severity of our
duty, being both day and night accoutred and under arms;
indeed, we were daily expecting an attack.

A section of our rifles usually mounted picquet with a
troop of dragoons, and occupied, accordingly, three different
points—Carpio, Molina dos Flores and Marialva; all about
two miles nearer to Rodrigo. Bull’s troop of artillery remained
always near a church, in the centre of the village of
Gallegos, and at all times kept a gun ready loaded with
blank carriage, and a sentry near it, watching a beacon
erected on a hill, about a mile from the village. A vidette
.bn 046.png
.pn 32
and one of our riflemen were placed near the beacon in case
of the picquets being attacked, to give alarm by discharging
his piece into the combustibles, and so setting it on fire;
or, in case of its not igniting, to ride round it three times,
with his cap mounted on his sword, at which signal the gun
was instantly fired, and the whole division were immediately
under arms.

As I have remarked, we were greatly harassed; our
picquets and the French were constantly in the habit of
firing at each other, and scarce a day passed without some
of the men being brought in, either killed or wounded.
We had not yet established that understanding with the
enemy, which avoided unnecessary bloodshed at the outposts
which afterwards tended much to humanize the war.

Meanwhile the siege of Rodrigo was vigorously carried
on by the French. The weather was intensely hot, and
we delighted in bathing in a small river that flowed between
the beacon-hill and the village. Many of us, while so
amusing ourselves, would take these opportunities to wash
our shirts in the running stream, laying them out to dry on
the sand. Frequently, however, when thus employed, the
alarm gun would be fired, and in a moment we might be
observed, like so many water sprites, jumping out of the
stream and hurrying on the wet shirts, actually wringing,
and throwing them over our shoulders, while we fell in
with our comrades. It was rather surprising, that I never
felt any ill effects from these wet habiliments; but the
men, from constant exposure, had become as hardy as the
soil itself.

From the novelty, however, of the picquet duty, the men
preferred it always to any other: as we amused ourselves
generally at night watching the shells exchanged between
the besieged and the assailants, the sight was very beautiful,
sometimes as many as seven or eight-and-twenty crossing
each other, like so many comets.

Once we were visited by the Duke himself, who, although
his head-quarters were at the time, I believe, at Viseu,
distant somewhat about twenty leagues, had come on a
reconnoitring excursion to our outline picquets. While on
sentry one day I recollect his Grace placing his telescope
.bn 047.png
.pn 33
on my shoulders to take a view of the enemy’s position.
Our intelligence was chiefly derived from deserters, a
number of whom daily came over to us, and gave information
that Ciudad could not hold out much longer.

One day we were unusually alarmed by an extraordinary
bustle in the French camp; being on the advanced picquet,
I could distinctly hear the cheering of men and firing of
cannon: the whole of our division was ordered to fall in,
and it was not until the morning following, that we
learned that it originated in the news from Paris, of the
Emperor’s marriage with the Archduchess Marie Louise
of Austria.

We now daily held ourselves in expectation of an attack,
and were under arms every morning at one o’clock, five
minutes only being allowed for the whole division to fall in.
But we seldom took our accoutrements off, and used both
to sleep and to cook with them on. The baggage was
paraded every morning half a mile to the rear, and every
other precaution taken by the Brigadier for an orderly
retreat, as the French were in our front and in overwhelming
force, while our division was scarcely more than four
thousand strong. One of the General’s stratagems to
make our small force appear more numerous in the eyes of
the French, was to draw the regiments up in rank entire.
After, however, several months of severe hardship at Gallegos,
General Crauford was at last obliged to change his
ground, and we retreated to Allameda, a little town about
two miles in our rear, and on the main road leading to the
fortified town of Almeida: we remained here a few days,
and took a French spy, who had passed among us as a
lemonade-merchant. His indifference and carelessness in
accepting remuneration for his beverage, which was in constant
request, together with his laughing one day very
significantly when one of our men was swearing at the
French for the trouble they caused, induced a sergeant to
apprehend him. He was brought before General Crauford,
and on his being searched, letters were found upon him
that proved him to be a French Colonel. He was sent to
the rear: how, indeed, he managed to escape the doom he
had rendered himself liable to, I know not.
.bn 048.png
.pn 34

A few mornings after this, the French came down in
great force, and we were obliged to retire. This we did
slowly, covered by Captain Ross’s guns and our rifles,
assisted also by a few troops of the 14th and 16th Dragoons
and 3rd German Hussars. We retired with very
little loss, for a distance of four or five miles, to Fort Conception
in front of the little town of Villa de Mula. Here
we went into cantonments. We were now close on the
borders of Portugal, which is here divided from Spain only
by a small stream—at this spot, so narrow, that in some
places it may be jumped over. We daily mounted a picquet
of two companies at the fort, which was a beautiful work,
in the shape of a star.



.sp 4
.h2 id=ch06
CHAPTER VI.

.in +2
.ti -2
Villa de Mula—Night expedition to Villa de Puerco—Both parties retire—Death
of Colonel Talbot—A soldier’s grave—The effects of a miscarriage—Fort
Conception blown up—A mistake and no mistake—Another mistake, a
ball in the right knee—The bridge over the Coa—A friend in need, a friend
indeed—Charity abroad and at home—A surgeon’s advice—A blessing—A
cough, an uncomfortable companion—Spanish apathy—We arrive at
Fraxedas.
.in

.sp 2
<sc>A few</sc> days after our arrival at Villa de Mula, a part of
the division formed a night expedition to surprise and cut
off one or two French regiments that nightly occupied an
advanced position on our right, retiring every morning
about daylight. The rifles got under arms at ten o’clock
at night, and were soon afterwards joined by several companies
of the 43rd and 52nd regiments, together with one
or two troops of the 14th Light Dragoons, and some of our
favourite Germans. We soon guessed that some secret
enterprise was about to be undertaken, as strict orders were
issued to keep the men from talking, and to make them
refrain from lighting their pipes, lest our approach should
be noticed by the enemy. Even the wheels of two of
Captain Ross’s guns that accompanied us, were muffled
round with haybands to prevent their creaking.

In this disposition we proceeded in the direction of the
.bn 049.png
.pn 35
left of the enemy’s position which rested on Villa de
Puerco. We had all loaded before marching, and were
anxiously looking forward to the result, when a whispering
order was given to enter a large field of standing corn and
to throw ourselves on the ground. There we anxiously
waited the first dawn of day for the expected engagement.
At length the cold gray of the morning appeared faintly in
the east, when the commands were given with scarce
a pause between to “fall in,” “double,” and “extend.”
This was accomplished in a moment, and forward we ran
through the corn field up to an eminence, looking down
from which we beheld a gallant skirmish on the plain
beneath. The 14th Dragoons were in the act of charging
a body of French infantry, who had, however, thrown
themselves into square. The cavalry cheered forward
in gallant style, but the French, veteran like, stood firm
to meet the onset, pouring in, at the same time, a close
running fire that emptied many saddles. Lieutenant-Colonel
Talbot, who headed the charge, fell almost immediately,
together with the quarter-master and from
sixteen to eighteen privates. After an unavailing attempt
to shake the square, the cavalry was obliged to retire—a
movement which the enemy on their part immediately
imitated. An attempt was made to annoy them with
our guns, but in consequence of their smallness, being
but light field-pieces, our shots were attended with very
little effect.

The following day, we buried Colonel Talbot and the
quarter-master close to the porch of the little chapel in
the village we occupied—a somewhat romantic-looking
spot for a soldier’s grave. The miscarriage of our enterprise,
it was generally rumoured, had brought our general
into bad odour at head-quarters; indeed, for some days
after, I thought he wore a troubled look, as though he
took our failure to heart.

As I have already remarked, two of our companies
alternately did duty in front of our position, at Fort
Conception. The orders issued to the officer commanding
the picquet were to blow up the fort immediately on the
approach of the enemy, for which purpose it was undermined
.bn 050.png
.pn 36
in several places by the artillerymen, who were left
to fire the mines when the order should be given.

On the morning of the 19th of July, our company
and another were on duty at this point, and it was generally
expected we should be attacked on the morrow. I think
the intelligence was brought by a deserter. The fort contained
a great quantity of good English rum and biscuit,
which Captain O’Hare allowed the men of both companies
to help themselves to and fill their canteens, upon their
promise, which they kept, not to get drunk. The following
morning, before it was scarcely light, the enemy proved
the correctness of our anticipations by advancing upon us
in heavy columns, preceded by their light troops. The
command was instantly given to fire the mines, and we
retired upon our division. A few minutes after our
quitting the fort, its beautiful proportions, which had
excited the admiration of so many beholders, was broken,
as by the shock of an earthquake, into a blackened heap of
ruin.

We retreated under the walls of Almeida, where we
halted until the 23rd, when at night we experienced a
storm that for violence, while it lasted, exceeded anything
I had ever before beheld. The lightning, thunder, wind,
and rain were absolutely awful. With a few other men, I
had sought shelter in the hollow of a rock, where we were
not a little amazed at the numbers of snakes and lizards
which the occasional gleams of lightning exhibited to
us running about in all directions, as though the tempest
had the effect of bringing them all from their holes.

At break of day, the music that we were now getting
quite accustomed to—<i>i. e.</i> the cracking of the rifles of our
outline picquet, gave intelligence of the enemy’s advance.
Our company was immediately ordered to support them.
Captain O’Hare accordingly placed us behind some dilapidated
walls, we awaited the approach of the picquet then
under the Hon. Captain Steward engaged about half a mile
in our front, and slowly retreating upon us. They had
already, as it afterwards appeared, several men killed,
while Lieutenant M’Culloch had been wounded and taken
prisoner with a number of others. We could distinctly see
.bn 051.png
.pn 37
the enemy’s columns in great force, but had little time for
observation, as our advance ran in upon us followed by the
French tirailleurs, with whom we were speedily and hotly
engaged. The right wing of the 52nd regiment, at this
period, was drawn up about one hundred yards in our rear
behind a low wall, when a shell, which with several others
was thrown amongst us from the town, burst so near, that
it killed several of our men, and buried a sergeant so completely
in mud, but without hurting him, that we were
obliged to drag him out of the heap, to prevent his being
taken by the enemy[4]—at this moment also Lieutenant
Cohen who stood close to me received a shot through the
body. My old Captain, O’Hare, perceiving him roll his
eyes and stagger, caught him by the arm, saying in a
rather soft tone to the men about him:

“Take that poor boy to the rear, he does not know what
is the matter with him,” and with the same characteristic
coolness, he continued his duties. While hotly engaged,
however, with the French infantry in our front, one or
two troops of their hussars which, from the similarity
of uniform, we had taken for our German hussars, whipped
on our left flank between our company and the wing of the
52nd, when a cry of “the French cavalry are upon us,”
came too late as they charged in amongst us. Taken thus
unprepared, we could oppose but little or no resistance, and
our men were trampled down and sabred, on every side.
A French dragoon had seized me by the collar, while
several others, as they passed, cut at me with their swords.
The man who had collared me had his sabre’s point at my
breast, when a volley was fired from our rear by the 52nd,
who, by this time had discovered their mistake, which
tumbled the horse of my captor. He fell heavily with the
animal on his leg, dragging me down with him.

It was but for a moment nevertheless: determined to
have one brief struggle for liberty, I freed myself from the
.bn 052.png
.pn 38
dragoon’s grasp, and dealing him a severe blow on the
head with the butt of my rifle, I rushed up to the wall
of our 52nd, which I was in the act of clearing at a jump,
when I received a shot under the cap of my right knee and
instantly fell. In this emergency, there seemed a speedy
prospect of my again falling into the hands of the French,
as the division was in rapid retreat, but a comrade of the
name of Little instantly dragged me over the wall, and
was proceeding as quick as possible with me, on his back,
towards the bridge of the Coa, over which our men were
fast pouring, when he, poor fellow! also received a shot,
which passing through his arm smashed the bone, and
finally lodged itself in my thigh, where it has ever since
remained.[5] In this extremity, Little was obliged to
abandon me, but urged by a strong desire to escape imprisonment,
I made another desperate effort, and managed
to get over the bridge, from the other side of which
Captain Ross’s guns were in full roar, covering our retreat;
in this crippled state and faint through loss of blood, I made
a second appeal to a comrade, who assisted me to ascend a
hill on the other side of the river.

On the summit, we found a chapel which had been
converted into a temporary hospital, where a number of
wounded men were being taken to have their wounds
dressed by the surgeons. Fortunately, I had not long to
wait for my turn, for as we momentarily expected the
coming of the French, everything was done with the
greatest dispatch.

In this affair our company sustained a very severe loss;
our return was, “one officer, Lieutenant Cohen, quite a
youth, dangerously wounded, eleven file killed and wounded,
and forty-five taken prisoners.”

My old Captain O’Hare had only eleven men on parade
next day. The preceding facts will serve to show the
unmilitary reader, that skirmishes are frequently more
partially destructive to riflemen than general actions,
although attended with but little of their celebrity. For
.bn 053.png
.pn 39
my own part, I was never nearer death, excepting on
the night we took Badajoz.

I must not forget a singular escape that occurred: a
man of the name of Charity, of my own company, when
the cavalry first rushed upon us, had fallen, wounded in
the head by a sabre, while on the ground, he received
another severe sword slash on the seat of honour, and a
shot through the arm, the latter, no doubt, from the 52nd.
Yet after all this, he managed to escape, and

.nf b
Clothed in scarlet lived to tell the tale,
.nf-

.ti 0
as a pensioner in Chelsea Hospital.

Having no mules nor waggons to accommodate us, the
surgeons advised all who were by any means capable of
moving, to get on as quick as they could to Pinhel.

There were of our regiment about seventy or eighty disabled,
a number of those hobbled onwards assisting each
other by turns.

We commenced our slow and painful march, and by the
help of a couple of rifles that served as crutches, I managed
to reach the first village where the Juiz or chief magistrate
selected, and put the worst of our wounded into bullock-carts.
Amongst those I fortunately was one; and although
crammed with six others into a wretched little vehicle,
scarcely capable of accommodating more than two, I
thought it a blessing for which I could not feel sufficiently
thankful.

In this manner, we were dragged along all night, and by
the following daylight we halted at another village, where
I felt so <target id='dread'>dreadfully faint from loss of blood and my confined
position, that I could not move at all. While refreshing
our parched lips with some water that had been eagerly
demanded, Lord Wellington and some of his staff galloped
up. Glancing his eye at us for a moment, and
seeing our crowded condition in the carts, he instantly
gave an order to one of his aides-de-camp to obtain
additional conveyance from the Juiz de Fora, and also
bread and wine. His Lordship then rode off towards
Almeida.

Although neither bread nor wine made their appearance,
.bn 054.png
.pn 40
a few additional carts were procured, into one of which I
was transferred with four other men.

We again continued our march, until we came into a
stream of water where we halted; here we lost a most excellent
officer, a Lieutenant Pratt,[6] who was wounded
through the neck, and at first appeared to be doing very
well. He was seated on one of the men’s knapsacks conversing
with some of his wounded brother officers, when he
was suddenly seized with a violent fit of coughing, and
almost instantly began pumping a quantity of blood from
the wound. I never before saw so much come from any
man.

It appeared that the ball, which went through his neck,
had passed so close to the carotid artery, that the exertion
of coughing had burst it, and it became impossible to stop
the hæmorrhage. He bled to death, and warm as he was,
they covered him in the sand and proceeded. After we
had been driven some few miles further, one of my
wounded comrades, who was shot through the body, and
whose end seemed momentarily approaching, at length, in
a dying state relaxed his hold from the cart sides and fell
across me as I lay at the bottom, whilst foam mixed with
blood kept running from his mouth. This with his glass
eyes fixed on mine made me feel very uncomfortable.
Being weak and wounded myself, I had not power to
move him, and in this situation, the horrors of which survived
for some time in my mind, death put an end to his
sufferings, but without granting me any respite for some
hours. His struggles having ceased, however, I was
enabled to recover myself a little, and called to the driver
to remove the body. But the scoundrel of a Portuguese,
who kept as much ahead of the bullocks as possible, was
so afraid of the French, that I could get no other answer
from him than “non quireo,” “don’t bother me,” and a
significant shrug of the shoulder, which bespoke even more
than his words.

At length we arrived at Fraxedas on the road to Coimbra,
.bn 055.png
.pn 41
where we found the 1st division encamped outside the
town. Here I got rid of my dead comrade, and we had
our wounds dressed. The guards, who belonged to the
1st division, behaved to us with a kindness which I never
can forget; as we had no men of our own to attend to us,
forty of their number, under an officer, were ordered to
supply our wants until we arrived at Lisbon.



.sp 4
.h2 id=ch07
CHAPTER VII.

.in +2
.ti -2
Mondego—The Coimbra—Figueras—The maggots—Lisbon—Battle of Busaco—Retreat
to Torres Vedras—Lord Wellington’s generalship—Belem—Jack
ashore and Jonathan also—Yankey and Lankey—Billy M’Nabb—The Highland
kite and Lowland tail—Josh. Hetherington—Sperum Poco—Portuguese
piety—Aruda—Doing what the enemy left undone—Tom Crawley again—In
state—A hot berth—Our enemies laugh at Tom in his glory.
.in

.sp 2
<sc>From</sc> Fraxedas we pursued our way to Mondego, and
from thence we passed in boats down the river through
Coimbra, to the sea-port of Figueras. Sick and ill as I
was, I well recollect the exquisite scenery that met our
gaze on the banks of that beautiful river, as we floated over
its surface to our destination.

The heat of the weather was intense and dreadfully
affected our wounds. The scarcity of doctors too, and the
fear of falling into the hands of the enemy, spurred every
one forward, and so took up the moments that the surgeons
had not time sufficient nor opportunity to look after us.
The consequence was, that this neglect caused maggots to
be engendered in the sores, and the bandages, when withdrawn,
brought away on them lumps of putrid flesh and
maggots. Many died on board, and numbers were reduced
in consequence to the necessity of amputation. By care
and syringing sweet oil into my wounds, I however had
managed to get rid of them.

At Figueras we embarked on board some transports that
there waited our arrival, and we sailed for Lisbon, where,
in a short time, we landed, and borne on stretchers by some
men of the Ordinanza or Portuguese Militia, were conveyed
to the hospital.
.bn 056.png
.pn 42

From regular and kind treatment there, I soon recovered;
and the British army retired towards Lisbon.

It may perhaps be necessary, before I continue my
personal narrative, to observe, that Lord Wellington, finding
his numbers greatly unequal to the enemy was obliged
to retreat. This, it is well known, he directed in a very
skilful manner, having long before anticipated the probability
of such an event by the erection of the lines of
Torres Vedras. During the retreat, his Lordship ordered
the people of the country to accompany the troops, and to
destroy all those things which they could not carry with
them. By this precaution, Massena’s army, on the track
of the British and Portuguese, through want of food
and necessaries, were reduced to the greatest privations, of
which the Marshal bitterly complained in his despatches of
that period.

Perhaps few events in the Peninsular war reflect more
credit upon Lord Wellington, as a commander, than the
admirable manner in which he had thus drawn an overwhelming
force of the French into actual famine, in front
of works that afforded security and plenty to his own comparatively
small force.

In a few weeks after our arrival at Lisbon, I became
sufficiently recovered to leave the hospital and was accordingly
transferred to Belem, a place much noted amongst us
for every species of skulk, but better known to my fellow
soldiers as the “Belem rangers.” The chief part of the
58th and 87th regiments, the latter I believe from the
severe loss they had sustained at Talavera, were doing duty
there.

Belem itself is about two miles from Lisbon, but contiguous
to it, or, as the suburbs of London are to the city.
I was here, as it were, quite at my ease; and usually spent
my time rambling about the quays. The port was thronged
with shipping, bringing troops and stores from England,
and if I recollect rightly, the ‘Hibernia,’ the ‘Caledonia,’
and the ‘Britannia,’ and other ships of war lay in the
bay; at all events, we constantly intermixed with the sailors,
and were mostly coupled with them; some recognising
old friends—town-mates; and others, nearer and dearer
.bn 057.png
.pn 43
ties, and forming new links and acquaintances; this the
peculiarity of our situations naturally tended to strengthen,
fighting as we were in the same cause, though on different
elements. One day, however, I remember being present at
a regular row in a wine-house, between an American and
a Lancashire man. They both belonged to the same ship,
and from what I could understand, were very quarrelsome
fellows, and the most unfair fighters on board.

The Yankee was from Kentucky, and had a precious
knack of “gouging” as they termed it, or, screwing his
finger into the side locks of his opponent, and so with his
thumb poking his eyes out. One or two on board had
been “jockied” in this way. The Lancashire man, alias
“Tummas,” alias “Lankey,” who had nearly lost one eye
by a splinter at Trafalgar, seemed unwilling to risk the
loss of the other in any encounter with him.

“But,” said he, “I tell you what, you bl—d cowardly
sea sarpent, if it warnt that I fear’d your fingering this ’ere
solitary blinker o’ mine, I’d dust your Yankee jacket for
you.”

The “gouger,” however, despite the confession, though
ready for a scrimmage, had some inward dread also, and
seemed to dislike altogether the hazard of being bit, slobbered,
and perhaps kicked to a jelly. The Englishman’s
friends, nevertheless, came to a council of war; and it was
agreed at last, that though ashore, they should thump it
out “ship fashion.”

“For you know,” said a short, fat, big-whiskered, little
sailor, who, I believe, was the boatswain, “I’m d—d if
they can kick, scratch, gouge or bite, when they hangs by
their starn sheets.”

It was settled, therefore, that they should have it out on
a barrel.

A butt big enough to hold the rations of a whole
division, was soon procured of the Patrone, and the
little man bolted to the boats for some large nails and a
hammer.

The barrel meantime, was rolled out to the centre of the
quay, and to keep it steady, settled longways between two
heaps of stones. Meanwhile the two combatants could
.bn 058.png
.pn 44
scarcely be kept from each other, till the “little-whiskers”
returned.

“Clear the gangways!” at last roared a voice from the
crowd, and the boatswain bounced, almost breathless, to
the barrel. In a few minutes, Yankee and Lankey were
seated, and the little man first nailing one by a small bit
of the bottom of his canvas trowsers to the barrel edge,
and the other by the same contingency to the other,
brought them fronting and about two feet apart. The two
then proceeded to balance their fists, like rope-dancers’ poles,
and fixing their eyes on each other, awaited the signal to begin.

“Now, gemmen,” bellowed the boatswain, “clear the
decks; and you, Tummas, for the honour of your messmates
let’s have no shamming afore these ere Portugals and
biled lobsters. Now, softly, my lads: when you sees me
put my quid into my jaws—” the two men looked at each
other; “heave in your broadsides.”

The words were scarcely out, when in flopped the quid,
and the combatants commenced hammering away at each
other at what both, perhaps, thought hurricane rate.

In the course of a few rounds Tummas fell, but caught
by his breech, remaining hanging over the barrel edge; up
however, he was re-seated, and at it they went again until
Yankee fell also, and hung in the same manner.

“Excellent!” roared the boatswain, “excellent prewentative,
or my old aunt warnt a wirgin!”

Yankee was soon himself, and they closed again, round
after round, until the two champions hung powerless at the
same moment.

“Drawn fight!” bellowed the little man again; “both
tough ones;” and he proceeded to separate with an enormous
clasp knife the fixtures at their trowsers: all this
while the crowd about them were convulsed with laughter,
which was further increased by a hole in each of the combatant’s
trowsers, which the boatswain had carefully cut
large enough almost to admit the barrel. The two sailors,
however, having recovered themselves, and with a growl
tucked back the blue check, steered away to the wine-house.

Among the officers of our battalion that had been
wounded at Almeida, was one Captain Mitchell, who having
.bn 059.png
.pn 45
received a ball through the arm, was transferred with us to
Lisbon: when sufficiently recovered, he one morning came
to the convalescent barrack to muster those who were willing
and able to rejoin their regiments. Amongst others
selected, was a man named Billy M’Nabb, of our corps, a
most notorious skulker and a methodist. He had scarcely
ever done duty with his company, but had remained sneaking
about the hospital as an orderly; and occasionally
preaching and praying to the drunken soldiers in the streets
of Lisbon. Captain Mitchell, however, had made up his
mind that M’Nabb should see the enemy before he returned
to England, and as a “persuasive,” when Billy most violently
resisted the summons, ordered him to be tied to the
bullock-cart, amid the jeers of the soldiers, and conveyed
back to his regiment. But it was only for a short period,
as Billy got tired of the “sight,” and took the earliest
opportunity to decamp, for he suddenly disappeared from
among us, and but for my having seen him since preaching
in the streets of London, should have been inclined to think
he never returned home at all.

The morning that the convalescents fell in to start for
the main-army, we were joined by a batch of recruits,
chiefly intended for the 68th and 85th regiments. They
were a squad of plump, rosy-cheeked, smart-looking fellows,
and like ourselves, each of them had been provided with
five days’ rations in advance; consisting of salt pork, biscuits,
and rum, the first of which they cooked ready for the
march.

Their officer in command was an astonishing man, nearly
seven feet high. I shall never forget him: by his high-cheeked
bones and dark complexion, I took him at first to
be a foreigner; but as soon as he spoke, his broad accent
declared him to be a North Briton, as far north as could
be. He seemed well acquainted with every theory, or that
part of a campaign which is generally digested at home;
and as a sample of this, he ordered his men, in accordance
with the regulations of Dundas, the then Commander-in-chief,
to halt and rest ten minutes or a quarter of an hour
at the end of every three miles.

“Coom, men,” he would say, pulling out his gold watch,
.bn 060.png
.pn 46
“ye ken, I suppose, yer three miles is up, set ye down and
eat a pound, the mair ye tak into yer stomachs the less
ye’ll carry on yer backs.” This over, the watch would be
again in requisition, and it would be, “Coom men, yer
quarter of an hour is nearly up, ye maun aye be ganging
again;” and the men, of course, would fall in. By thus
halting every three miles, and eating a pound each time,
before we reached Mafra, at the end of the second day’s
march, the men had “pounded” the whole of their five
days’ rations, and some of them began to growl most
confoundedly from the want of provisions. Wishing
to know the cause, he sent for the sergeant, and desired
him to inquire, when the latter informed him.

“Hoot mon, ye dinna say that, do ye? Tell them
all to fall in. I fear I maun chop a wee logic with them.”

“Oh ye hungry hounds,” he exclaimed, when the men
appeared before him. “Ye dinna ken the grand army
yet; not content now, ye maun aye whistle then, for
ye waunna get in ten days then what your hungry maws
have now devoor’d in twa!” saying which, he placed himself
at their head, to direct their movements when on
the march. I used to liken him to a kite, while the files,
of short men after him, reminded me of the tail. His
shoulders were so broad and yet so skinny and square, and
his height so convenient, that without stirring a peg from
the front section, he would wave his sword and look over
their heads down the ranks and see every manœuvre.

Amongst the convalescents, but very recently from Cockneyshire,
was a man named Josias Hetherington. This
fellow was one of the queerest I ever met with, and I
verily believe had seen <em>service</em> before, but amongst gipsies,
prigs, gaol-birds, and travelling showmen. There was not
a move but what he was up to, and in addition to these, he
was an excellent ventriloquist, and terrified the inhabitants
as we went along, whenever an occasion offered.

I think it was on the third day’s march, we had stopped
for the night in a small village, and as it happened, Josh.
and I got billeted in the same house together. Outside
our quarters in front of the house, was a small square
(every town, village and pig-stye in Portugal has one,)
.bn 061.png
.pn 47
in the middle of which and while we were cooking our
rations the inhabitants had commenced a fandango. This
also is usual on Sundays in Portugal. Attracted by
the whistle and a small drum beaten by a short, dumpy,
ugly looking lump of a Portuguese, Josh. and I would
occasionally run down to join, and leave our pots beside
the Patrone’s wood fire as close as we could to the red
embers. But invariably, when we came in to take a peep
at the boiling progress, we found our utensils moved aside
and the contents as cold as charity. Josh. looked at me,
and I at Josh., the same as to say, “Who the blazes
moves our meat about so?” Josh. however hearing footsteps
on the stairs, popped me and himself after into a
kind of pantry. I partially closed the door, and there we
stood watching.

In a few minutes in came the Patrone or lady of the
house, and looking about her a little, bounced to our little
utensils, and was proceeding to purloin the meat, muttering
something to herself at the same moment. But she had
scarcely put a hand to it, when a voice as if from the pot
plainly told her to “Sperum poco,” (wait a little.) The
old woman frisked up, looked doubtful, <em>crossed herself</em>, and
with the courage <em>this</em> afforded, again attacked the pot.
But the same words only quick and smart as a rifle shot,
sent her reeling and screeching to the corner of the kitchen.
“Oh Santa Maria! oh Jesu, oh la deos! Pedro aye el
demonio ei in panello, (the devil’s in the pot,) Santa Maria
ora—ora—ora—ora pro nobis!” and the good soul went
off in a Portuguese fit.

Josh. and I, scarcely able to contain our mirth, rushed
out of the house instantly and joined in the crowd, which
her screams were collecting about the door-way. The old
Patrone, when she recovered, was off in a twinkling to the
Priest and the Alcalde, but it was all in vain, the billet
could not be changed, for the whole village equally feared
the devil, and we held quiet possession till the next morning,
and might have carried away the house for what the
old Patrone cared, for she left her domicile and never
returned till we had marched out of the place.

The following day, 12th of October, 1810, I rejoined my
.bn 062.png
.pn 48
regiment encamped near a small village on the lines of
Torres Vedras, called Aruda, where I found my old
Captain, who despite his severe loss, had scraped together
a snug company, partly from men who had made their
escape from the French after the affair at Almeida, but
chiefly from a batch of recruits that joined our first
battalion with the third of our regiment that came from
England while I was in hospital. Aruda was a pretty
little place enough until we mounted our picquets, when
the men dreadfully defaced it, perhaps from a belief that
the French might enter—a pleasure they never had.

The inhabitants whose fears had been enhanced by its
exposed situation had nearly all evacuated the place, taking
with them only the most portable and valuable of their
effects, and leaving the houses, as it were, furnished and
tenantless. The change was the more extraordinary from
the circumstance of its pleasant site having for many years
made it a country resort for the rich citizens of Lisbon.

For a few days after our arrival, it presented a picture of
most wanton desolation. Furniture of a most splendid
description in many instances was laid open to the spoliation
of the soldiery. Elegant looking-glasses wrenched
from the mantle-pieces were wantonly broken to obtain
bits to shave by, and their encasures, with chairs, tables,
&c., &c., used as common fire-wood for the picquets; an
Israelite would have gloated over the gilded embers, and
have deemed perhaps one of them as under the value of
what our united fire-places might have been reduced to.
These proceedings, however, unravel the secret of spending
“half-a-crown out of sixpence a day,” and the philosophical
reader will perhaps admit of the plea, that if we had not,
the French would have done it for us, an event which we
expected, though it fortunately never was realized.

Tom Crawley was particularly pre-eminent in this havoc;
his enormous strength and length fitting him especially for
the pulling down and “breaking up” department.

Our company was one night on picquet at Aruda; we
had, as usual, made a blazing fire close to the stable of a
large house, which in the morning we had noticed, contained
a very handsome carriage (the only one by-the-bye
.bn 063.png
.pn 49
that I had ever seen in Portugal). Rather late in the
evening we missed Tom—who, by the way, had a great
love of exploring the houses of the village, and whom we
imagined to be employed in his favourite amusement,
“looking for wine.” After having consumed sundry
chairs to keep alive our fire, we found it necessary to
obtain fresh fuel, and while consulting where it was to
come from, one man, with an oath, proposed to burn the
Portuguese coach. The novelty of the thing among our
thoughtless fellows was received with acclamations, and as
our officers were absent in a house close by, several started
up on their legs for the purpose. The stable-doors were
immediately opened, and the coach wheeled backwards
into the large blazing fire. “This will make a jolly roast!”
exclaimed several of the men, as the paint and paneling
began to crack under the influence of the heat. Our
scamps were laughing and enjoying what they called a
capital joke, but just as the flames were beginning to curl
up around the devoted vehicle, a roar like that of a bull
came from its interior, and threw us for a moment into
consternation: immediately afterwards one of the glasses
was dashed out, and Tom Crawley’s big head was thrust
through the window, amid shouts of laughter from the
men, as he cried out—“Oh bad luck to your sowls! are
you going to burn me alive?” At the same moment,
urged powerfully by the heat of his berth, he made the
most violent efforts to open the door, which from the
handle being heated, was a difficult and painful operation.
We had some trouble ere we could extricate the poor
fellow, and then not before he was severely scorched. It
afterwards appeared he had gone half tipsy into the carriage,
and was taking a snooze, when he was so warmly
awoke. After this occurrence, Crawley used to boast of
going to sleep with one eye open.

At this period the French soldiers and ourselves began
to establish a very amicable feeling, apart from duty in the
field. It was a common thing for us to meet each other
daily at the houses between our lines, when perhaps both
parties would be in search of wine and food. In one of
the houses so situated, I remember once finding Crawley
.bn 064.png
.pn 50
in a drunken state in company with a couple of French
soldiers. I was mortified by the merriment his appearance
had excited, and could with difficulty get him away,
as he stripped, and offered to fight the whole three of us
for laughing at him.



.sp 4
.h2 id=ch08
CHAPTER VIII.

.in +2
.ti -2
The enemy retire upon Santarem—We retire upon Vallée—The bridge over the
Rio Mayor—The French out-lying sentries—Their camp ground—Comparative
quietude—The still—Escape from assassination—Tom Crawley’s ghost story—The
“Death and Glory men”—The charms of a Brunswickian appetite—Their
desertions—Sergeant Fleming—His court-martial—We meet our enemies
on the water and contend—A comment on both sides.
.in

.sp 2
<sc>About</sc> the middle of November the enemy retired, and
we made a movement to follow them towards Santarem,
which they immediately occupied and strongly fortified.
As soon as we came in sight of their works, our battalion
received orders to cross a river (the Rio Mayor), which
discharged itself into the Tagus, about half a mile lower
down on our right. While executing this movement, we
met with rather a warm reception, which became more
intense as we attempted to get a peep into their position;
we however were obliged in turn to retreat, and finally
took up our cantonments at a place called Vallée. The
regiment was distributed in companies on the houses on
both sides of the main road, that to which I was attached
being in an old wine-store near the bridge crossing the
Mayor.

On this bridge we had double sentries, and abbatis of
fallen trees. But the better to foil the incursions of the
enemy, the arches had been undermined, and the powder
secured from the wet by bullocks’ hides, trained ready for
explosion.

About two hundred yards in front of this were the
French outlying sentries, and a little in their rear, on a
slight eminence, their camp ground, which they had very
beautifully built over with ranges of huts.

About three or four miles to our left, and divided from
.bn 065.png
.pn 51
us by the Rio Mayor, rose the pretty town of Santarem;
its towers and steeples peering up from the summit of a
hill, studded on all sides with groves of olive-trees. The
prospect from it must have been very “soul-stirring,” as
the two armies lay within shell range, although they never
interfered with each other for the whole of the four or five
months that we were there; during this time we were
flanked on the left and right by the 43rd and 52nd regiments,
and enjoyed the most uninterrupted repose, almost
our sole employment being to watch the French movements.

Some of the men, for want of better pastime, succeeded
in constructing a still, with which they managed to make
spirits from a quantity of dried grapes, found in the old
wine-house; a discovery, however, soon took place, much
to our chagrin, and the still was destroyed by our old
Captain, Peter O’Hare.

The sanguinary nature of the Portuguese during the
whole period of the war was notorious. When crossed or
excited, nothing but the shedding of blood could allay their
passion. It was always with the greatest difficulty that we
could preserve our French prisoners from being butchered
by them even in cold blood. They would hang upon the
rear of a detachment with prisoners like so many carrion
birds, waiting every opportunity to satiate their love of
vengeance; and it required all the firmness and vigilance
of our troops to keep them in check. It was well known
that even our men fell in stepping between them and the
French, whom they had marked out as victims. Indeed it
was not unfrequent for our own men to suffer from the
consequences of their ferocity, and I myself, while at
Vallée, had a narrow escape. I had crossed the hills to
purchase some necessaries at the quarters of the 52nd
regiment, and on my return fell in with several of the
soldiers of the 3rd Caçadores; one of them, a fierce-looking
scoundrel, evinced a great inclination to quarrel, the more
particularly as he perceived that I was unarmed and alone.
Having replied rather sharply to some abuse they had cast
upon the English, by reflecting on their countrymen in
return, he flew into a rage, drew his bayonet, and made a
.bn 066.png
.pn 52
rush at me, which I avoided by stepping aside, and tripping
him head foremost on the ground; I was in the act
of seizing his bayonet, when a number of his comrades
came up, to whom he related, in exaggerated terms, the
cause of our disagreement. Before he had half concluded,
a general cry arose of “kill the English dog,” and the
whole drawing their bayonets, were advancing upon me
when a party of the 52nd came up, the tables were turned,
and the Caçadores fled in all directions.

Among other laughable circumstances that made the
time pass gaily while we remained here, was a ghost story,
in which Tom Crawley cut rather a conspicuous figure.
We had accoutred ourselves, as was our custom before
laying down for the night’s repose, when in rushed Tom
Crawley like a distracted man.

“Bring me some salt and water for the love of God,
boys!” he immediately demanded; “I have seen a
ghost.”

“What sort of ghost, Crawley?” sung out a dozen
voices from the men, who immediately became alive to the
fun.

“Oh, a Portuguese ghost, as sure as the Lord,” replied
Crawley. “Give me a little water with some salt in it.”

This salt, I must explain to the uninitiated, according to
a vulgar superstition in Ireland, is absolutely necessary to
be drunk by those who have seen a phantom before seeing
a light, as a neglect of the precaution was sure to be followed
by an evil influence. As soon, therefore, as a tin
measure was brought to the agitated Tom, (not filled,
indeed, with salt and water, but, I am sorry to say, a much
more objectionable liquid) Crawley drank it off with as
much avidity as if his future salvation depended on it: the
men, meanwhile, nearly convulsed with laughter at Tom’s
credulity.

At length, something like silence being restored, Crawley
took a seat, at the same time making many wry faces (that
were sufficiently accounted for by the potion he had swallowed.)
He then told us, in a very solemn manner, that he
had distinctly seen the semblance of a Caçadore in Colonel
Eldar’s regiment, the 3rd Caçadores, who used to sell our
.bn 067.png
.pn 53
men rum on the retreat from Almeida, and who was afterwards
killed at the battle of Busaco.

“But did you not speak to it?” inquired Jack
Murphy.

“You know I can’t talk Portuguese,” replied Crawley.

“A ghost can talk any language; he would have
spoken English to you if you had talked to him,” observed
another.

“But I was in too great a fright to talk at all to him till
he vanished away among the trees.”

Poor Tom Crawley! His ghost story afforded us ample
amusement for many weeks afterwards, although I remember
it caused his grog to be stopped, for having woke
the Captain of our company in an adjoining room by the
noise he had occasioned by his spiritual narration.

There is nothing, not even flogging, damps the spirit of
a service-soldier more than stopping his grog, particularly
a man of Crawley’s temperament, for like his renowned
prototype (Nautical Jack), if he were allowed three wishes,
the first would be all the rum in the world, the second all
the tobacco, and the third would be for more rum.
During our stay here, the commissary had ovens made,
and a number of our men employed baking bread, something
after the fashion of our quartern loaf, one of which
was allowed each man every four days. One day while the
company was being served out with rations of salt beef and
a hot four-pound loaf, and the commissary was busy in
serving out rum from a barrel turned on the end, with the
head knocked in, while the quarter-master was calling over
the name of each man, when Crawley’s name was called—stopped
by order of Captain O’Hare, was the answer. Had
sentence of death been pronounced, it could not have
sounded more harsh; but Tom had a little philosophy.
This trial put it to the test, for while he kept peeping over
the men’s shoulders, anxiously watching each man receive
his portion of rum, I also observed him poking his thumb
into different parts of the hot loaf, while he gradually
kept edging himself through the men, until he got close to
the rum barrel, and quietly putting his loaf under his arm,
.bn 068.png
.pn 54
remained stationary, until the commissary turned round
to speak to one of the men, when raising his arm in flopped
the loaf into the rum-barrel, while he lustily began
damning the awkward fellows who pushed, and caused the
accident, no doubt wishing the loaf to remain soaking in
the barrel as long as possible; but seeing the commissary
about taking the bread out, he instantly dived his arm into
the barrel, shoving the loaf to the bottom, then drawing it
out dripping, as well as his coat-sleeve, and looking the
commissary seriously in the face, begun cursing his misfortune,
saying: “Faith, Sir, I’ll have a hot meal for the
next four days, anyhow; if salt junk and hot rum don’t
blister a poor devil’s guts, I don’t know what will.” The
good-natured commissary, who looked on the whole as a
pure accident, handed Tom an extra half loaf, which he
instantly squeezed against the wet one, lest a drop of the
precious liquor should fall to the ground, and walked away,
humming as he went:

.nf b
“Oh, love is the soul of a neat Irishman,” &c.
.nf-

About this period we had a regiment of Brunswickers
sent to join our division, and one of our least amusing
duties soon consisted in watching them, to prevent their
deserting to the enemy. It was the prevalence of this
honourable propensity among them, I believe, that induced
Lord Wellington to distribute their force among the different
divisions of the army. These “death and glory
men,” as we used to term them, from their badge of the
skull and cross-bones which was worn on their shakos and
accoutrements, were dressed in dark green, which but too
frequently enabled them to steal past our guards and join
the French, with whom many of their connexions were.
Among other attributes with which these allies were gifted,
was a <em>canine</em> appetite, that induced them to kill and eat all
the dogs they could privately lay hold of. By this means
the different dogs of the division disappeared before the
Germans with a celerity truly astonishing, and we were in
ignorance of their fate until the fact became openly proclaimed
.bn 069.png
.pn 55
and acknowledged. Among other animals thus
“potted for consumption” was a dog which, from its
having attached itself to our regiment, we had christened
“Rifle.” Rifle could never be induced to leave us, and
upon one or two occasions when we had lost it, had always
managed to rejoin us again. We used often to joke among
ourselves at Rifle’s antipathy to a red coat, and his decided
preference to green; but although, poor fellow! he had
survived many of our skirmishes, in which he used to run
about barking and expressing his delight as much as a dog
could, it was only, after all, to be devoured by the insatiable
jaws of the Brunswickers.

We had in the company a sergeant of the name of Fleming,
a tall athletic brave fellow, from the Lake of Killarney.
One night being posted in picquet, he unluckily came in
collision with one of the Brunswick officers, and suspecting
his intentions to bolt to the enemy, knocked him down
with his rifle and otherwise maltreated him. The result
was, that Fleming was tried by a brigade court-martial,
convicted for the assault, and sentenced to be reduced to
the ranks, and to receive a corporal punishment of five
hundred lashes. This put us all on the alert, and the
officers also, by whom he was very much liked. The
division being formed, by order of General Crauford, the
prisoner was brought to the centre of the square, and the
minutes of the court-martial read aloud, Fleming proceeded
to strip, while the men stood attentively yet sullenly
awaiting the result. The General now addressed him,
saying:

“Prisoner Fleming, the offence which you have been
guilty of, is of so heinous a nature, that could it be proved
to be wilfully committed, it would be most unpardonable;
but the excellent character for gallantry and honourable
conduct, given of you by your officers, is such that I take
the responsibility on myself, relying on the plea made by
you. I shall not flog you, therefore, but your stripes will
be cut off, and I trust your future conduct will testify that
the discretion I now use, is not misplaced; and I here,”
proceeded the General, turning round to the division,
.bn 070.png
.pn 56
“take the opportunity of declaring, that if any of those
gentlemen (meaning the Brunswickers,) have a wish to go
over to the enemy, let them express it, and I give my word
of honour I will grant them a pass to that effect instantly,
for we are better without such.”

Fleming was shortly afterwards reinstated, but, poor
fellow! he was destined to an early though a more honourable
fate, and fell leading on the ladder party, in the forlorn
hope at Badajoz.

All this time, and for a great part of that in which we
were quartered here, a very friendly intercourse was carried
on between the French and ourselves. We frequently met
them bathing in the Rio Mayor, and would as often have
swimming and even jumping matches. In these games,
however, we mostly beat them, but that was attributed,
perhaps, to their half-starved, distressed condition. This
our stolen intercourses soon made us more awake to, until
at length, touched with pity, our men went so far as to
share with them the ration biscuits, which we were occasionally
supplied with from England, by our shipping;
indeed we buried all national hostility in our anxiety to
assist and relieve them. Tobacco was in great request; we
used to carry some of ours to them, while they in return
would bring us a little brandy. Their “réveille” was our
summons as well as theirs, and although our old captain
seldom troubled us to fall in at the “réveille,” it was not
unusual to find the rear of our army under arms, and, perhaps,
expecting an attack. But the captain knew his customers,
for though playful as lambs, we were watchful as
leopards.

It will not be amiss, perhaps, if I give the reader an idea
of the resources and intrinsic position of the two armies,
thus contending on a soil to which both were aliens. It
will be necessary to enter a little into the holds either party
had on the opinions of the inhabitants.

The French, it must be recollected, were fighting for the
usurpation—if it may be so termed—of the Spanish throne
by Joseph Bonaparte, and had to contend with all the elements
that composed and monopolized the prejudices of
.bn 071.png
.pn 57
the Spanish and Portuguese people. The whole war was
one between innovation, and long and deeply rooted prejudice;
and the French troops, consequently, were on all
occasions, nightly and daily, not only open to attacks from
the British, but in constant alarm from the natives, whose
animosity made them alive to the slightest opportunity
that presented itself for doing them mischief.

No Frenchman, however fatigued, dared to straggle or
fall back: it was instant death to him. The guerillas and
peasantry watched with the thirst of wolves, and slaughtered
all who fell into their hands. These dangers were, also,
doubly increased by the absence of uniforms amongst the
Spaniards, who, up to this time, wore their own peasant
dresses. This disabled the French from recognizing either
friends or foes. In addition to these, they had another of
greater magnitude than any, their provision and ammunition
resources depended entirely on their communication
with France—separated from them by the Pyrenees, and
long distances from the scene of contention itself; this
made their supplies exceedingly precarious, and but for the
contributions levied by the French generals on the inhabitants,
would have kept them oft-times pendant ’twixt
hunger and the bayonets of their enemies.

The priesthood, also, numbers of whom were of the
French church, had to return many obligations to their
revolutionary opponents, such as their banishment, wholesale,
from their “snuggeries” during the year of terror;
these, therefore, sided always with the Spaniards, and by
their influence, combined with the Spanish inquisitorial
clergy, gave a colour and energy to the cause we had
engaged in.

Our case was, consequently, widely different as the quiet
imprisonment of our disorderly comrade before-mentioned
fully proved; we were received, also, everywhere with
open arms, and were well backed, if not by the courage, by
their best provision resources. We could, with safety,
leave whole hospitals behind us, whilst the sick and
wounded of our opponents, the French, were, in many
instances, slaughtered wholesale by the citizens.

But with all these advantages in our favour, we yet, as
.bn 072.png
.pn 58
it were, lay between two stools. The natives were not to
be relied on, and though drawn up with us on most occasions,
generally left the British to bear the brunt of
action. Thus often and too truly showing that a weak
friend is frequently more dangerous than a determined
enemy.



.sp 4
.h2 id=ch09
CHAPTER IX.

.in +2
.ti -2
General Crauford leaves for England—Sir William Erskine takes the command—Mounseer
Strauss—We enter Santarem—Scenes of horror—Mile posts of
the “grande armée”—Retaliations of the Portuguese—Two upon one—Pombal—Smart
work—German gallantry—Auction—A new division—Redinha—An
accident—Long Tom of Lincoln—The deserter—A return of
favours.
.in

.sp 2
<sc>In</sc> the month of February, General Crauford went to
England on leave, and the command of the light division,
during his absence, devolved upon Major-General Sir
William Erskine.

On the night of the 5th of March we were suddenly
ordered to fall in, as intelligence had reached us that
the French were evacuating Santarem. This was soon
ascertained to be the fact, and we immediately commenced
an advance, crossing the bridge in our front at three o’clock
on the morning of the 6th.

Ours being the senior captain of the regiment, the company,
as was usual, were in the advance, when some of the
front files suddenly came within a few yards of what
appeared to be a French sentinel, leaning against a wall
that ran along from the bridge. One of our fellows fired,
but perceiving no movement made, we all rushed up,
and discovered him to be, what our money-changers at
home have so great a horror of, “a man of straw,” or
a piece of sacking stuffed and accoutred. This afforded
a fit theme for joking, as we carried our “prisoner” with
us until we came to Santarem.

Our march was uninterrupted, and over a bold thickly
wooded country, much cut up, however, by the retreating
enemy; about mid-day we entered Santarem, where a
.bn 073.png
.pn 59
sight of a most horrifying description offered itself. The
streets and houses presented a mass of desolation and filth,
which, in some degree, contaminated the air around, while
to add to the picture, numbers of half-starved looking
Frenchmen were grouped about in knots, and exhibiting
the loathsome appearance of disease. The faces of many
of these poor fellows were dreadfully swollen and white.
Our men were moved to pity at the scene, and threw them
biscuits as we passed <target id='through'>through the town.

Massena had not the means of conveyance for the whole
of his sick, and had been obliged to leave these to their
fate. This, indeed, would have been soon decided had the
Portuguese first come up with them.

At every mile the enemy, on their retreat, had fixed
finger posts with directions to the road the “grande
armée” had taken, they sufficiently directed us also. But
after all, these were of little service, for straggling groups
of the unfortunate enemy strewed the road as we advanced
over it. The poor fellows, at first, would greet the English
with a faint hope of protection, and turned up their swollen
and pallid countenances to us with expressions that needed
not words to explain them. But we were obliged to pass
on and leave them, for aught I know, to be butchered
by the inhabitants, who fearfully retaliated for all the scenes
we had witnessed. At night we encamped on the outskirts
of a small village, the name I do not recollect, but the
sights within it I never can forget.

In searching for a stream from which I might procure
water, I fell upon a small fountain, close to which lay two
or three murdered Portuguese; their brains and blood,
which seemed freshly to have oozed from their mangled
remains, had even streamed into the spring, and turned me
away with disgust from the water. Proceeding onward, I
observed a gaunt ghastly figure in a cloak stealing towards
a group of cadaverous looking Frenchmen—on his getting
a little nearer to them, he suddenly spat in his hands and
throwing his cloak aside, produced a heavy club, with
which, I suppose, he was going to beat their brains out.
Struck with horror, I instantly seized the stick from his
half-famished grasp, drove him away, and assisted by one
.bn 074.png
.pn 60
or two comrades got the poor men into a house, and
pursued my search.

As I, however, approached into the Plaza, the desolation
thickened; all the havoc that can possibly be imagined in
so small a compass lay before me—murdered and violated
women—shrieking and dying children—and, indeed, all
that had possessed life in the village, lay quivering in the
last agony of slaughter and awful vengeance.

These became every-day scenes until we overtook the
French rear-guard at Pombal, which we did on the
11th, my company had been hurried forward by the
cavalry, each dragoon mounting a rifleman behind him
on his horse—a method of riding peculiarly galling to
the infantry, but which we frequently had to experience
during the war. From the friction alone produced on the
legs and seat by the dragoon’s saddle-bags, it was some
time before the foot-soldier, when placed upon his legs,
could move with anything like dispatch. Besides, this
method of riding was generally attended by the loss of the
men’s mess-tins, which became shaken off by the jolting.
There were, indeed, few of our men who would not have
preferred marching twice the distance on foot to being
thus carried.[7]

We first got sight of the enemy about two miles from
the town of Pombal. They had possession of a wood, from
which, however, we soon managed to drive them. They
retired in great disorder in the direction of the town. The
long straight road that led to Pombal became filled for
some hundred yards, with the confused masses of the
French; but their distress was still further increased
by the arrival of Brigade-Major Mellish, who came up,
at the time, with a couple of Ross’s guns, and commenced
playing upon them. It soon became a complete rout with
the enemy, and they pressed pell-mell over the bridge
of the river between us and the town. They suffered considerably
.bn 075.png
.pn 61
in this business—the ground was strewed with
their dead, and as we followed we found several poor
fellows at the bridge badly wounded by the rifles, and
many dissevered legs and arms, the latter, no doubt,
caused by Ross’s two pieces.

It was during the preceding skirmish that, for the
first time, I heard the words that afterwards became
so common in our regiment, “kill a Frenchman for yourself.”
Its origin was as follows: Two men of known
daring, named Palmer and Tracey, during our approach
to the bridge, seeing a French sergeant fall, ran up to
claim the meed of conquest, by relieving him of any valuables
he might be possessed of. They were quarrelling as
to the appropriation of the spoil, when Palmer, who was
a known excellent shot, told Tracey to go “and kill a
Frenchman for himself,” as he had shot this man.

This circumstance afterwards gave birth to a little
gasconade in the regiment, that every rifleman could and
ought to kill a Frenchman in action. From the period of
the above occurrence, Palmer received the nick-name of
the “man-killer,” until a singular circumstance, that
occurred at the siege of Badajoz, gave him a new title.
In relieving picquet in the trenches, many of our men,
instead of going quietly through the trenches or parallels
in front of the walls of the town, used to show their
contempt of danger by jumping out of them and running
across in the face of the enemy’s fire. In executing this
feat one day with some others, a cannon-shot fired by
the French, struck the ground first, and then hit Palmer
on the back, and he fell, as we thought, killed upon
the spot. To our surprise, however, in a moment he
jumped up unhurt, the ball having glanced off his knapsack.
In commemoration of this event, he was afterwards
known by the appellation of “the bomb proof man.”

It must be borne in mind, that my own company only
were present here, and we had to sustain, at a great disadvantage,
a smart fire from the different houses, occupied
by the rear-guard of the enemy. As soon as we crossed
the bridge we took possession of the houses opposite those
held by the French, from which we kept up a brisk fire out
.bn 076.png
.pn 62
of the windows. Tired however, with this cross work,
several of our men dashed into one of the French holds and
found it crowded with the enemy, who to the number
of thirty or forty quietly surrendered themselves prisoners.
I recollect Sergeant Fleming, who was the first to mount
the stairs, bundling them neck and crop over the staircase.
Lieutenant Hopwood, however, fell severely wounded in
the thigh on entering the house. We maintained the
conflict until the remainder of the regiment came up,
and then drove the enemy entirely out of their cover.

In the eagerness of pursuit, however, we had suffered
severely: as our men followed the enemy a considerable
distance out of the town, galling them terribly in the
street, when perceiving how few our numbers were, being
supported by a single troop only of our German Hussars,
they turned round and made it a hard matter for us to
escape the consequences of our temerity. Several of the
men were out-flanked, and taken prisoners, and for myself,
I had to run a great risk, and should certainly have been
killed or captured, but for the gallantry of a German
dragoon, who riding up, dragged me behind him, and
galloped away amidst a volley of shots, unhurt.

At night, the French, who had posted themselves partly
under cover of a wood, threw shells into the town of
Pombal, of which we had possession, and succeeded in
setting it on fire in several places. We nevertheless
remained for the night, and sold by auction among the
officers and men some baggage which we had taken, snugly
packed on a grey horse, from one of their Generals; among
other valuables it contained, were two beautiful gold medals,
which we presented to our old Captain; we divided the
proceeds, which amounted to six dollars to each man of the
company.

In the morning, the French continued their retreat, and
we were again in pursuit. After crossing a well wooded
hill, we came up with them at Redinha, a small town situated
in the hollow of rather a difficult pass,—the company
ascending a hill covered with pine-trees, on the right of our
battalion.

From its eminence, I remember to have seen one of
.bn 077.png
.pn 63
the finest views of the two armies I ever witnessed. The
rifles were extended in the distance for perhaps two miles,
and rapidly on the advance to the enemy’s position. These
were followed by our heavy columns, whose heads were
just emerging from a wood about a quarter of a mile in our
rear. Everything seemed conducted with the order and
regularity of a field day. Meanwhile the rear columns
of the French were slowly retiring, but in a few minutes
the scene became exceedingly animated by our artillery
opening their fire upon the retreating forces.

This was the signal for us to set to work. We instantly
moved down from our lofty station, and were soon engaged
skirmishing <target id='and'>and endeavouring to out-flank and drive
in their light troops, which, after a hard struggle, we at
length accomplished, but not before many men had fallen
on both sides. The enemy, however, although they slowly
retired, continually turned, making temporary stands,
whenever the ground seemed favourable.

One affecting circumstance that took place in this action,
made a deep impression on my memory. A French officer
whom we had observed very conspicuously cheering on his
men, had fallen by a rifle-shot through the thigh, when
two of our buglers ran forward for the purpose of easing
him of his money. This, I must observe, the French generally
kept concealed in a kind of belt round their waists.
As soon, therefore, as the buglers came up to him, they
commenced quarrelling as to which of them should possess
his property. The more readily to disencumber him of
his belt, each of them had fallen on his knees over the
poor Frenchman, and one of the buglers had drawn a knife
to cut the strap that secured the hoped-for treasure, when
the other endeavouring to restrain him brought on a scuffle,
during which, I am sorry to relate, the knife entered the
body of the wounded man, and he expired on the spot. I
had arrived just in time to perceive the occurrence, and
could with difficulty restrain myself from shooting the
owner of the knife on the spot, until he told me it was
purely accidental.

After pursuing the enemy through the town, where we
took a number of prisoners (among whom were some of
.bn 078.png
.pn 64
my own company, taken the day before) in a water-mill,
we encamped at night on the side of an extensive hill. The
country, here also, was well wooded and watered, and
exceedingly picturesque, as was also the position occupied
by the enemy. We were encamped on a range of heights,
while the French lay below in a beautiful valley; the outlying
sentries of both armies being not more than two
hundred yards apart.

This night our company, with Captain Belvard’s, formed
the outlying picquet. As we had had no rations for two
days previous, we were soon busily employed in cooking
what we had taken from the prisoners; during this ceremony,
a man of the name of Humphrey Allen, a tall
powerful fellow, whom we had also nick-named “Long Tom
of Lincoln,” came up from the rear, where, during the preceding
skirmish, he had been employed taking the wounded.
On asking to be allowed to join one of the messes, he was
immediately refused, on account of his having gone out of
action with the wounded, when the care of them devolved
upon the buglers or bandsmen alone. This, I must remark,
was at first a common excuse for getting from under fire,
and soon became marked with indignation by the braver
men; at length, during the latter part of the campaign, no
good soldier would venture, under so frivolous a pretence,
so to expose himself to the indignation of his comrades,
excepting for any very extreme cases. In the preceding
instance, however, Allen proved himself more daring than
humane.

Taking up his rifle, very coolly observing that he would
soon get something to eat if a Frenchman had it: walked
quietly down to our outlying picquets, and taking deliberate
aim, shot one of the French sentries on the spot: in an
instant he was across the field to where he fell, and having
hoisted him on his shoulders, was in the act of bearing
him back to our line, which the French perceiving, not only
fired, but pursued him, and compelled him to drop his
prize.

A general alarm, meanwhile, was occasioned by this
firing, and before it could be checked, Colonel Beckwith
came down, and having traced its origin, sent for Allen.
.bn 079.png
.pn 65

“Why, Zur,” replied Tom, to the inquiry of the Colonel
“I arn’t had nought to eat these two days, and thought as
how I might find summut in the Frencher’s knapsack.”

Although he had been guilty of a cruelty which no law
of arms could justify, he managed to escape with a severe
reprimand.[8]

In the course of an hour after, being on sentry at our
advance posts, I was leisurely sauntering up and down,
occasionally looking about me, and stooping to cull some
flowers that grew in the field which divided us from the
enemy. It was just at the close of the evening, or between
the lights. The French sentry, who advanced occasionally
seemingly for the same purpose, at last came so near, that I
feared he was up to some manœuvre, or about to fire at
me; with this, I instantly cocked my rifle, and was awaiting
his approach, when he suddenly rushed towards me,
bellowing out in French, “Déserteur! Déserteur!” Of
course at the words I allowed him to approach, which he
did, exclaiming, “Je suis allemand,” and instantly turning
on his quondam comrades, fired into them. The report of
his fire caused the picquets of both parties to fall in, and
the whole line of sentries again to be engaged. However,
he stuck by me all the time, shaking his fist at them, and
loading and firing with all the jaw-breaking oaths that the
French and his native German could supply him with.

Colonel Beckwith, a second time alarmed, was soon
amongst us swearing also, at what he supposed to be
another Lincoln job, but he returned rather pleased, chatting
to the deserter.
.bn 080.png
.pn 66



.sp 4
.h2 id=ch10
CHAPTER X.

.in +2
.ti -2
Our march upon Condeixa—Tom Crawley again—Hot and cold—Affair of Casal
Nova—Death of Major Stewart—The French continue retreating—The two
brothers—Night scene—The French continue their havoc—The Caçadore—The
pet goat—Lord Wellington again—Our old Colonel—The promise of the
Staff—The Recruits—British enthusiasm inspired—The two French prisoners—Particulars
of Massena’s retreat and state of his troops—St. Patrick’s Day—If
I had a donkey—The river Caira—Our distressing privations—O’Brien and
the old Patrone—Arrival at Friexedas—Adjutant Stewart killed—Sabugal—Carrying
of the enemy’s position—Encomiums of our Colonel—Death of
Lieut. Arbuthnot—Disagreeable bed-fellow—A light on the subject—Evacuation
of Portugal by the French, Almeida excepted—The British follow into
Spain—Arrival at Gallegos—The enemy active in Rodrigo—The skulker—Poor
Burke—Expedition and disappointment in search of a convoy.
.in

.sp 2
<sc>The</sc> French got under arms before the dawn of the
morning, and we as usual followed, keeping them well on
before us.

In the course of the noon we passed through the pretty
little town of Condeixa, which the enemy had fired in
several places. The main street was completely blocked
by the flames darting across the road from the opposite
houses. To enable the troops to pass, we were obliged to
“break” a way through some dry walls. This caused a
temporary halt, during which the chief part of the division
gallantly employed themselves extricating the unfortunate
inhabitants, from the burning houses. Tom
Crawley (forgetful of the coach) made use of his great
strength to some purpose, and chucked some five or six
old people, whom he had brought forth on his shoulders,
over a wall as he supposed, out of immediate danger.
Tom, however, who should have “looked,” before he
made the old ones “leap,” was not aware that close to
their descent was a large well, into which, to their great
terror, he had very nearly dropped the terrified and screeching
sufferers.

Having cleared the houses “a way,” we proceeded to
Casal Nova, where we came up with the incendiaries,
whom we found perfectly prepared to receive us. The
country all about was greatly intercepted by old walls,
.bn 081.png
.pn 67
and afforded excellent facilities for skirmishing. In a few
seconds some of our division was observed moving upon
our right, and we were ordered instantly to extend, and at
it we went. After several hours’ hard fighting, kept up
with great spirit on both sides, we compelled the enemy to
retire, but not before we had lost an excellent officer in
the person of Major Stewart, who received a shot through
the body. He was led by two buglers to the rear, where
he died shortly after. The death of this officer gave a
step to my old Captain O’Hare, who obtained the majority.

In this skirmish Lieutenant Stroud also received a severe
wound. This officer in action, always carried a rifle, for
the skilful use of which he was celebrated.[9] A man of
our company named Pat Mahon, received three balls on
the hip at the same instant, and so close together that a
dollar might have covered the three holes they made.

The enemy still continued the retreat, their skirmishers,
at times, making short stands to keep our rifles in check,
and a few of their rear sections occasionally pouring a running
fire into us. We drove them, however, through the
village of Casal Nova. Some of the French for a few
minutes here availed themselves of pieces of dilapidated
walls, but as soon as we commenced outflanking them, they
all retreated, with the exception of one man, who, to our
surprise, remained loading and firing as if he had a whole
division to back him. I scarcely know what could have
induced me to fire at this poor fellow alone, and exposed as
he was to at least twenty other shots; but my blood was
up, through his having once aimed at me, his ball whizzing
close by as I approached. Be that as it may, I had got
within fifty yards when I fired. In an instant I was
beside him, the shot had entered his head, and he had fallen
.bn 082.png
.pn 68
in the act of loading, the fusil tightly grasped in his left
hand, while his right clutched the ramrod. A few quick
turns of the eye as it rolled its dying glances on mine,
turned my whole blood within me, and I reproached myself
as his destroyer. An indescribable uneasiness came over
me, I felt almost like a criminal. I knelt to give him a
little wine from a small calabash, which hung at my side,
and was wiping the foam from his lips, when a heavy
groan drew my attention aside, and turning round my
head I beheld stretched near him and close to the
wall, another wounded Frenchman, a sergeant. “Hélas,”
exclaimed the wounded man, the big tears suddenly
gushing down his sun-burnt countenance, as he pointed
with his finger to my victim, “vous avez tué mon
pauvre frère,” (you have killed my poor brother,) and
indeed such was the melancholy fact.

The sergeant, a stout heavy man, had fallen, his thigh
broken by a shot. The younger brother, unable to carry
him off the field, had remained, apparently with the intention
of perishing by his side.

We halted for the night on an adjacent hill, about a
mile in advance. The French also took up their position
opposite us. The picquets of both armies occupied a beautiful
ravine, that sloped between us. I took advantage of
the few moments’ leisure our position afforded to return to
the French sergeant. But I found him and his brother
both as naked as they were born, perforated with innumerable
wounds, no doubt administered by the Portuguese. I
turned back to the camp, but in a very poor humour with
myself, though I could not well close my eyes to the
magnificent scene around me. The sun had set, its light
had been supplanted by burning villages, and fires that on
vale and mountain correctly pointed out where the hostile
divisions were extended.

The following morning, the French continued their
march of havoc, and we closed after them, village after
village giving flaming proofs of their continued atrocities.
Passing through one which had been fired, by reason, as
we were informed, of its having been the quarters of
Marshal Ney and staff,—an appalling instance of vengeance
.bn 083.png
.pn 69
here occurred. The parents of one of our
Caçadores had lived in this village, and immediately
we entered, he rushed to the house where they resided.
On reaching the doorway, the soldier hesitated a few
seconds, but the door was open, and stretched across
the threshold he beheld the mangled bodies of his
father and mother, the blood still warm and reeking
through the bayonet stabs, while an only sister lay breathing
her last, and exhibiting dreadful proofs of the brutality
with which she had been violated. The unhappy man
staggered, frenzied with grief, and stared wildly around
him; till suddenly burying all other feelings in the maddening
passion of revenge, he rushed forth from what had
probably been once a happy home. His first act was to
dash at some French prisoners that unfortunately were
near the spot, guarded by some of our dragoons. These
he attacked with the fury of a madman. One he shot and
another he wounded, and he would have sacrificed a third,
had not the guard made him prisoner. On the circumstances
being made known to the General, he was liberated.

Outside the village, and on a gentle slope, we came to
the enemy’s camp ground, which they had been obliged to
quit so precipitately as to have left their fires lighted. We
noticed a goat, which, by its frisking and jumping about, I
supposed to have been a pet of some French officer. Whenever
we went near, it would step aside, until some of the
men levelled their rifles and shot it; swords were out in a
moment, and the little animal, skin and all, dissected.
I was just apportioning the hind quarter, when who
should ride near, but Lord Wellington and staff; for
a while I felt as if the noose were already round my
neck, until the Colonel coming up, re-established my
serenity, and congratulated us on our lucky chance;
for this kindness we shared our booty with him that
same night.

We had suffered dreadfully throughout the previous
week; many of our men from weakness, and through want
of rations, having been unable to keep up with their regiments,
Colonel Beckwith, in the hearing of many of us,
.bn 084.png
.pn 70
took this opportunity of making it known to the Commander-in-chief,
who immediately promised we should
have the first rations that came up. We then marched to
some high ground, from whence we could distinctly see the
French camp at a place called Foz d’Aouce, their fires
lighted preparatory to passing the night there. It was
determined, however, that they should not enjoy it so
easily. Our battalion was instantly ordered to the attack,
before proceeding to which, I will introduce to my readers
a squad of “gentlemen,” who joined us a few evenings preceding.
We had been reinforced by a fresh batch of
recruits from England, a number of whom had been drafted
into our company. These fellows’ rosy cheeks and plump
appearance, with their new dresses, formed a bright relief
and amusing contrast to our fierce embrowned visages,
covered with whisker and mustachio, as we then were, and
our clothing patched and of all colours. As these new-comers
were now about to go through the ordeal of fire, for
the first time in their lives, Major O’Hare thought proper
to say a few words by way of advice to them, on so
momentous an occasion; accordingly, he gave the command,
“Recruits to the front.”

Some ten or twelve immediately stepped forward, wondering,
no doubt, what they were wanted for. “Do you
see those men on that plain?” asked the Major, as he
pointed to the French camp. On several of the men
answering “Ees, Zur!” Major O’Hare, with a dry laugh,
continued, “Well then, those are the French, and our enemies.
You must kill those fellows, and not allow them to
kill you. You must learn and do as these old birds here
do,” pointing to us, “and get cover where you can. Recollect,
recruits, you come here to kill, and not be killed.
Bear this in mind: if you don’t kill the French they’ll
kill you.”—“Ees, Zur!” said they again.

The Major’s logic, although it elicited roars of laughter
from the old soldiers, I believe had more effect with the
recruits than if Demosthenes had risen for the purpose.
Immediately after this out went our muzzle stoppers, and
sallying down the slope on which we had been drawn up,
at the enemy we went. Our battalion was soon hotly
.bn 085.png
.pn 71
engaged, assisted by some light companies of the guards,
belonging to the first division. The night was fast setting
in, but we soon succeeded in beating the enemy out of their
camp ground, and we dashed at them as they retired crowding
with precipitation over a bridge which crossed the
river in their rear. Before two-thirds of their force had
accomplished this, the bridge, by some irregularity, was
blown up, and great numbers also were drowned in attempting
to ford the stream.

At their camp ground many of our men came in for a bit
of a wind-fall, as the French, in their hurry to place the
river between us and them, had left their meat and pots on
the fires. This afforded a happy regale to some of our
unfortunate hungry stomachs, the more especially as the
food thus come by, was eaten with a sense of having been
fairly earned.

During the foregoing skirmish and while very closely
engaged, I perceived a horse, gaily bedizened with French
trappings, galloping about, as though looking for an
owner, and I managed to catch it by the bridle. A
minute afterwards my prize received a shot, probably
intended for myself, but which stretched the poor animal
dead beside me.

The night was passed on the French camp ground. At
the fire round which we thronged, were two wounded
Frenchmen; it was a satisfaction to mark the care and
attention which they received at the hands of our men.
One of the prisoners, whom I found to be a very intelligent
fellow, gave me interesting accounts of the state and
proceedings of Massena’s troops, which, as it much amused
us at the period, possibly may prove equally entertaining
to the reader.

“At the time that Massena and his troops,” said he,
“lay at Santarem, we had encouraged hopes of driving the
English into Lisbon, or the sea; but finding these unavailing,
it was given up in despair, and the army prepared, at
about the beginning of the spring of 1811, to retire back
through the country into Spain.

“The batteries and other works which for several months
our men had been erecting, were destroyed, and leaving
.bn 086.png
.pn 72
behind us a great number of our sick, whom we had no
means of conveying away, we shared the last of our provisions,
amounting to about ten biscuits each man amongst
us, and we prepared to retreat.

“The troops were in a most distressed state, reduced to
half their numbers almost naked and without provisions,
for most of them consumed in a few days the whole of their
scanty allowance. They could not expect aid from any of
their comrades, for all were without, and the country
around us devastated by both parties; our wants, however,
urged us to plunder, and we wandered in strong parties
from the regiment, and meeting with every species of
resistance, gave blow for blow.

“The guerillas followed us everywhere; they fled in the
front and harassed us on our flanks, so that not an hour
passed but we were obliged to be on the alert to save our
lives; out of this arose every cruelty which ensued, and
made our retreat almost unparalleled for devastation and
bloodshed. Meanwhile the British troops came on in our
rear, their light divisions harassing us night and day, and
completing the wreck that never will be forgotten while
Portugal retains its name.”

We continued to occupy the same spot the whole of the
following day, waiting very anxiously for the promised supply
of rations; one day’s rations, however, to our exceeding
joy, made their appearance in the evening of the 16th.
The following being the morning of St. Patrick’s Day,
the whole of our battalion, English and Irish, duly
celebrated the event by a proper attention to greens, and
not having shamrocks, leaves, grass and boughs of trees
were substituted: thus ornamented we commenced our
march.

Just before we arrived at the river Caira, the waters of
which flowed over the body of many an unfortunate French
soldier, we came upon a sight which was enough to make
the “Humane Society,” declare eternal war against the
men of the wooden shoes.

This was some two or three hundred donkeys and mules,
which the enemy, unable to drive off, had maimed and
hamstrung. The poor animals looked up to us as if for
.bn 087.png
.pn 73
vengeance, and every mute appeal was sternly fulfilled, for
they struck home to the feelings of us all.

We continued our march for about two leagues, when
the battalion halted upon a hill covered with pine-trees.
At the bottom of this and near our advanced posts, flowed
the river Alva, on the opposite side of which the retreating
army lay encamped. We had halted, and refreshed ourselves,
with the notion that we should spend the night
there quietly, but we were doomed to be miserably undeceived,
as a fresh order was given for us to fall in, the
artillery coming up, and commenced playing on the
enemy’s masses, and our division was ordered to cross the
river. Lord Wellington certainly was determined to allow
the French no rest if possible, and indeed, if truth be
added, ourselves as little. A pontoon was thrown over the
river for the division to cross, while others forded the stream
a little higher up on our right. The enemy retired in
excellent order, and we pursued until both halted for the
night. The place we occupied was a little village called
Melo, where we remained during the following day, having
had one ration only for the last four days. Never let it be
said that John Bull cannot fight upon an empty stomach.
If ever one division of our army proved this more than
another, I certainly think it was the light one. <em>Light</em>
enough we were at this and at other periods, Heaven
knows. While thus impelled by hunger, myself and Wilkie
searching about for something to devour, proceeded down a
lane, where we came upon the body of an elderly woman.
She was lying in the middle of the road, dressed in white,
and, from the hands being bound together in a praying
attitude, and the general appearance of the corpse, it was
evident that she had been taken out for the purpose of
burial, as it is the custom in that country to inter them in
full dress, and without a coffin: the arrival of the French
no doubt had obliged her attendants to abandon her.

The reader is expecting perhaps, that we set to work
and nibbled the old woman, but let me assure him we did
nothing of the kind, though we thought many and many a
time, and growled sadly that we had not provided ourselves
with a bit from the donkeys.
.bn 088.png
.pn 74

The corpse had round its neck a set of beads with a
gold cross at the end, which Wilkie very “piously”
put into his pocket.

We still, however, continued our prowling, and stumbled
at last on a small cottage, into which we entered, in full
hopes of having made a substantial discovery.

An old emaciated half-starved looking hag, sat squatted
by some extinguished embers, like the last survivor of
a universal wreck. She was indeed the only living inhabitant
we had seen in the village, and remained squatted
by the embers, as if permitted that privilege only to
recount her tale. The old soul continued a fixture,
until Wilkie suspecting something, pressed her to move.
“Non hai nada!” screamed the old lady, “Non hai
nada!” (there is nothing.)

“Oh but there is,” replied my comrade; until growing
furious, he upset the old woman from her position, and out
rolled a loaf of bread from under her, as natural as if it had
been an egg from under a hen. Wilkie pounced at it
instantly, and the miserable old creature burst into tears,
and screamed herself almost into fits. Her cries in a few
seconds brought in her daughter, who unable to keep herself
concealed at this agonizing appeal of her parent, rushed forward
to her assistance. Never before did I see such a pitiful
pair, both were almost cadaverous with want, and begged
hard for the loaf. But we were all of us half starved, and
at last, Wilkie and myself, unable to contain ourselves any
longer, willingly shared it with them.

We were engaged daily with the enemy until we came
to Friexedas, on the 28th of March, on which day we lost
our gallant adjutant, Lieutenant Stewart, who fell by
a musket shot.

On the 1st of April we again came up with the enemy,
who held possession of the town of Sabugal, where they
seemed inclined to make a final stand.

The town is situated partly upon a hill, with some woodland
interspersed about, while the rapid river Coa winds
between it and the Lisbon side of the country.

On the day of the 3rd an attack upon the enemy
was commenced, by our battalions, when through some
.bn 089.png
.pn 75
mistake, we were left almost unsupported; after crossing
the river, we advanced up the hill, on the other side, and
under a fleecy shower of rain, soon became hotly engaged
with the French. They were at least four or five times our
number, and compelled us to retire twice before their overwhelming
masses. Led on, however, by our gallant
Colonel, we fixed swords, and came to the charge and
drove them up the hills before us. There a strong reserve
was prepared for our reception. A third time we were
obliged to give ground, until our second brigade coming to
our aid, we again dashed at them, carried the position, and
after a hard contest, obliged the enemy to retreat with the
utmost precipitation, leaving behind them a howitzer, which
had been twice taken and retaken.

No one that day could have observed our Colonel during
the heat of the action, and not have admired his cool and
soldier-like bearing. “Steady, lads—show no hurry,” was
his cheering exhortation, accompanied by a smile when we
were obliged to retreat, the blood, at the same time, flowing
copiously from a wound he had received across his forehead.
Never, perhaps, in any action, did the Rifles display
more consummate tact and resolution than in this. Lord
Wellington was too just to pass over their services on this
occasion, and in general orders passed a high encomium
upon the gallantry of Colonel Beckwith, and the brigade
under his command. We lost a fine young fellow, an
officer, Lieutenant the Honourable —— Arbuthnot, whose
head was smashed by a round-shot.

At the conclusion of the battle the rain poured down in
torrents, and obliged us to take such shelter as the walls
and trees around afforded. The enemy, meanwhile, were
in rapid retreat, and we should, in all probability, have
continued in pursuit, but for the exhausted state of the
men.

While endeavouring to obtain shelter, Lord Wellington
rode up, and knowing the chief business of the day
had fallen upon our brigade, he ordered us into the town.
We arrived just in time to prevent the fifth division
from supplanting us, and they consequently were obliged
to retrace their steps, which they did with much grumbling
.bn 090.png
.pn 76
and discontent. It was dark before we got into the house
appropriated to us. Myself and one or two others turned
into a small square room, the floor of which was covered
with straw. Though wetted through to the skin I soon
fell into a sound sleep, but was, however, quickly awakened
by a hurried exclamation from a man who had just entered
the room with a light. On looking around for the cause
of his surprise, I beheld a stiff and naked corpse placed
upright against the walls of the room, brutally defaced; at
the same moment, and in the act of turning, I placed my
hand on the clammy features of another body, partly concealed
under the straw, and across which I had actually
been sleeping; we found four bodies altogether, evidently
Portuguese, and all of them bearing the usual proofs
of French retaliation.

The next day Massena evacuated Portugal, with the
exception of Almeida, and in a short time we ourselves
crossed the frontiers and took up our old quarters at
Gallegos; here we found many of our acquaintances of
the preceding year, and the enemy having retired upon
Ciudad Rodrigo, we were suffered for a while to recruit
our strength.

Some weeks after our arrival at Gallegos, the battalion
had orders to prepare for marching at an hour’s notice,
and to leave their knapsacks behind. This was announced
by Colonel Beckwith on the afternoon parade, who, at the
same time, desiring those who were sick or weakly to fall
out, as a forced march was to be undertaken to prevent the
French throwing supplies into Rodrigo. On hearing this
several skulkers in the regiment fell out of the ranks, but
were obliged to fall in again.

Passing down the regiment, Colonel Beckwith, attracted
by the evident looks of ill-health of a man named Burke,
noted for his daring courage, very humanely advised him
to remain behind, “For you look very ill, Burke,” said
the Colonel. “No, Sir,” replied Burke, casting a look of
contempt on the skulkers, “I certainly am not well, but I
still have the heart of a man, and will keep up with
my comrades as long as my legs will carry me.” The
Colonel evinced a melancholy, but evident satisfaction,
.bn 091.png
.pn 77
at this manly reply. “I am sorry,” said he, “that
the sneaking propensities of others should compel a brave
man to act against himself.” This brave fellow Burke was
afterwards one of the forlorn hope at Ciudad Rodrigo,
Badajoz, and St. Sebastian, through the successive horrors
of which he lived to fall mortally wounded at Quatre Bras,
just previous to the battle of Waterloo.

Our expeditionary party marched early in the morning.
We took the direction of Rodrigo, fording the river Agueda
in our way. We were doomed to have only our march for
our trouble—the expected convoy of the enemy had escaped
us; so that, harassed to death, we had the pleasure of
retracing our steps not a wit wiser than we went. In recrossing
the river, a poor fellow of our company, spent
with fatigue, was carried off his legs and drowned.
Another would have shared the same fate, but for Brigade-Major
Mellish, who, by swimming his horse to his assistance,
saved the man.



.sp 4
.h2 id=ch11
CHAPTER XI.

.in +2
.ti -2
Our advance videttes, and the French cavalry—Manœuvring in front of Villa
Formosa—The Suttler and the Dragoons—Sergeant-Major Sharp—Morning
of the 5th May—General Crauford returns—Portuguese welcome—Fuentes
d’Onor—French Dragoon challenges to single combat—Retreat on Navez
d’Aver—Charges of cavalry—A deep game by the French—Squaring it with
the enemy—The 79th Highlanders—A prisoner against his will—The French
sentry and General Crauford—The Light Dragoons again—Sergeant-Major
Sharp again—Scene of discipline—That lash disappointed—The German
fratricide.
.in

.sp 2
<sc>On</sc> the 4th May, about half-past nine o’clock, <sc>A. M.</sc>, our
advance videttes were observed circling, one to the right,
and the other to the left, at a trot, by which information
was conveyed that bodies of infantry and cavalry were
advancing. The bugle immediately sounded the “assemblée,”
and our division quickly assembled on its alarm
post, on the Gallegos road. My company was attached to
the 14th Light Dragoons, then under the orders of General
Slade, who commanded the cavalry-brigade. He ordered
.bn 092.png
.pn 78
them to take ground to the right, and deploy into line in
the rear of a rivulet, which flowed between us and the
French. In a few minutes the enemy’s cavalry were
discovered emerging from a wood in our front, where they
had formed in close columns and halted, throwing out
strong bodies of skirmishers.

A sharp conflict ensued betwixt the cavalries, yet the
enemy were evidently awaiting the concentration of their
advancing columns from Ciudad Rodrigo. General Slade
now ordered the whole of us to retire, which the cavalry
did in eschelons of squadrons, and covering us on the road
towards Navez d’Aver, which was quietly effected; the
enemy still holding their old position near the wood. One
squadron of the 14th was stationed on the verge of another
wood, on the right of Fuentes, as an advanced picquet, but
was withdrawn at the close of the evening, and joined
the regiments in bivouac within some stone wall enclosures,
near Villa Formosa.

During the night some of the dragoons discovered
the resting-place of a suttler, who had just arrived from
Abrantes with a string of mules laden with rum, wine,
aguardiente, &c., &c., and sardines, a species of red-herring,
which was then considered a great luxury. News of such
a neighbour flew on eagle wings through the camp, but in
low whispers, lest the slumbers of the chief should be disturbed,
and check their merry-making. The secret, however,
was soon discovered, no doubt occasioned by the
uproarious bursts of merriment and songs which pealed
from fire to fire. Although these were the general characteristics
of the British soldier on the eve of a battle, on
this occasion, they were heightened by the liquor, and were
louder than usual, while the officers awakened from their
slumbers, could not for some moments conceive the cause
of what they heard. General Slade, however, with lungs
that roused the camp, as though a thirteen-inch shell had
exploded amongst them, called for the regimental Sergeant-Major
Sharp, who, on making his appearance, was discovered
to have partaken too freely of the suttler’s strong
waters, and was immediately placed in arrest. A non-commissioned
officer was ordered to bundle off both suttler
.bn 093.png
.pn 79
and mules to some distance, placing a line of sentries that
no one might come in or go out of the camp. The noise
and hilarity soon ceased, the merry-makers dispersed, and
a few minutes found them outstretched and asleep under
cover of the dry walls.

Early on the morning of the 5th, our company was
ordered to join the battalions; we did so, and took up our
position to the left of the ruins of Fort Conception, which,
as I before mentioned, had been previously destroyed, as it
lay near the main road to Almeida, the siege of which
place the French seemed anxious to raise.

While things were in this state, at an early hour General
Crauford made his re-appearance amongst us from England,
and was welcomed with much enthusiasm by the division;
although a strict disciplinarian, the men knew his value in
the field too well not to testify their satisfaction at his
return. The Caçadores, particularly, caused much laughter
among us, by shouting out in Portuguese the moment
they caught sight of him, “Long live General Crauford,
who takes care of our bellies!” meaning by this exclamation
they got their rations regularly, while under his
command; the General seemed highly pleased, and bowed
repeatedly with his hat off as he rode down the ranks.

The whole of the British were under arms at day-break,
earnestly expecting, from the movements of the enemy,
that an attack would be made; this suspense was but
short, for very soon a heavy cannonading was heard on our
right, in which direction we were immediately ordered.
While moving accordingly we passed the Guards of the 1st
division, entrenched behind the town of Fuentes; we
immediately occupied some old dry walls considerably
in advance, and facing the enemy’s left, a fine extended
plain laying between us, with a wood on the French side, of
which the enemy had possession. In front of this a
regiment of cavalry was conspicuously formed, a troop
of which came trotting leisurely towards us to reconnoitre
our position.

This movement induced a corresponding one from some
of our dragoons, when both parties threw out their videttes,
.bn 094.png
.pn 80
and remained halted with some four hundred yards of
ground between them.

One of their videttes, after being posted facing an
English dragoon, of the 14th or 16th (for we had only
those two light dragoon regiments with us at the time, and
the German Hussars), displayed an instance of individual
gallantry, in which the French, to do them justice, were
seldom wanting. Waving his long straight sword, the
Frenchman rode within sixty yards of our dragoon, and
challenged him to single combat. We immediately expected
to see our cavalry man engage his opponent, sword
in hand. Instead of this, however, he unslung his carbine
and fired at the Frenchman, who not a whit dismayed,
shouted out so that every one could hear him, “Venez
avec le sabre: je suis prêt pour Napoléon et la belle
France.” Having vainly endeavoured to induce the Englishman
to a personal conflict, and after having endured
two or three shots from his carbine, the Frenchman rode
proudly back to his ground, cheered even by our own men.
We were much amused by his gallantry, while we hissed
our own dragoon, who, it was afterwards stated, for the
credit of the gallant regiment he belonged to, was a recruit.

Just after the preceding occurrence, a smart action had
commenced in the wood before-mentioned, and our company
was ordered to take ground to the front, where the
85th regiment were very roughly handled by the enemy.
This was the first time since their arrival in the country,
that they had been engaged. Opposed, with their conspicuous
red dresses, to the old trained French tirailleurs, it is
no wonder that the gallant 85th should have suffered
so severely. When we came up, however, our practised
fellows, in their dark clothing, from the murderous nature
of our arms, soon turned back the advancing French, who
commenced gradually retreating before us, until they
got through the wood on the plain that leads to Navez
d’Aver.

We had no sooner beaten back the enemy than a loud
cheering to the right attracted our attention, and we
perceived our 1st heavy dragoons charge a French cavalry
.bn 095.png
.pn 81
regiment. As this was the first charge of cavalry most of
us had ever seen, we were all naturally much interested on
the occasion. The French skirmishers who were extended
against us seemed to participate in the same feeling, as
both parties suspended firing while the affair of dragoons
was going on. The English and French cavalry met
in the most gallant manner, and with the greatest show
of resolution. The first shock, when they came in collision,
seemed terrific, and many men and horses fell on both
sides. They had ridden through and past each other, and
now they wheeled round again. This was followed by
a second charge, accompanied by some very pretty sabre-practice,
by which many saddles were emptied, and English
and French chargers were soon seen galloping about the
field without riders. These immediately occupied the
attention of the French skirmishers and ourselves, and we
were soon engaged in pursuing them, the men of each
nation endeavouring to secure the chargers of the opposite
one as legal spoil. While engaged in this chase we frequently
became intermixed, when much laughter was
indulged in by both parties at the different accidents
that occurred in our pursuit.

I had secured a very splendid charger, when chancing
to turn my head, I perceived that the French were playing
a deep game. They had succeeded in removing a regiment
of infantry, with some cavalry, through the wood in
our rear. The alarm, however, was immediately given,
and our company as foremost, had to run for their lives
into a square formed by the 52nd, who were close to the
foot guards. During this sudden movement, I was obliged
to part with my horse, the cavalry did not pursue us; but
their artillery opened upon the 52nd’s square, and did
some execution.

These incidents, though fearfully strange to some of my
readers, were very enlivening to us. Ours indeed was a
noble enemy; they never permitted us to flag, for want of
stimuli, but kept us ever on the <i><lang='la'>qui vive</lang></i>. We anticipated
little terror from capture, and though we ever found them
to be our roughest antagonists, yet we always experienced
a most generous opposition; indeed there was, on the
.bn 096.png
.pn 82
whole, such a chivalrous spirit carried on between us, that
our men had a kind of respect even for a wound inflicted
by a Frenchman.

Our next attempt was upon the left of Fuentes, where
one company was detached, while the remainder of the
regiment was ordered to take possession of the town. The
section to which I belonged were posted near the banks of
the river Das Casas. The 79th Highlanders had suffered
very severely here, as the place was strewn about with their
bodies. Poor fellows! they had not been used to skirmishing,
and instead of occupying the houses in the neighbourhood,
and firing from the windows, they had, as I heard,
exposed themselves, by firing in sections. The French,
who still occupied part of the town, had not escaped a
rough handling, as their dead also evinced.

During the latter part of the day the enemy had made
some prisoners, which they exhibited to us as they marched
them along their lines. One man we saw make a determined
attempt to obtain his liberty. He had loitered in
the rear as the party were going over a small bridge that
crossed the Das Casas by a mill, when, turning suddenly
upon a Frenchman behind him, he threw him into the
water, and immediately made a dash for our position, but
owing to several of the French being between him and us,
we had the mortification of seeing the poor fellow recaptured,
without being enabled to render him any assistance;
we could see by his kilt that he belonged to the
79th regiment.

That same evening, the enemy evacuated the town, and
a flag of truce was sent us to bury the dead. While occupied
in this, at all times melancholy duty, some idea may
be formed of the loss sustained by the 79th alone, when a
man of our company brought in his two arms full of the
sable plumes which he had taken from their bonnets,
strewn about the town.

The opposing lines of sentries were very close to each
other: the French being divided from us only by a
narrow plank thrown across the mill-dam, which was
occupied on one side by our company, who were now on
picquet.
.bn 097.png
.pn 83

A blacksmith of ours of the name of Tidy, who had
erected his forge in the old mill, was at work close by,
shoeing the officers’ horses. The French sentry had
crossed the plank to light his pipe, and was standing carelessly
chatting with me, when who should I see approaching,
but General Crauford, inquiring if Tidy had shod his
horse. The Frenchman’s red wings soon attracted the
General’s notice, and he suddenly with his well-known
stern glance, inquired,

“Who the devil’s that you’re talking with, rifleman?”

I informed him the French sentry, who had come over
for a light for his pipe.

“Indeed,” replied Crauford, “let him go about his
business, he has no right here, nor we either,” said he, in
a low whisper to his aide-de-camp, and away he walked.

Our battalion remained in the suburbs of Fuentes a few
days, and the enemy who had desisted from their attempt
to relieve Almeida, retired; we followed them and took up
our quarters at Gallegos. Anxious to know the fate of
Serjeant-Major Sharp, of the 14th Light Dragoons, immediately
on our arrival I called on an old friend, a Corporal
Henley,[10] of the same regiment, and he gave me the following
particulars and further proceedings of that gallant and
highly distinguished regiment.

“On the 5th, early in the morning,” said he, “after
you left us, we assembled on our respective alarm posts,
which at daylight we found to be none other than the
position so gloriously contested and known as Fuentes
d’Onor.

“The regiment formed in close columns and dismounted,
the commissariat having arrived with the mules,
rations were issued to both man and horse, and to many
it proved to be their last. It so happened that during the
distribution of corn, the horses of Lieutenant Shields had
been forgotten. It was, therefore, necessary to make a
collection from each dragoon, to make good the deficiency;
one of these, named Trowers, under the influence of the
.bn 098.png
.pn 84
preceding night’s liquor refused to allow any of his corn to
be taken, and drawing his sword, declared with an oath, he
would cut down the first man who dared to take a grain
from his horse. As a matter of course, he was placed
under arrest, and a drum-head court-martial was instantly
summoned for the trial of the prisoner, at which also was
arraigned the unfortunate Serjeant-Major Sharp; all the
while the action was becoming general along the lines.

“Captain Bull’s troop of artillery, then on our right,
marked with the most accurate skill the movements of the
enemy, who in turn did not allow us to remain silent
spectators, as their round-shot measured with equal
exactness the standing of our columns. The court-martial
being closed, the troops stood to their horses, and the
proceedings were read: the dragoon was sentenced to receive
three hundred lashes, and the Serjeant-Major reduced to
the rank and pay of a private sentinel. The bars of the
latter were immediately cut off, and a gun from Captain
Bull’s train was brought to the flank of the regiment, and
the prisoner ordered to be tied to it; in the moment of
doing this, one of the staff came galloping up, his horse
covered with foam, bearing orders for the regiment to take
ground to the right and charge, covering our flank which
in that direction was falling back, harassed by the enemy’s
cavalry.

“The words ‘Stand to your horses—Mount—Three
right—Gallop,’ followed in quick succession; and like
shots from a six-pounder, we left the scenes of military
discipline. The prisoner in this confusion, and half
accoutred, made a leap into his saddle, and drawing his
sword and giving his horse the spur, rushed into the ranks,
and the non-commissioned officer, in whose charge he had
been left, unable to prevent him, galloped after and mixed
in the attack.

“This fortunate occurrence saved the poor fellow from
the disgrace of the ‘lash,’ but his good fortune did not
continue with him throughout the day, as he was one of
the brave, who fell some short time afterwards, in the gallant
charge made by a squadron of ours, on two of the
enemy’s guns.
.bn 099.png
.pn 85

“On our arrival on the right, our infantry had formed
square and were falling back menaced by a numerous
cavalry; indeed I may say, as it was the case, our right
flank was turned. Our guns opened between the interval
of squares upon their advancing columns, when one
squadron of the 1st Royal Dragoons, and one of our regiments
charged, led by Major Mills; their cavalry were
driven back, and many prisoners taken. The infantry continued
to fall back with as much steadiness and order, as if
in review.

“I must here relate,” continued Henley, with deep
emotion, “an event which at the time filled all who were
present with a sorrow which indeed I shall never forget.
General Slade, observing the numerous cavalry against
which his brigade had to contend, advised the officer in
command, not to allow their ranks to be weakened by conducting
prisoners to the rear, but after disarming them, to
let them proceed of their own accord. It was not uncommon
therefore to observe groups of French dragoons
riding quietly to the rear, looking for any one to take them
in charge. It happened that a hussar of the 3rd German’s
having taken a prisoner, ordered him to fall back also;
the latter having ridden some little distance as directed,
suddenly applied both spurs to his horse, making a détour
to his regiment; the German, observing this, as quickly
pursued, and upon closing with him fired his pistol, and
the dragoon fell dead from his horse.

“The hussar having secured the Frenchman’s rein conveyed
him some little distance to the rear, and proceeded
to take off his valise, when overhauling the contents, he
discovered a letter from his father, on reading which, he
found that it was his own brother who had fallen by his
hands. Stupified with horror, he sat motionless and
speechless on his horse for some minutes, when he exclaimed,
the big tears rolling down his veteran cheek, ‘The
king has commanded, and my God will forgive me,’ at
the same time applying his spurs, he rushed headlong into
the battle.

“A few days after, meeting a patrol of the same regiment
.bn 100.png
.pn 86
near Gallegos, inquiry was made respecting our unfortunate
hussar, when we were informed that he too had that
day numbered with the dead, not far from the corpse of his
brother.”



.sp 4
.h2 id=ch12
CHAPTER XII.

.in +2
.ti -2
Almeida closely invested by the fifth division, but not close enough—Evacuation
by the French—Suicide of the Colonel of the 4th—Sabugal—We cross the Coa—The
comet—Much ado about nothing—Tom Crawley’s fears—March through
Castello Branco—Portalegre, &c., to Campo Mayor—Tom Crawley poisoned—Blockade
of Ciudad Rodrigo—Atalaya—Hunting excursion with the Staff—Our
third battalion joins us—Colonel Barnard—Tommy Searchfield—Middy
ashore—Deficiency of rations—A new arrival—His adventure—Spanish spite—The
pigs—Rodrigo relieved by the French—Our division—We rejoin the
army—Battle of El Bodon—We return to Guinaldo—Again invest Rodrigo—January,
1812—Fort Piquerine stormed—The stripping of the prisoners by the
Portuguese—Tom Crawley again—Cure for a skulk.
.in

.sp 2
<sc>At</sc> this period Almeida was closely invested by the fifth
division, while we in front watched the main army. Early
on the morning of the 10th of May we were ordered to get
under arms, and march towards Barba del Puerco, the
scene of one of our former skirmishes the year before. On
arriving near the town we heard some smart firing, and we
halted. We now were informed, for the first time, that
the French garrison at Almeida, after blowing up the walls
at night, evacuated the town, and had cut their way
through the blockading force.

The brigades of the fifth division, I believe, did duty by
turns. That in which were the 2nd and 4th regiments
happened to be on picquet when the French made their
way through the investing force, which gave rise to a verse
that became very common amongst the troops. But I
must remark that the badge of the 2nd regiment was a
lamb, and that of the 4th a lion. The lines were as follows:—

.nf b
“The lion went to sleep,
And the lambs were at play;
The eagle spread her wings,
And from Almeida flew away.”
.nf-
.bn 101.png
.pn 87

Although these regiments were rendered somewhat unpopular
from this circumstance, it is generally admitted, by
those capable of judging, that there were not two finer in
the service. Our battalion had been particularly fond of
the 4th, while they were quartered at Colchester, where
they had christened us in a friendly feeling, “The young
4th.” The melancholy death of their Colonel, who, from
an over-sensitive feeling of honour, shot himself shortly
after the foregoing unlucky affair, was generally regretted.

The evacuation of the fortress of Almeida having
rendered the presence of our division thereabouts no longer
necessary, another movement was made to the southward
to General Hill, who commanded the second division, at
this time menaced by a very superior force of the French.

On the first day’s march we passed through Sabugal,
crossed the Coa, and encamped in a chesnut wood, close to
our former scene of action.

Here a very strange panic occurred, that might have
been attended with most disastrous effects. About twelve
at night I was stretched on my back under the boughs of a
tree, admiring the comet that at that period created some
sensation in Europe, from its nearness to the earth, when a
general alarm and outcry was raised in the division that
“The French were upon us.” In a moment I started up,
and seized my rifle. The different regiments were assembling
in the greatest disorder, while the general cries
of alarm on all sides induced many to feel a terror that
was, perhaps, never felt in battle. Among others I plainly
observed General Crauford, desiring all whom he met
to fall in and load. After a short while the panic ceased:
we all looked foolish enough at the great ado about nothing,
though some attributed the cause to French spies having
got among us, others to some bullocks grazing by, that
had knocked down several stands of arms; others again
accused the comet, and among the latter in our battalion
was that worthy, Tom Crawley, who stoutly contended the
comet was a sign we ought to leave the country, as it
would shortly drop down and burn up that part of Europe.
Tom himself at this period, it was shrewdly suspected, had
a great desire to turn his steps homewards.
.bn 102.png
.pn 88

We continued our march through Castello Branco,
Portalegre, and encamped on a low ground called Monte
Reguingo, on the right of the road leading to Campo
Mayor. There we remained about six weeks, during which
we suffered dreadfully for want of rations as well as from
the oppressive heat of the weather; we called it the furnace
camp. Tom, while we remained at Reguingo, imagined himself
poisoned. He had eaten rather ravenously of some pork
and caravançes (a sort of pulse), and was suddenly seized
with violent paroxysms of pain through his over-gorging.
Old Doctor Burke being sent for, found Crawley on the
ground groaning most piteously, and swelled to an enormous
size, while two of his comrades were busy rubbing the
lower part of his belly. The Doctor, who fancied Spain
during the last two years had brought Tom’s stomach to
suit the convenience of the commissary, commenced a
volley of abuse—“you cannibal, what garbage have you
been swallowing,” he cried, “to leave you in this condition?”
“Oh, murther, do you hear him boys,” roared
the sufferer, as he turned up his eyes towards his tormentor.
“By the mother of God, Sir, this infernal country
will kill the whole of us—may a curse fall on it; arrah,
Doctor dear, when I came into it I had a stomach like any
other Christian; but now, oh God, have mercy on me poor
stomach, that for want of Christian food is turned into
a scavenger’s cart, obliged to take in every rubbage.” The
Doctor, who seldom did anything by halves, gave him an
emetic sufficient to physic a dromedary. Crawley, however,
who never feared death on the field, now seemed
to hesitate to meet him in quarters, and between the groans
he uttered, made the most vehement promises of mending
his sinful life if spared. Never was an intended pious
scene made more truly ludicrous; our men were in
convulsions of laughter.

In July we returned to assist in the blockade of Ciudad
Rodrigo, and took up a position at a village called Atalaya,
at the base of the Sierra de Gata, a range of mountains.
Here Lord Wellington’s staff frequently went out hunting.
On these occasions they generally had five or six men
of the Rifles to assist. The place abounded in wolves and
.bn 103.png
.pn 89
wild boars, so that a great deal of amusement was experienced
in this sport. I generally had the good fortune to
be selected, with others of our battalion, to attend his
Lordship’s staff in these excursions. The chase was very
exciting, particularly from the ferocious nature of the game
we sought. I well remember the first wild boar I saw in
one of these hunts: he was a huge fellow, with tusks of a
most alarming size, but although we fired several shots,
and the hounds pursued him, he escaped. One day we
came upon three young wolf cubs, the old ones having
abandoned them on our approach. These animals, which
we presented to one of our officers, remained in his
possession for a long time, and became as docile and
playful as kittens.

Here we were joined by our third battalion, under
the command of Colonel Barnard, Colonel Beckwith having
retired through ill-health, a gallant and very distinguished
officer, now known as General Sir Andrew Barnard; at the
same time, also, we were reinforced, by a batch of recruits
from England, and by one Tommy Searchfield, a character
well known to all the Light Brigade. This gentleman,
a squat, square little fellow, had formerly been a “middy”
in the Royal Navy, and now come over to us as a cadet,
and subsequently obtained a lieutenancy.

“Tommy’s” first feat was something after the lessons
he had received under the immortal Nelson. He had been
accustomed hitherto to meet his enemies “muzzle to
muzzle,” and, consequently, whenever the least intimation
was given of the presence of the French, would imagine
them almost passing through the loopholes, or as he termed
them, our “ports.” On one occasion he bawled aloud,
“to quarters,” and seizing hold of a rope, suspended outside
the church of the village, to one of the bells in
the belfry; to our surprise, and that of the inhabitants
also, ran up it like a cat, to keep the “look-out” for the
enemy. We, however, were some distance from them.
The officers, for want of better employment, occupied their
own and our time erecting sham fortifications in the woods,
&c., and thus turned “Tom’s” peculiarities to their
amusement. Searchfield, however, got “awake” to them,
.bn 104.png
.pn 90
and his original good-natured simplicity giving way to experience,
he gently informed his tormentors that he kept
“a clean brace of pistols” about him, “at any time at
their sarvice.” This unexpected show of pluck made his
“teazers” less gibing, and “Tommy” took his proper
position; and, I believe, became as respectable as any
of them.

At Atalaya we were very much in the advance of the
main army: the distance made it difficult for the commissariat
to forward our rations regularly, and we, consequently,
suffered dreadfully through want; and, I may
say, underwent more privations than at any other place in
Spain, excepting at Dough Boy Hill. The deficiency of
bread we had been obliged to make up with roasted or
boiled chesnuts, of which we were always allowed a quart
a day each. At length we found it necessary to make an
incursion into the mountains, to press the Alcaldes of
the different villages to supply us.

On one of these expeditions, under charge of a quarter-master,
we observed two persons mounted on mules, riding
towards us. On their approach we remarked to one
another the light-haired appearance of one, and the singularity
of a “fair-complexioned Spaniard,” when the fellow
suddenly stopped his mule, and jumping toward us
exclaimed, “Oh, by the merciful God, are ye English?”
He was immediately answered from a dozen voices in the
affirmative, and we discovered him to be one of our cavalry
men, who having been made a prisoner by the French
at Talavera, had since escaped. His short stay among the
Spaniards had not spoilt his “brogue,” and he gave us in
the real Irish accent, a full account of his adventures.

When the enemy took him, dragoon-like, together with
a slight wound, he could not keep up with his captors,
who, having no mules, were in the practice of pressing
the strongest and most robust of the inhabitants and
making them carry the English prisoners on their backs,
now and then keeping up their stamina by pricking their
hind-quarters with the bayonets. Our cavalier consequently
found himself mounted in like manner; the close
contact, however, that this brought him in with the ears of
.bn 105.png
.pn 91
his bearers was followed by whispers, and the Spaniards no
doubt as tired of their burthen as the burthen of the
French, slipped him into a house on the way-side, whence,
having quickly shaved the top of his sconce, they passed
him as a priest, and he escaped with them into the mountains.
He there got amongst the Guerillas, under Don
Julian Sanchez, of whom he gave us many amusing
anecdotes, and who passed him on till he reached us.
As soon as we returned to the village he reported himself
to General Crauford, who laughed heartily at the details he
gave of himself, and ordered his servant to give him a coat
to supply his almost naked condition until he rejoined his
regiment. Meanwhile he was ordered to stop with our
company, and took up his quarters in the house with me.

Among other amusements before detailed, we used to
get up jumping, wrestling, and cuffing-matches with the
peasantry, who generally joined most heartily in the fun.
One day, however, a Spaniard of theirs, being over-matched,
became exceedingly nettled, and commenced quarrelling
with one of our sergeants, named Kitchen; the result was
they came to blows, when after two or three slight cuffs
the peasant fell suddenly and expired. The village, of
course, became a scene of uproar, and we were obliged,
to satisfy the inhabitants, to hold a kind of inquest upon
him. However, the barber, or “Sangrado” of the place,
together with our own surgeon, to their extreme mortification
declared, that the man had injured the spleen of his
stomach, and actually had died through spite.

I must not forget to mention the sagacity of the pigs,
which, in great numbers were kept by the farmers of
the village. Though belonging to different owners they all
obeyed one master, who, it may be said, with the Alcalde,
held absolute sway over “man and beast.” Early in the
morning the animals were assembled, by the sounding of a
horn, and taken by him into the wood to feed on acorns,
and at night were driven home again in like manner,
the swine-herd’s only deputies being a short iron on the
end of a stick, somewhat like that used by our shepherds.
The anxiety of the animals, immediately they heard the
tones of his instrument, was remarkable, and if they chanced
.bn 106.png
.pn 92
to be confined at the time, their screams and grunts grew
most vociferous, and might be heard a mile off. Indeed it
was only for the herdsman to tune up at any time of
the day they would come to him instantly, and seldom even
one was missing, save and except now and then when they
chanced to fall into the clutches of our riflemen.

About this period General Marmont, who had succeeded
Massena in command of the French army, having concentrated
his force, was enabled to relieve Rodrigo. Making
a forward movement after this, it was found high time
for our regiment to retire. This we did at an hour’s
notice, as we heard the enemy were stirring to beat up our
quarters. We fell in at dead of night, and after making a
semi-circular march, for there were some fears of the
enemy cutting us off, we arrived at El Bodon. There we
found the greater part of the army assembled under Lord
Wellington, together with the remainder of our light
division, who loudly cheered us as we made our appearance,
a report having arisen amongst the rest of the troops
that one battalion had been all taken prisoners.

On our arrival, most of us were occupied gleaning accounts
of the battle of El Bodon, which had been fought
the day before, in which the 5th and 77th regiments, as
we then heard, had much distinguished themselves, resisting
the desperate charges made upon them by the Polish
Lancers in the French service.

From El Bodon, where we remained some time, we retreated
to Soito, and shortly afterwards returned to Guinaldo,
a town still closer to the city of Ciudad Rodrigo. In
the beginning of January, 1812, our division commenced
investing Ciudad. The first day, our brigade crossed the
Agueda, about three miles up the river from the city, round
which we marched, keeping always at a most respectful
distance on account of their round-shot. From the idea
this survey gave us of Rodrigo there were few of our men
not aware of the great strength of the fortress and outworks,
but it afforded only a subject for jest; as I believe
at that time, such was the confidence that filled the ranks
of our division, it would have been difficult to persuade the
men that they could not beat the French, under any odds.
.bn 107.png
.pn 93

The same evening, Colonel Colborne, with less than two
hundred men, of the 43rd, 52nd, and Rifles, carried in the
most gallant manner a strong fort of the enemy. Prior to
its being stormed a number of Caçadores had been ordered
to take blankets to convey away the wounded French as
well as the British. But most of those employed in this
duty took advantage of it to strip the prisoners, whom to
the number of fifty they left almost as naked as they were
born, and exposed to all the rigours of the inclement month
of January. I was present near the tent of General Crauford,
when a talkative, smart little Frenchman, whom I
guessed to be an officer, was brought before him; the poor
fellow had nothing on but his trowsers, and bled profusely
from the nose and mouth, through the blows he had
received.

The General was very chagrined at the sight, and
lamented his inability to give him clothes, his own baggage
being so distant. Tom Crawley, however, who had been
actively employed hunting the Portuguese from them, immediately
stepped forward, and touching his hat after his own
inimitable manner, “Yer honner,” said Tom, his eyes
sparkling at being able to assist, “I’ll lend him my great
coat, if ye’ll allow me.”

Crauford, much pleased at his frank offer, instantly answered,
“You are very good, Rifleman; let him have it,”
and Tom proceeded to strip. Meanwhile more of the
Frenchmen were marched in, many worse off than their
officer. One of them, a sergeant, and a smart looking
fellow, as soon as he perceived the officer, ran to embrace
him, and leaning his head on his shoulder, burst into tears
over their mutual misery. Captain Smith, now Sir Harry,
the General’s aide-de-camp, being present, generously
pulled forth his pocket-handkerchief and wrapped it round
the sergeant’s totally naked person, till further covering
could be obtained.

The night of this occurrence came on remarkably cold,
and when expecting to be marched back to our quarters at
El Bodon, we were suddenly ordered to break ground by
commencing to throw up intrenchments in the face of the
city. In executing this task, being unsheltered from the
.bn 108.png
.pn 94
enemy’s shot, their grape and canister occasionally played
in among us, so that although it was freezing hard at the
time, we had no reason to complain of not having <em>a good
fire</em>.

Now was the time to cure a skulker, or teach a man to
work for his “life.” There we were, in twos, each provided
with a pick-axe and shovel; now digging with a vengeance
into the frozen mould, and then watching the
glances of the shot and shell; and again sticking to work
like devils, or perhaps pitching ourselves on our bellies to
avoid their being “purged” with grape or cannister.



.sp 4
.h2 id=ch13
CHAPTER XIII.

.in +2
.ti -2
Cold reception—Preparation to storm Rodrigo—I join the “Forlorn-Hope”—The
breaches—General Crauford killed—Uniacke mortally wounded—Major
Napier wounded—Taking of the town—A rough customer—Wilkie again—Death
of Wilkie—A gift—The left breach after the battle—Wilkie’s grave—Horrors
of a storm—This is my niece, Sir—The right breach—Captain Uniacke—The
Light Division leave Rodrigo in disguise—Who the devil are those
fellows?—We enter El Bodon.
.in

.sp 2
<sc>The</sc> following day we were relieved by the third division,
and marched back to our quarters, cold, hungry, and
fatigued enough. One great annoyance we experienced at
this time, was having to cross the Agueda in going to and
returning from the trenches. Pieces of ice that were constantly
carried down this rapid stream bruised our men so
much, that, to obviate it, the cavalry at length were ordered
to form four deep across the ford, under the lee of whom
we crossed comparatively unharmed, although by the time
we reached our quarters, our clothes were frozen into a mass
of ice.

Our divisions continued relieving each other in the
trenches for some days, until two breaches were considered
practicable for an assault. On the 18th, at night, an order
came that we were to proceed to the works the next morning.
As this took us out of our turn of duty, we all naturally
supposed that something unusual was to be done. At
daylight we joined the third division in the works, and then
.bn 109.png
.pn 95
heard that the city was to be stormed. Volunteers were
immediately required from the different regiments of our
division. Many of our men came forward with alacrity for
this deadly service. With three others I had, as I then
considered, the good fortune to be chosen from our company.[11]
This was an occasion, as may be believed, momentous
and interesting enough in the life of a soldier, and
so we seemed to consider it. We shook hands with a feeling
of friendly sincerity, while we speculated as to the
chances of outliving the assault. We were at this time in
the trenches in front of the city, from whence proceeded a
very smart fire of shot and shell, probably to give us an
idea of the warm reception we might expect on our visit at
night, and here the entire company gathered round our
little party, each pressing to have a sup from his canteen.
I gave my father’s address to my comrade before starting,
in case of accident.

Darkness had no sooner closed over the devoted city,
and our imaginations awakened to the horrors of the coming
scene, than the “stormers” were immediately ordered to
“fall in” and “form.” We were four or five from each
company, and in all about a hundred and twenty men.
The volunteers of our regiment were led by Captain
Mitchell and Lieutenants Johnson and Kincaid; the whole
of the storming division being commanded by Major George
Napier of the 52nd regiment. The forlorn-hope, or
stormers, moved to a convent, occupied by the 40th, the
walls of which protected us from the enemy’s shot. General
Crauford, who led us in person, while we stood formed
.bn 110.png
.pn 96
under the wall, addressed us upon the nature of the duty
assigned us. It was the last enterprise his gallant spirit
was ever destined to direct. On this memorable occasion
his voice was more than ordinarily clear and distinct. His
words sunk deep in my memory, and although the shock
of many a battle has rolled over my grey locks since that
period, I remember some of his language as follows:—

“Soldiers! the eyes of your country are upon you. Be
steady,—be cool,—be firm in the assault. The town must
be yours this night. Once masters of the wall, let your
first duty be to clear the ramparts, and in doing this keep
together.”

We were now waiting only for the signal, while our division
was formed immediately in our rear, ready to second
the effort. I could not help remarking at this awful
crisis, when all most probably were on the brink of being
dashed into eternity, a solemnity and silence among the
men deeper than I had ever witnessed before. With
hearts beating, each was eagerly watching the expected
signal of the rocket, when up it went from one of our
batteries.

General Crauford, calling out, “Now, lads, for the
breach!” led the way. We started off in double time, and
got under fire, in turning the left corner of the wall. As
we neared the breach, canister, grape, round-shot and shell,
with fire-balls to show our ground, came pouring on and
around us, with a regular hail-storm of bullets. General
Crauford fell almost immediately, mortally wounded.
Without a pause, however, we dashed onwards to the
town, and precipitated ourselves into the ditch before the
walls, never waiting for the ladders, which were carried by
Portuguese, who ran away and never made their appearance
until their use had been superseded by a series of
jumps made by our men into a trench some sixteen feet
deep; at length one or two ladders having been procured,
they were instantly placed against the scarp of the trench,
and up we mounted to attack the breach. The fire kept
up there was most deadly, and our men for some minutes,
as they appeared in small bodies, were swept away; however
.bn 111.png
.pn 97
they still persevered, and gradually formed a lodgment.
At this time on our right, where the third division
were storming the second breach, we could hear a loud
cheering which had a magical effect. Regardless of the
enemy’s fire and every other impediment, the men dashed
in over the breach carrying everything before them. I had
got up among the first, and was struggling with a crowd
of our fellows to push over the splintered and broken wall
that formed the breach, when Major Napier, who was by
my side encouraging on the men, received a shot, and,
staggering back, would in all probability have fallen into
the trench, had I not caught him. To my brief inquiry if
he were badly hurt, he squeezed my hand, whilst his other
arm hung shattered by his side, saying, “Never mind me—push
on, my lads, the town is ours!” And so indeed it
was, our men entering it pell-mell.

Although dark, among the first I saw, on mounting the
ramparts was my own Captain, Uniacke, rushing along
with a few men to the right of the breach. Though not
on the forlorn-hope, this gallant soldier was determined to
be first in the town. This was the last time he was doomed
to be at our head. A few moments afterwards the French
sprung a mine, by which the whole party were killed or
maimed. With a few others I had taken a direction to the
left. The French as they retired kept up an occasional fire
along the ramparts; while running forward I came against
a howitzer, and with such force that it actually tumbled
me over, and I found myself prostrate across the body of
a wounded French officer; beside him was a cannonier of
his own in the act of assisting him. The latter instantly
seized me, and a fearful struggle ensued, till bent almost
double by the height and heavy person of the Frenchman, I
began to think that after all my escapes my game was over;
at this crisis a few of our men came rushing up, one of which
was my old “chum” Wilkie. The cannonier in his turn
was fastened on, and tripped instantaneously by the side
of his master. But poor Wilkie the next minute, himself
staggered against the howitzer mortally wounded! I flew
to his support. But seizing me hastily by the hand,
and giving it a deadly squeeze, “Ned,” he articulated,
.bn 112.png
.pn 98
“it’s all up with me” and relaxing his grasp, he fell back
and expired.[12] The officer perceiving my agitation, and
fearful of my retaliating on him, handed me over his gold
watch.

Finding I could be of little use to my comrade, and as
our division was fast entering the breach, I proceeded with
the stormers, clearing the walls of the enemy as we went.
Turning to the right we entered a large square or plaza,
where we were in a short time joined by some of every
regiment in the two divisions, all like ourselves helter
skelter, subject to everything but order. However in a
short time one regiment of the third division entered the
square, commanded by their officers; something like order
then prevailed; while planting the British colours in the
centre, three cheers were then given by the whole, proclaiming
the town to be taken: when this was over they
commenced firing in the air, as well as at windows where
any light appeared. Seeing the confusion, a number broke
into squads, and went in different directions and entered
different streets according to the fancy of their leaders.
Myself and about a score others took a large street to the
right. The night being dark and the city not being lighted,
we were obliged to grope our way, but had not proceeded far
before we got mixed amongst a quantity of French muskets
thrown on the ground with their bayonets fixed. One or
two of the men getting pricked in the leg by one of the
bayonets, swore they had come to a <i><lang='fr'>chevaux-de-frise</lang></i>, and
groping about came across the body of a wounded French
soldier, who told us in Spanish that we were close to the
barracks.

Knowing the French would not resign their liberty without
a struggle, I fully expected a volley to be sent amongst us
every minute from the barracks, and begun to retrace my
steps towards the square, and had only got a short distance
when I saw another party with a lighted candle advancing
.bn 113.png
.pn 99
towards me. On hearing the noise of the first party in their
front, they commenced firing as they advanced. Squeezing
myself edgeways against a door, I waited their arrival and
begged them to desist, there being some of their own men
lower down. I then went with them and joined the first
party. The French wounded soldier pointing to a large
gateway, told us there were the barracks. Still having a
light we entered, and mounting a large stone staircase,
found ourselves in the midst of a French hospital full of
sick and wounded; those who were able sitting up in bed
supplicating mercy, but they had no occasion to do so, as
our fellows not only kindly tapped them on the shoulder
but wrapped the bed-clothes round them; but this kindness
was of short duration, for a third party coming down seeing
a light in our window commenced firing, and the poor
fellow who held the candle was shot through the head, and
one or two others wounded; one more daring than the
rest flew to the window, crying out that they were firing
on their own men, the rest lying down while the firing
continued. This panic being over, I came down stairs,
being anxious to meet some of my own company to know
how things were. I found a few outside, and we started
in another direction. The next place was a large white
house that had been used as a commissary’s store by the
French: here a crowd had assembled to break it open,
when they were warned off by a sentinel, a German, who
was posted to guard the premises. Not heeding his
threat, the throng rushed at the door. The poor sentry,
true to his trust, attempted to oppose their entrance,
and the following minute was run through the body by a
bayonet.

The house contained several puncheons of spirits, which
the men present immediately tapped, by striking in the
heads. A number soon became madly drunk; and several
wretches, especially those mounting the steps that had
been placed against the butts, to enable them to obtain
the rum, fell into the liquor head-foremost and perished,
unnoticed by the crowd. Several fights took place, in
which drunkenness of the parties alone prevented mischief;
and to crown the whole, a light falling into one of
.bn 114.png
.pn 100
the barrels of spirits, the place was set on fire, and many
poor wretches, who from the quantity of liquor they had
swallowed, were incapable of moving, were consumed in the
flames.

Turning from this scene of horrors, hardened as I then
was, I went with a comrade, to look for a house where we
might obtain refreshment and take up our quarters for the
night. This, after some search, we found in the domicile
of a doctor, whom we took from under a bed clasped in
the arms of a very pretty girl whom he called his niece,
like himself, almost

.nf b
Distill’d to jelly with th’ effect of fear!
.nf-

This, however, we soon dispelled, and were rewarded
for our pains with a good supper crowned by a bowl of
excellent punch that at the time, in our own minds, compensated
for all the sufferings we had endured in the
trenches during the siege.

The next morning I was anxious to visit the left breach,
to look for the body of Wilkie. I found him, at length,
cold and stiff, the bullet having entered his breast close
under the left shoulder. He was stripped! But I easily
distinguished him by the likeness he bore to his sister;
old times then burst vividly over my recollection, and as I
stood over his prostrate remains, a few moments brought
to mind all the scenes in which he had been so active a
coadjutor, my quondam recruit, bed-fellow, press-man, and
pot companion, lay stretched before me clotted and besmeared
with his blood, a single drop of which, at one
time, was even more valued by me than the whole of my
own more lucky current. The remembrance of his sister,
much as my profession had tended to wipe her off my mind,
now resumed its almost pristine freshness; my eyes dimmed
for a second, and perchance one solitary proof of my weakness
might have left its scalding course behind it, but I
felt only as a soldier, a momentary sorrow, for I held my
own life as it were in my hand, ready to part with it, at
even a moment’s notice, and I presumed as much of all
belonging to me.

The proceeds of the storming “business” had enabled
.bn 115.png
.pn 101
me to gain over a few half drunken soldiers, who had been
staggering near me stupidly staring at my anxiety. We
buried poor Wilkie in the glacis, near the breach, the
whole wreck around us displaying the veriest monument
ever reared to the memory of a soldier!

I now proceeded to the right breach, which had been
carried by the third division, where the mine had been
sprung. The sight exhibited was heart-rending in the
extreme. The dead lay in heaps, numbers of them
stripped, and displaying the most ghastly wounds. Here
and there, half-buried under the blackened fragments of
the wall, or reeking on the surface of the ruin, lay those
who had been blown up in the explosion, their remains
dreadfully mangled and discoloured, and strewed about
amongst dissevered arms and legs.

The 88th, or Connaught Rangers, had suffered most
severely at this spot, and I observed a number of poor
Irish women hopelessly endeavouring to distinguish the
burnt features of their husbands.

Though heartily sick of the morning’s mournful perambulation,
I yet felt anxious to see Captain Uniacke; his
remains lay on the suburbs, in a house next to that where
those of our brave old General were stretched out.
Several of the men of his company crowded about his
person, hoping—for he was still living, and sensible—that
he might yet return amongst us. But his arm had
been torn from the socket, and he died some few days
afterwards.

Here let me pay a brief, though sincere tribute to his
memory; though young in years, he was gallant, daring,
and just to all whom he commanded.

During the Peninsular war our men had divided the
officers into two classes; the “come on,” and the “go
on;” for as Tom Plunkett in action once observed to an
officer, “The words ‘go on’ don’t befit a leader, Sir.”—To
the honour of the service, the latter, with us Rifles,
were exceedingly few in numbers. But amongst the former,
none were seen so often in the van as Uniacke; his affability
and personal courage had rendered him the idol of
the men of his company.
.bn 116.png
.pn 102

A very small portion only of the troops that had taken
Rodrigo were allowed to remain in the city, and our battalion,
among others, were ordered back to their former
quarters. The next morning as we marched over the
bridge, dressed in all the varieties imaginable, some with
jack-boots on, others with frock-coats, epaulettes, &c., and
some with even monkeys on their shoulders, we met the
fifth division on their way to repair the breach; they immediately
formed upon the left of the road, presented arms,
and cheered us as we went along.

I was afterwards told by several of our men that the
Duke of Wellington, who saw us on our march, inquired of
his staff, “Who the devil are those fellows?”

We entered El Bodon, with songs: and welcomed by
the “vivas” of the inhabitants.



.sp 4
.h2 id=ch14
CHAPTER XIV.

.in +2
.ti -2
Burial of General Crauford—Anecdote of Ladrone! Ladrone!—Corporal Miles—Burial
of Uniacke—A French seat of honour in jeopardy—A wolf! a wolf!—Deserters
shot—Scene of execution—March to Castello de Vide across
the Tagus—Execution of Corporal Arnal for desertion—Badajoz—A man
dreaming of his head being off with his head on; singular fulfilment—Tom
Crawley’s dislike to conchology—His alarms—The Duke of Wellington saluted
by the enemy—Remarkable feature of the case—A French curative or an ill-wind,
&c.
.in

.sp 2
<sc>The</sc> second day after the storming of Rodrigo our
brave General Crauford died of his wound, and the chief
part of the officers of the Rifles went to pay the last
tribute to his remains. He was borne to the grave by
four Sergeant-Majors of his own division, and was buried
in the breach where he fell. The Duke of Wellington
attended the funeral of the gallant veteran; who, though
most strict in discipline, was averse to punishment, and
was beloved by the men for his justice and care for them,
as well as for his bravery. The following incident,
of which I was an eye-witness, will serve to show his
character.

I happened to be on guard one day, when General
Crauford came riding in from the front with his orderly
.bn 117.png
.pn 103
dragoon, as was his usual custom, when two of our men,
one of them a corporal, came running out of a house with
some bread which they had stolen from the Spaniards;
they were pursued by a Spanish woman crying lustily,
“Ladrone! Ladrone!”—thief! thief! They were immediately
pursued by the General and his orderly; the bread
was given back to the woman, and the men were placed in
the guard-house. The next day they were tried by a
brigade court-martial, and brought out to a wood near the
town for punishment. When the brigade was formed, and
the Brigade-Major had finished reading the proceedings of
the court-martial, General Crauford commenced lecturing
both men and officers on the nature of their cruelty to the
harmless inhabitants, as he called the Spaniards. He laid
particular stress on our regiment, who, he said, committed
more crimes than the whole of the British Army. “Besides,
you think,” said he, “because you are riflemen, and
more exposed to the enemy’s fire than other regiments,
that you are to rob the inhabitants with impunity; but,
while I command you, you shall not:” then turning round
to the corporal, who stood in the centre of the square, he
said, with a stern voice, “Strip, Sir.”

The corporal, whose name was Miles, never said a word
until tied up to a tree, when turning his head round as far
as his situation would allow, and seeing the General pacing
up and down the square, he said, “General Crauford, I
hope you will forgive me.” The General replied, “No,
Sir, your crime is too great.” The poor corporal, whose
sentence was, to be reduced to the pay and rank of a private
soldier, and to receive a punishment of one hundred
and fifty lashes, and the other man two hundred,
<target id='then'>then addressed the General to the following effect:

“Do you recollect, Sir, when you and I were taken
prisoners, when under the command of General Whitelock,
in Buenos Ayres? We were marched prisoners, with a
number of others, to a sort of pound surrounded with a
wall.—There was a well in the centre, out of which I drew
water with my mess-tin, by means of canteen straps, I collected
from the men, who were prisoners like myself.—You
sat on my knapsack; I parted my last biscuit with you.
.bn 118.png
.pn 104
You then told me you would never forget my kindness to
you. It is now in your power, Sir. You know how short
we have been of rations for some time.”

These words were spoken by the corporal in a mild and
respectful accent, which not only affected the General, but
the whole square. The bugler, who stood waiting to commence
the punishment close to the corporal, received the
usual nod from the Bugle-Major to begin. The first lash
the corporal received the General started, and turned
hurriedly round, said, “What’s that, what’s that; who
taught that bugler to flog? Send him to drill—send him
to drill! He cannot flog—he cannot flog! Stop! stop!
Take him down! take him down! I remember it well—I
remember it well!” while he paced up and down the
square, muttering to himself words that I could not catch;
at the same time blowing his nose, and wiping his face with
his handkerchief, trying to hide the emotion that was so
evident to the whole square.

While untying the corporal a dead silence prevailed for
some time, until our gallant General recovered a little his
noble feeling, when he uttered, with a broken accent,
“Why does a brave soldier like you commit these crimes?”
Then beckoning to his orderly to bring his horse, he
mounted and rode off. It is needless to say that the
other man also was pardoned, and in a few days the corporal
was restored to his rank. On the death of Captain
Uniacke, Captain Smith, now the celebrated Sir Harry
Smith, was appointed Captain of my company. He being
on the staff, his brother, Lieutenant Thomas Smith, now
Barrack Master at Chatham, took command.

On the fourth day, after we had taken the town, the
company received orders to pay the last tribute to our
Captain, Uniacke. We marched under the command of
Lieutenant Smith, and arrived at Gallegos about twelve
o’clock. The men having plenty of money, which they
had obtained at Rodrigo, got drinking, and actually while
conveying the body to the grave, stumbled under the
weight of the coffin, and the lid not having been nailed
down, out rolled the mangled remains of our brave Captain,
to the consternation of a number of French officers, <i><lang='fr'>en
.bn 119.png
.pn 105
parole</lang></i> (prisoners from Rodrigo). One more careless than
the rest viewed the occurrence with a kind of malicious
sneer, which so enraged our men, that one of them taking
the little tawny-looking Italian by the nape of the neck,
kicked his hind-quarters soundly for it.

I could not, at the time, help remarking the very undersized
appearance of the Frenchmen. They were the
ugliest set I ever saw, and seemed to be the refuse of their
army, and looked more like Italians than Frenchmen.

On our return to El Bodon, one of the men overpowered
with liquor, laid himself down to sleep in the wood that
separates the road from Gallegos. Poor fellow, it was his
last sleep, for on the roll being called, a party was sent in
search of him, and discovered his body under a tree,
torn to pieces by the wolves, which greatly infested that
part of Spain.

I now have to relate one of those melancholy incidents
peculiar to a soldier’s life, that occurred while we remained
at El Bodon. On taking Rodrigo we had captured, among
others, ten men who had deserted from our division.
These were condemned to be shot. The place of execution
was on a plain near Ituera, where our division was drawn
up, forming three sides of a square; the culprits, as usual,
being placed in front of a trench, dug for a grave, on the
vacant side.

Two of the deserters, the one a man of the same company
as myself, named Hudson, and a very handsome fellow who
had been persuaded into the rash step, were pardoned
on the ground. The other a corporal, named Cummins, of
the 52nd regiment, and who had been mainly instrumental,
I believe, in getting the others to desert with him, was
placed on the fatal ground in a wounded state. He had
been particularly noticed at Rodrigo in one of the breaches,
most actively employed, opposing our entrance, and cheering
on the besieged to resist us. This man was pardoned
also. Why he was pardoned I cannot say.

As this was the first military execution I had ever
witnessed, I felt not a little curiosity to see the forms
pursued. A large trench had been dug as a grave for the
wretched men who were to suffer. Along the summit
.bn 120.png
.pn 106
of the little heap of mould that had been thrown up
from the pit, the deserters were placed in a row, with their
eyes bandaged, so that on receiving the fatal volley they
should fall forward into the trench. Some of the poor
fellows, from debility, were unable to kneel, and lay at
their length, or crouched up into an attitude of despair,
upon the loose earth.

The signal to the firing party was given by a motion
of the provost’s cane, when the culprits were all hurried
together into eternity, with the exception of one man
of the 52nd, who, strange to say, remained standing and
untouched. His countenance, that before had been deadly
pale, now exhibited a bright flush. Perhaps he might
have imagined himself pardoned; if so, however, he was
doomed to be miserably deceived, as the following minute
two men of the reserve came up and fired their pieces into
his bosom, when giving a loud scream, that had a very
horrible effect upon those near, he sprang forward into his
grave. To prevent unnecessary suffering, a reserve firing
party was brought up, who continued to fire wherever the
slightest sign of life exhibited itself in the bodies, the
provost himself winding up the tragedy by discharging
a pistol-shot through the head of each corpse.

After this very solemn and impressive scene, we were
marched in column of companies round the dead, so
that the spectacle might be witnessed by every man in the
division.

About the 26th of February we broke up our cantonments
in the environs of Ciudad Rodrigo, and crossing the
Tagus, marched southward for six or seven days, at the
expiration of which our division took up their quarters
in and about the town of Castello de Vide. The country
around the town was the most fruitful and luxuriant I had
ever beheld. It was bounded with the most delightful
hills and valleys, that produced in abundance the finest
fruits, such as grapes, pomegranates, oranges, and lemons.
As may be supposed, the men were delighted with such a
paradise. The wine was so plentiful, that our fellows,
while they remained here, made it an invariable custom to
boil their meat in it.
.bn 121.png
.pn 107

Another unhappy criminal was here doomed to pay the
forfeit of the crime of desertion. When we took Rodrigo,
he made his escape from the town, and on his way to join
the French at Salamanca was captured by some of the
Spanish troops, and brought back to the regiment a
prisoner. The fate of this man (Arnal by name), who had
been a corporal in our battalion, excited much commiseration.
I knew him well: he was an exceedingly fine-looking
fellow, and up to the period of his unhappy
departure from duty, noted for possessing the best qualities
of a soldier. Some harshness on the part of an officer was
the cause of Arnal’s desertion; but from the circumstance
of his previous good character and the fact of his having
been marched as a prisoner for many days together during
our march from Rodrigo, it was commonly thought he
would be pardoned.

I happened to be on guard over him the night prior
to his execution. In the evening the prisoner was playing
at cards with some of the men, when the provost of
the division entered the guard-room, and gave him the
intelligence that he was doomed to suffer at ten o’clock the
next morning.

Sudden and utterly unexpected as the announcement
was, Arnal’s face was the only one that showed scarcely
any emotion.

“Well,” he remarked to those around him, “I am
quite ready.”

A short time afterwards he sent for the pay-sergeant of
the company he belonged to, from whom he received
the arrears of pay that were due to him. This he spent on
wine, which he distributed among the men of the guard.
Noticing one man with very bad shoes, Arnal observed his
own were better, and taking them off he exchanged them
for the bad pair, saying, “They will last me as long as
I shall require them.”

The morning turned out showery, the division formed in
three sides of a square, and the guard, headed by the band
with Arnal in front, slowly marched round; the muffled
drum beat in dull time the “Dead March,” and the swell
of its solemn harmony, though it filled the eyes of every
.bn 122.png
.pn 108
man present, only seemed to strengthen the glance of the
doomed. He led the van of his funeral procession, like
one who was to live for ever: his step was as firm and
more correct than any, and I thought at the time, a finer
soldier never stepped. Poor Arnal, I shall never forget
when we halted at his own grave, the heavy rains had filled
it half with water, which he noticed with a faint smile, and
observed:

“Although a watery one, I shall sleep sound enough in
it.” He then stood upright in a fine military position,
while the Brigade-Major read aloud the proceedings of the
court-martial. The provost came to tie the handkerchief
round his eyes, when he coolly remarked, “There is no
occasion—I shall not flinch.” Being told it was customary,
he said, “Very well, do your duty.” Before this last
office was performed, he turned round, and calling most of
the guard by name, bade them farewell. As I nodded to
him in return, I fancied it was to a dead man, for in two
minutes he was no more. The intrepid and cool manner
in which he met his fate, drew forth a general feeling of
admiration.

A few days after the execution we marched for Badajoz,
in the environs of which we arrived on the 17th of March.
This celebrated city, of which so much has been said
and written, stands on an extended plain equidistant three
leagues from Elvas and Campo Mayor. The Guadiana
which hereabouts forms the boundary between Spain and
Portugal, flows on one side of the fortification, and connects
with them by a bridge over its surface, one or two
forts on the opposite banks. The fortress on all sides is
surrounded by strong bastions to the number of thirteen
or fourteen, which with trenches and other forts and outworks
rendered it almost impregnable. In addition to these
the Rivella a tributary stream to the Guadiana flowed
round and through the trenches in our front.

Our battalion on its arrival took up its encampment on
the Spanish side of the river, where we occupied a small
hill, and for the first time during our campaigns made use
of small square tents, belonging to the Portuguese.

The first night of our arrival we commenced laying
.bn 123.png
.pn 109
siege, by breaking ground within three or four hundred
yards of the town, Fort St. Roch and Fort Pumena rather
on our left; we lost a man named Brooks, whose death
was connected with a very singular circumstance.

Brooks several days before his death, dreamt he saw the
body of a rifleman without a head: this apparition appeared
three or four nights successively in his dreams.
Some days after we had taken one of the forts from the
enemy, our battalion was relieved in the trenches. On
this occasion, as was very customary with some of us,
Brooks, another man named Tracey, and myself, jumped
out of the trench, exposing ourselves to a fire from the
walls of the town while we ran to the next parallel. In
executing this feat I was a little ahead of my comrades,
when I heard the rush of a cannon-ball, and feeling my
jacket splashed by something, as soon as I had jumped
into the next parallel, or trench, I turned round and
beheld the headless body of Brooks which actually stood
quivering with life for a few seconds before it fell. His
dream, poor fellow! had singularly augured the conclusion
of his own career. The shot had smashed and carried
away the whole of his head, bespattering my jacket with
the brains, while Tracey was materially injured by having
a splinter of the skull driven deep through the skin behind
his ear. This circumstance is well known to several now
living in London.

About the 22nd of March, a party was ordered to proceed
to Elvas for the purpose of conducting some heavy
artillery from that strong fortress for our own use against
the walls of Badajoz; after placing six or eight large guns
on things resembling sledges, the weather being exceedingly
wet, it took twelve bullocks to draw each gun. On
arriving at the pontoon bridge that crosses the Guadiana
river, which separates Badajoz from Elvas, a distance of
about three leagues, the bridge was so damaged that the
guns could not pass over, so we were obliged to bivouac for
the night amongst a party of sappers, stationed there for
the purpose of repairing the pontoons.

After the bullocks were unharnessed, they began jumping
and frisking about, to the no small amusement of our
.bn 124.png
.pn 110
men, but to their danger, as it afterwards proved. The
French seeing the bullocks grazing, commenced firing on
them, as well as occasionally sending a twenty-four-pounder
at our little party then stationed on a rising ground,
amusing ourselves at the random twenty-four-pound shots
as they hopped about. At night, placing our advanced
picquet near the town, the remainder of the party turned
into the tents of the sappers for the night, but their
slumbers were not so sound as they anticipated, for at the
dead but not silent hour of night, a round-shot came
whirling through one of the tents, striking the pole, and
brought it down on those within. Their cries having
awoke those of the adjoining tent, they immediately flew to
their assistance, and having relieved them from this new-fashioned
man-trap, rats never flew with more agility than
did the poor sappers from their lair. I could not forbear
laughing at the scene, although attended with bad consequences,
as one man had his thigh broke, and another his
leg taken off at the calf. While helping to raise the tents
every eye was intent, looking out for another French
visitor in the shape of a twenty-four-pounder, but the
drollery of a countryman of mine gave some zest to their
serenity; instead of bolting like the rest, he coolly said,
“Where the devil are you all scampering to? Sure you
don’t think the French took aim? I wished they did,
for if they had, by Jasus they wouldn’t hit our tent in a
week! You may be easy then, for they never hit twice in
the same place.” The two poor fellows thus dangerously
wounded were comrades, and natives of Coventry, one
named Green, and the other Gea. The next morning the
sappers having put the pontoons to rights, the guns passed
over, and we arrived safe at our own camp.

The greatest annoyance we experienced during the siege
arose from the shells thrown at us from the town. Our
works effectually screened us from the round-shot; but
these dangerous missiles, falling into the trenches where we
worked, and exploding, frequently did great mischief.
Immediately a shell fell, every man threw himself flat
upon the ground until it had burst. Tom Crawley, I remember,
though tolerably fearless with reference to other
.bn 125.png
.pn 111
shot, had a most inveterate dislike to those deadly visitors.
His fears made him believe, that more of them were
thrown where he chanced to be, than in any other part of
the trenches. At night in particular, Tom was always on
the <i><lang='fr'>qui vive</lang></i>: as soon as he beheld a shell coming he would
call out, “Here’s another brute—look out!” and instantly
fall on his face. This, however, did not always protect us,
for the head was no sooner on the ground, than its presence
was again required, to watch the falling splinters. These,
from their composing large portions of the metal of the
missile, descended with great violence, and were sometimes
of themselves sufficient to crush a man into the earth.

Lord Wellington used occasionally to pay us a visit
during the work, to make observations, and to examine the
trenches, &c.

One day when Crawley and myself were working near
each other in the trenches, a shell fell inconveniently close
to us. Tom was instantly half buried in mud, awaiting the
explosion. Perceiving it had sunk itself deep into the
earth, the fuse being too long, I intended availing myself
of the opportunity, to play a trick upon Crawley, by
throwing a large lump of clay on his head directly the
shell exploded, and so make him believe himself wounded.
To obtain the clod I sprang at the other side of the trench,
but exposed myself to a shot from the walls of the town,
which immediately came in the form of grape, splashing
me with mud from head to foot, and forcing me to throw
myself back into the trench upon Crawley, who, in his
fears, made sure that a shell had fixed itself upon his rear,
and roared like a bull; in an instant, however, the sunken
missile really burst; on the smoke dispersing, who should
I behold but the Duke himself, crouched down, his head
half averted, drily smiling at Crawley and me. Shot and
shell pay no respect to persons, but the enemy did, as they
seemed awake to the near vicinity of his Grace, and poured
in shells, grape, and canister, with other delicacies of the
kind, with unusual liberality, whenever he came amongst
us; which they always appeared alive to. But the fact is,
the Duke, like his renowned contemporary, had a remarkable
.bn 126.png
.pn 112
cast of feature, which made him ever distinguishable,
at an almost incredible distance.

Before I go further into my narrative I must detail an
anecdote of Major O’Hare, my old Captain, who was noted
for his excellent soldierly qualities.

We were on private parade one morning, when a party
of convalescents from hospital came up. Among others
was a sergeant of the name of Jackson, who had been
absent from our company for the two previous years, during
which period it would seem, he had been chiefly employed
as hospital-sergeant at Belem, near Lisbon.

The Major’s aversion to absentees from the regiment
was very well known among us, and we anticipated a scene—nor
were we deceived.

“Is that you, Mr. Sergeant Jackson?” exclaimed the
Major, as soon as the party came up. “And pray
where, in God’s name, have you been for the last two
years? The company have seen a little fighting during
that period.”

“The doctors would not allow me to leave the hospital,
Sir,” replied Jackson.

“I am sorry for that,” drily observed the Major. “All
that I can do for you is, to give you your choice of a court-martial
for absenting yourself from duty without leave, or
to have your stripes taken off.”

The sergeant, after a little hesitation, preferred surrendering
quietly his non-commissioned dignity to standing an
inquiry into his conduct.

Turning round to the men, the Major remarked aloud,
“By God, I will not have these brave fellows commanded
by skulkers.” Then taking the sash and stripes that were
cut off by the Sergeant-Major, he handed them to Corporal
Ballard, observing at the same time, “You will not disgrace
them.”

A very disagreeable duty, that usually fell upon a few of
the best shots of the battalion, consisted in being obliged
to run out, in independent files, to occupy a number of
holes, that had been dug at night between our batteries
and the walls of the town. From these pits, of which
.bn 127.png
.pn 113
each man had one to himself, our particular business was
to pick off any of the enemy who exposed themselves at
their guns, on the walls through the embrasures. Many a
Frenchman was thus knocked off by us. But it often
occurred also that our men were killed or wounded in their
holes, which made it doubly dangerous for the man of the
relieving party, who, instead of finding a ready covering,
perceived it occupied by a wounded or dead man. Before
he could get a shelter therefore or remove the body, there
was a great chance of his being shot.

While employed in this duty in front of our batteries,
the tremendous noise made by artillery in both front and
rear was attended at first by a most unpleasant effect, as it
destroyed the sense of hearing for some hours after leaving
the trenches. It was amusing, during the siege, to observe
the motions of our artillerymen. They were employed
almost incessantly, and their duties most arduous, as the
batteries were the chief object for the aim of the enemy’s
shot and shells. An artilleryman was always stationed as
a sort of signal-man, to give notice of the appearance of
either of these missiles, and it was remarkable to observe
the quickness with which the men at the guns, on the
word “shell,” would throw themselves on the ground for
protection.

It not unfrequently happened that parties of men were
sent out in independent files to pick up the dismembered
legs, arms, &c., which sometimes might be seen scattered
about by the bursting shells. This precaution was thought
necessary to prevent any ill-effect their appearance might
cause on the courage of the Portuguese, who were quite as
likely to put the heels in motion as their heads.

On one of these occasions I remember observing a party
of those gentlemen, after leaving the trenches, carrying
across the fields to their camp ground the body of a
wounded officer of theirs wrapped in a blanket. They had
not proceeded many yards, before a ball fired from the
town came bounding, half spent, along the ground. The
Portuguese, unconscious of its approach, were just crossing
the line of its progress, when the shot glanced between
them, and entering the blanket, cut the unlucky officer in
.bn 128.png
.pn 114
two. The bearers, terrified, immediately took to their
heels, leaving the blanket behind them, which one of our
fellows observing, “That it was an ill wind that did
nobody good,” shaking the body out, instantly possessed
himself of.

The effect of our twenty-four pound shot upon the wall
gave notice that the breaches would soon be practicable.
On the 5th of April a storming party was selected for the
assault on the following night.



.sp 4
.h2 id=ch15
CHAPTER XV.

.in +2
.ti -2
Storming of Badajoz—I join the Forlorn-Hope again—Presentiments of Major
O’Hare and Captain Jones—Their deaths—The stormers—The Ladder-men—I
am wounded—The French prisoner—O’Brien—Sacking of the town—Scene
of horror—Reflections—The Duke of Wellington and his men—Johnny Castles
introduced with a rope round his neck—The drummer-boy—A firelock goes
off, and so does a Corporal—I return to the camp—Casualties at Badajoz—The
French prisoner and a new acquaintance—His account of the evacuation
of Almeida—His opinion of the British soldiers.
.in

.sp 2
<sc>I am</sc> now about entering into a personal narrative of one
of the most sanguinary and awful engagements on the
records of any country. For the second time I volunteered
on the forlorn-hope. After having received a double
allowance of grog, we fell in about eight o’clock in the
evening, 6th April, 1812. The stormers were composed
of men from the different regiments of the light division.
I happened to be on the right of the front section when
my old Captain, Major O’Hare, who commanded the wing
to which my company belonged, came up with Captain
Jones of the 52nd regiment, both in command of the
storming party. A pair of uglier men never walked
together, but a brace of better soldiers never stood before
the muzzle of a Frenchman’s gun.

“Well, O’Hare,” said the Captain, “what do you think
of to-night’s work?”

“I don’t know,” replied the Major, who seemed, as I
thought, in rather low spirits. “To-night, I think, will
be my last.”

“Tut, tut, man! I have the same sort of feeling, but I
.bn 129.png
.pn 115
keep it down with a drop of the <i>cratur</i>,” answered the
Captain, as he handed his calabash to the Major.

A Sergeant Fleming, a brave soldier, before mentioned
in these Memoirs, coming up, informed Major O’Hare that
a ladder-party was wanted. “Take the right files of the
leading sections,” was the prompt order of the Major.
No sooner said than done. I and my front-rank men
were immediately tapped on the shoulder for the ladder-party.
I now gave up all hope of ever returning. At Rodrigo,
as before stated, we had fatigue parties for the
ladders, but now the case was altered; besides which
the ladders, now in preparation, were much longer than
those employed at that fortress.

I may just mention, that whatever were my own forebodings
on the occasion, the presentiments of our brave old
Major O’Hare and those of Captain Jones were fatally
realized, for in less than twenty minutes after the above
conversation, both fell riddled with balls.

The word was now given to the ladder-party to move
forward. We were accompanied at each side by two men
with hatchets to cut down any obstacle that might oppose
them, such as <i><lang='fr'>chevaux-de-frise</lang></i>. There were six of us
supporting the ladder allotted to me, and I contrived to
carry my grass-bag before me.[13] We had proceeded but a
short distance when we heard the sound of voices on our
right, upon which we halted, and supposing they might be
enemies, I disengaged myself from the ladder, and cocking
my rifle, prepared for action. Luckily we soon discovered
our mistake, as one of our party cried—“Take care! ’Tis
the stormers of the fourth division coming to join us.” This
proved to be the case. This brief alarm over, we continued
advancing towards the walls, the Rifles, as before, keeping
in front. We had to pass Fort St. Roche on our left, near
to the town, and as we approached it the French sentry
challenged. This was instantly followed by a shot from
.bn 130.png
.pn 116
the fort and another from the walls of the town. A
moment afterwards, a fire-ball was thrown out, which
threw a bright red glare of light around us, and instantly
a volley of grape-shot, canister, and small arms poured in
among us, as we stood on the glacis, at a distance of about
thirty yards from the walls.

Three of the men carrying the ladder with me were
shot dead in a breath, and its weight falling upon me, I
fell backwards with the grass-bag on my breast. The
remainder of the stormers rushed up, regardless of my
cries, or those of the wounded men around me, for by this
time our men were falling fast. Many in passing were shot
and fell upon me, so that I was actually drenched in blood.
The weight I had to sustain became intolerable, and had it
not been for the grass-bag which in some measure protected
me, I must have been suffocated. At length, by a strong
effort, I managed to extricate myself, in doing which I left
my rifle behind me, and drawing my sword, rushed towards
the breach. There I found four men putting a ladder
down the ditch; and not daring to pause, fresh lights being
still thrown out of the town, with a continual discharge of
musketry, I slid quickly down the ladder, but before I
could recover my footing, was knocked down again by the
bodies of men who were shot in attempting the descent.
I, however, succeeded in extricating myself from underneath
the dead, and rushing forward to the right, to my
surprise and fear I found myself emerged to my neck in
water. Until then I was tolerably composed, but now all
reflection left me, and diving through the water, being a
good swimmer, gained the other side, but lost my sword; I
now attempted to make to the breach, which the blaze of
musketry from the walls clearly showed me. Without
rifle, sword, or any other weapon, I succeeded in clambering
up a part of the breach, and came near to a <i><lang='fr'>chevaux-de-frise</lang></i>,
consisting of a piece of heavy timber studded with
sword-blades, turning on an axis: but just before reaching
it I received a stroke on the breast, whether from a
grenade or a stone, or by the butt-end of a musket, I
cannot say, but down I rolled senseless, and drenched with
water and human gore. I could not have laid long in this
.bn 131.png
.pn 117
plight, for when my senses had in some measure returned,
I perceived our gallant fellows still rushing forward, each
seeming to share a fate more deadly than my own. The
fire continued in one horrible and incessant peal, as if the
mouth of the infernal regions had opened to vomit forth
destruction upon all around us, and this was rendered still
more appalling by the fearful shouts of the combatants
and cries of the wounded that mingled in the uproar.

I now, strange to say, began to feel if my arms and legs
were entire: for at such moments a man, I believe, is not
always aware of his wounds. I had now, indeed, lost all
the frenzy of courage that had first possessed me, and
actually felt all weakness and prostration of spirit, while I
endeavoured, among the dead and wounded bodies around
me, to screen myself from the enemy’s shot; but while I
lay in this position, the fire still continued blazing over me
in all its horrors, accompanied by screams, groans, and
shouts, and the crashing of stones and falling of timbers.
I now, for the first time for many years, uttered something
like a prayer.

After the horrible and well-known scene of carnage had
lasted some time, the fire gradually slackened from the
breach, I heard a cheering which I knew to proceed from
within the town, and shortly afterwards a cry of “Blood
and ’ounds! where’s the Light Division?—the town’s our
own—hurrah!” This proceeded, no doubt, from some of
the third division. I now attempted to rise, but, from a
wound which I had received, but at what time I know not,
found myself unable to stand. A musket-ball had passed
through the lower part of my right leg—two others had
perforated my cap, which I should have lost had I not
taken the precaution to secure it with a cord under my chin
before starting. At the moment of this discovery I saw
two or three men moving towards me, who I was glad to
find belonged to the Rifles. One of them, named O’Brien,
of the same company as myself, immediately exclaimed,
“What! is that you, Ned?—we thought you ladder-men
all done for.” He then assisted me to rise.

In consequence of the <i><lang='fr'>chevaux-de-frise</lang></i> still remaining
above the breach, we could not proceed over it until more
men arrived to remove its fastenings. The third division
.bn 132.png
.pn 118
meanwhile had entered the town on our right by the castle
where there was no breach. We proceeded onwards, I
moving with great difficulty, though partly supported by
O’Brien. At the top of the breach we found another
trench with a plank of wood lain across, leading into the
town. Not until then I felt drops of blood trickling down
my face, and found that one of the balls, in passing through
my cap, had torn the skin on my head.

In this crippled state, leaning upon my comrade, and
using his rifle as a crutch, accompanied by a few of our
riflemen, I entered the town that had been so gloriously
won. We hurried from the breach as quick as possible,
lest the enemy should spring a mine, as they did at
Ciudad Rodrigo. We still however heard occasional firing
and cheering from the one end of the town, and imagined
the fire was still raging, although, as we soon afterwards
learnt, the chief part of the French had retired to the
citadel or fort, where they surrendered on the following
morning. Angry and irritated from the pain occasioned
by the wound, we had just turned the corner of a street,
when we observed some men, and, from the light that
shone from a window opposite, we could see from their
uniforms they were evidently Frenchmen. The moment
they saw us they disappeared, with the exception of one
man, who seemed to make a rush at us with his musket.
O’Brien sprang forward and wrested the firelock from his
grasp. A feeling of revenge, prompted by the suffering
I endured from my wounds, actuated my feelings, and I
exclaimed, “O’Brien, let me have the pleasure of shooting
this rascal, for he may be the man who has brought me to
the state I am now in!” I then presented the rifle close
to his breast, with the full intention of shooting him
through the body, but as my finger was about to press the
trigger he fell upon his knees and implored mercy. The
next moment the rifle dropped from my hand, and I felt a
degree of shame that a feeling of irritation should have
nearly betrayed me into the commission of a crime for
which I could never have forgiven myself.

As soon as the Frenchman perceived me desist, he
immediately started from his knees, and, by way of showing
his gratitude, threw his arms round my neck, and
.bn 133.png
.pn 119
kissed my cheek. He instantly followed me, and I for the
time took him under my protection.

We now looked anxiously around for a house where we
could obtain refreshment, and, if truth must be told, a
little money. For even wounded as I was, I had made up
my mind to be a gainer by our victory. At the first house
we knocked at, no notice being taken of the summons, we
fired a rifle-ball at the key-hole, which sent the door flying
open. This, indeed, was our usual method of forcing
locks. As soon as we entered the house we found a young
Spanish woman crying bitterly, and praying for mercy.
She informed us that she was the wife of a French officer;
and to the demand of my companion, O’Brien, for refreshment,
replied there was nothing but her poor self in the
house. She, however, produced some spirits and chocolate,
both of which, being very hungry and faint, I partook
of with much relish.

As the house looked poor we soon quitted it in quest of
a better. Supported by O’Brien and the Frenchman, we
proceeded in the direction of the market-place. It was a
dark night, and the confusion and uproar that prevailed in
the town may be better imagined than described. The
shouts and oaths of drunken soldiers in quest of more
liquor, the reports of fire-arms and crashing in of doors,
together with the appalling shrieks of hapless women,
might have induced any one to have believed himself in
the regions of the damned.

When we arrived at the market-place we found a number
of Spanish prisoners rushing out of a gaol: they
appeared like a set of savages suddenly let loose, many
still bearing the chains they had not time to free themselves
from, and among these were men of the 5th and
88th regiments holding lighted candles. We then turned
down a street opposite to the foregoing scene, and entered
a house which was occupied by a number of men of the
third division. One of them immediately, on perceiving
me wounded, struck off the neck of a bottle of wine with
his bayonet, and presented it to me, which relieved me for
a time from the faintness I had previously felt. The
scenes of wickedness that soldiers are guilty of on capturing
.bn 134.png
.pn 120
a town are oftentimes truly diabolical, and I now, in
the reflections this subject gives rise to, shudder at the
past. I had not long been seated at the fire which was
blazing up the chimney, fed by mahogany chairs broken
up for the purpose, when I heard screams for mercy from
an adjoining room. On hobbling in, I found an old man,
the proprietor of the house, on his knees, imploring mercy
of a soldier who had levelled his musket at him. I with
difficulty prevented the man from shooting him, as he
complained that the Spaniard would not give up his money.
I immediately informed the wretched landlord in Spanish,
as well as I was able, that he could only save his life by
surrendering his cash. Upon this he brought out with
trembling hands, a large bag of dollars from under the
mattress of the bed. These by common consent were
immediately divided among us. The whole treasure, to
the amount of about one hundred or one hundred and fifty
dollars, enveloped in an old night-cap, was instantly
emptied and divided into small heaps on the table, according
to the number of men present, and called out the same
as messes in a barrack-room. I must confess that I participated
in the plunder, and received about twenty-six
dollars for my own share.

As soon as I had resumed my seat at the fire, a number
of Portuguese soldiers entered, one of whom, taking me
for a Frenchman, for I had the French soldier’s jacket on,
my own being wet, snapped his piece at me, which luckily
hung fire. Forgetful of my wounds, I instantly rushed at
him, and a regular scuffle ensued between our men and the
Portuguese, until one of the latter being stabbed by a
bayonet, the rest retired, dragging the wounded man with
them. After thus ejecting the Portuguese, the victors,
who had by this time got tolerably drunk, proceeded to
ransack the house. Unhappily they discovered the two
daughters of the old patrone, who had concealed themselves
up stairs. They both were young and very pretty.
The mother, too, was shortly afterwards dragged from her
hiding-place.

Without dwelling on the frightful scene that followed,
it may be sufficient to add, that our men, more infuriated
.bn 135.png
.pn 121
by drink than before, again seized upon the old man, and
insisted upon a fresh supply of liquor. And his protestations
that he possessed no more were as vain as were all
attempts to restrain them from ill-using him.

It is to be lamented that the memory of an old soldier
should be disturbed by such painful reflections as the
foregoing scenes must give rise to: but it is to be considered
that the men who besiege a town in the face of
such dangers, generally become desperate from their own
privations and sufferings; and when once they get a footing
within its walls—flushed by victory, hurried on by the
desire of liquor, and maddened by drink, they stop at
nothing: they are literally mad, and hardly conscious of
what they do in such a state of excitement. I do not
state this in justification; I only remark what I have
observed human nature to be on these occasions.

Sick of the scene of horrors that had been enacted, and
attended by my French prisoner, I left the house for one
on the other side of the street. This was found occupied
by men of the third division, who were drinking chocolate,
not made with water, but wine. They seemed rather more
sober and peaceable than those we had just left; but here,
also, as in most of the houses in Badajoz, the greatest
outrages were being committed.

Having passed a wretched night, the next morning I
determined to rejoin what remained of my regiment—for
at this time I did not know what number we had lost.
I left the house, and proceeded to trace my road through
the crowds, accompanied by my Frenchman, who rendered
me every assistance in his power. The town was still in
great confusion and uproar, although every available means
had been taken to suppress it. In one of the streets I saw
the Duke of Wellington, surrounded by a number of
British soldiers, who, holding up bottles with the heads
knocked off, containing wine and spirits, cried out to him,
a phrase then familiarly applied to him by the men of the
army, “Old boy! will you drink? The town’s our own—hurrah!”
In another street I observed a sort of gallows
erected, with three nooses hanging from them, ready for
service. Johnny Castles, a man of our company, and as
.bn 136.png
.pn 122
quiet and inoffensive a little fellow as could be, but rather
fond of a drop, but not that distilled by Jack Ketch & Co.,
had a near escape. He was actually brought under the
gallows in a cart, and the rope placed round his neck, but
his life was spared. Whether this was done to frighten
him or not I cannot say; but the circumstance had such
an effect on him, that he took ill, and was a little deranged
for some time after. I am not aware that a single execution
took place, notwithstanding the known severity of the
Duke in matters of plunder and outrage. I feel bound to
say, that a prejudice existed on the part of our men against
the inhabitants of Badajoz, owing to their having submitted
so tamely to the French. It was different at
Ciudad Rodrigo, where the Spaniards had defended themselves
gallantly.

Feeling fatigued on my way to join the camp, I sat down
with my prisoner on a bench, opposite the bridge which
leads to Fort St. Christoval. We not had been long
seated when I was amused by a large baboon, surrounded
by a number of soldiers, who were tormenting him. The
poor animal had been wounded in the foot, probably by
one of our men, and by his chattering, grinning, and droll
gesticulations, he showed as much aversion to the red
coats as any of the French could possibly have done.
While the men continued teasing the animal, a servant,
stating that it belonged to a Colonel of the 4th regiment,
who he said was wounded, attempted to take the beast
away, whereupon the party being divided in their sentiments,
a scuffle ensued, in which several men were wounded
with bayonets.

As we got up to proceed, we saw a number of Frenchmen
guarded by our soldiers, coming over the bridge.
They were the prisoners taken in Fort St. Christoval,
which but an hour or two previously had surrendered.
These were soon surrounded by our men, who began
examining their knapsacks, from whence a number of
watches, dollars, &c., were quickly extracted. A short
distance further on we came up with a mule, tied to a
door, which, in my crippled state, and wishing to relieve
my poor prisoner, I immediately appropriated for my own
.bn 137.png
.pn 123
use, but I afterwards sold it to Lieutenant Jackson, of the
83rd regiment. Mounted on the animal, led by the
Frenchman, we pursued our way until near the gates that
led to the camp, when rather an affecting scene came under
my eye. A little fellow, a drummer-boy, belonging to the
88th regiment, was lying wounded and crying bitterly, his
leg being broken by a shot. On telling him I would get
him carried by the Frenchman if he wished, “Oh no!—oh
no!” said the boy; “I don’t care for myself. Look
at my poor father, where he lies!” pointing to a man shot
through the head, lying weltering in a gore of blood.
Poor little fellow! I gave him a couple of dollars, and
called some men to his assistance, when I was compelled to
leave him. We soon arrived at the camp ground of the
third division. I dismounted, and while sitting on one of
the men’s knapsacks, a soldier of the 83rd regiment was
engaged in cleaning his firelock, when the piece went off
and shot a corporal through the head, wounding also the
hand of another man. The Frenchman seemed dreadfully
frightened: he turned pale as marble, perhaps thinking
the shot was aimed at him, as the corporal fell dead at his
side. This accident struck me as a forcible instance of the
casualties that attend a soldier’s life. I could not, indeed,
help feeling for the poor corporal, who after surviving the
dangers of the preceding night, had lost his life by a
clumsy hand cleaning a firelock.

It may appear strange that I did not wish to remain in
Badajoz, but I was suffering from my wound, and preferred
the quiet of the camp. We had no sooner arrived there
than I was obliged to part with my faithful Frenchman,
who was sent to join the other prisoners. I gave him a
few dollars, which most likely he was deprived of before
he got many yards. He left me with many expressions of
gratitude for the protection I had afforded him.

I have been in many actions, but I never witnessed such
a complication of horrors as surrounded me on the forlorn-hope
at Badajoz.

I remained three days in camp before there was a
possibility of my being conveyed into the hospital at
Badajoz, during which I had an opportunity of hearing of
.bn 138.png
.pn 124
the casualties that occurred. The number of men killed,
wounded, and absent was such, that the company could
not muster a dozen men on parade for three days afterwards.
Parties were sent to the breaches to bury the dead,
which now began to smell most dreadfully; but we could
not collect men enough to perform that duty. My poor
old Captain, Major O’Hare, was amongst the slain, and had
received not less than ten or a dozen balls through his
body.

While in hospital, here as in other places, we were intermingled
with the French prisoners who, sick and wounded,
were placed indiscriminately in the wards with the British.
In that in which I myself lay, and in the next bed,
there was a smart young fellow, a Frenchman, with whom
I became intimately acquainted. Indeed, he could speak
a little English, which he had acquired during a short stay
as prisoner in England, whence he had been exchanged to
be again captured. He was recovering fast from a gun-shot
wound he had received in his shoulder.

During one of our evening chats, he gave me an account
of his escape from Almeida, which he had assisted in
defending, and afterwards in blowing up and evacuating.

“A few evenings,” said he, “previous to our determination
to evacuate the fortress, an officer from Massena
entered the town, under the disguise of a peasant, with
orders to the Governor to undermine and blow up the
walls, and cut his way with the garrison through the
British lines. The distresses of the besieged had been so
excessive, that the message was received with delight. We
had seen and felt innumerable hardships, and had been so
reduced by famine, as to have been obliged, for food, to
slaughter even the horses and mules. On receipt of the
order, General Bernier, who commanded, and who had
already escaped from the British, he having broken his
parole while prisoner with the English some years before,
was even more anxious than ourselves, as he well knew had
he been retaken, in all probability he would have been
shot. In our dilemmas, he drew from us an oath to die or
effect our purpose. As a first step, we were for several
days employed undermining the walls, which were soon
.bn 139.png
.pn 125
hollowed and loaded in fourteen different places, all communicating
with each other by trains of gunpowder.

“The evening of the evacuation, the whole garrison, to
the number of seven or eight hundred men, after destroying
the stores and spiking the guns, assembled in one of the
squares and at about midnight slowly moved through the
gates. The first to oppose our progress was a picquet of
Portuguese, whom we bayoneted in an instant, and just as
the mines commenced exploding—a low grumbling, as if of
an earthquake, followed, and in a few seconds the whole
citadel rose, as it were, in the air, and descended in
shivered and blackened masses. The noise of the explosion
brought the whole British division to their arms,
and our forlorn body dashed through your closing columns.
The moment was desperate, but starved as we were, the
French soldiers gained new strength from each reverse, and
despite the well-fed numbers of the British, cut their way
through the living wall, and gained the approach to San
Felice. Here the inequalities of the ground fortunately
and effectually kept off your cavalry, and after a few more
trifling encounters, we reached the grand army. We had
no sooner arrived within hail of our comrades than the
whole locality rung with one universal shout of enthusiasm.
Our General was carried about on the men’s shoulders, and
the day became one of joy throughout the camp.”

The relation was given in the most spirited manner, just
as we might expect it from a soldier of the Emperor, whose
very name took the place of every other feeling. He spoke
also of Marshal Ney, who in his estimation was second only
to Napoleon.

The foregoing, and many others equally entertaining,
but which the lapse of years have blotted from my memory,
he would relate to me, generally finishing his relations with,
“Eh bien, c’est égal, les écoliers sont dignes de leurs
maîtres. Les Français vous ont enseignés de terribles
leçons, et vous comprenez enfin l’art de faire la guerre
comme il faut.” Well, well, it is all the same; the
pupils are worthy of their teachers. The French have
taught you some terrible lessons, and you understand, at
length, the art of making war as it is—as it should be.
.bn 140.png
.pn 126



.sp 4
.h2 id=ch16
CHAPTER XVI.

.in +2
.ti -2
I recover from my wounds and rejoin my regiment at Ituera—“Nine holes”—March
for Salamanca—Sergeant Battersby—The grenadier and the murder of
his wife, &c., &c.—Marmont out-manœuvred—Assault of Fort St. Vincent—Retreat
of the enemy—We arrive at Rueda—The wine-vaults—My descent
into one—Fright, &c.—Manœuvring of the two armies—Skirmishing—A gallant
Frenchman—Pratt and his prisoner.
.in

.sp 2
<sc>Having</sc> recovered from my wounds, I left the hospital
and rejoined my regiment at Ituera, near Ciudad Rodrigo.
An unfortunate accident here occurred to one of our men.
He was playing at a game called “nine holes” with several
comrades, and was bowling along the ground a grenade,
used instead of a wooden-ball, believing it to have been
filled with earth only, when a spark from his pipe fell
into the hole, and instantly exploded, wounding him dreadfully.
The poor fellow never recovered the injuries he
received.

A short time after I had rejoined, our division marched
for Salamanca.

On our first day’s march we encamped in a wood, on the
right side of the road, leading to that city. The evening
was beautiful, and the sun having lost its meridian heat,
imparted a refreshing warmth to the wearied soldiers.
The camp was all astir for some time—every one being
busily engaged cooking and preparing for the night’s comfort;
which being completed, the eve found us mostly
seated and scattered about in small groups, earnestly intent
on enjoyment of some sort. I am particular in my recollection
of the time, for reasons which the following occurrence
will sufficiently account for.

I had finished my evening’s meal, and was sitting drinking
a tot of wine, with a sergeant of ours named Battersby,
who a few days previously had rejoined us from Belem,
where he had been some time appointed hospital-sergeant.
He brought with him a very pretty-looking Englishwoman,
that passed for his wife, and who was present with us, and
assisted much to keep up the spirit of our conversation.
We had been seated for some time under the branches of
.bn 141.png
.pn 127
a clump of cork trees, of which, indeed, the wood was
principally composed, when we were interrupted by some
of the men calling for Sergeant Battersby, and in a second,
or so, up marched a tall, fine-looking grenadier of the 61st
Regiment of Foot, then belonging to the sixth division,
which lay encamped some two or three miles in our rear;
as he approached, however, he did not notice us, but casting
sundry determined glances about him, more in anguish
than ferocity, he drew near the woman, and seated himself
on a knapsack near her. The latter, from the moment
he had first made his appearance, I had perceived, seemed
wondrously confused, and changed colour several times.

“Nelly,” said he, fixing a firm and deliberate look on
her, his voice at first scarcely articulate with emotion,
“Nelly, why do you treat me so? how can you stoop,”
and here he cast an almost contemptuous glance of recognition
on Battersby, “how can you stoop to such a disgraceful,
so dishonourable a protection?”

“I am with those,” said she, rather snappishly, “who
know better how to treat me than you.”

“That,” rejoined the grenadier, “may be your opinion;
but why leave the child, it is but three years old, and what
can I do with it?”

To this she made no answer.

“Do not think,” he again continued, “that I wish you
to return me, that is impossible. But I cannot help my
feelings!”

This was only replied to by reproaches; which I did not
listen to, for as it was no business of mine I turned to converse
with my companions.

The grenadier, at last, made a move to take his departure,
and his wife, for such she evidently was, had
agreed to accompany him a little of the way, and they
walked together. I did not know how to account for it,
but there was a certain uneasiness attended me, which had
kept me, as it were, on their trail all the evening; and
Battersby and myself followed in their rear. They had
proceeded a few hundred yards, and were some distance in
advance, when she turned to wish him good-night. The
poor fellow paused again, as if in deep thought, fixing on
.bn 142.png
.pn 128
her the same cool, deliberate look that he had exhibited all
the evening.

“So you are determined, Nelly,” said he at length, “to
continue this way of living?”

“Yes,” said she.

“Well, then,” he exclaimed, holding her firmly by the
left hand, which she had extended for him to shake, while
he drew his bayonet with his right, “take that,” and he
drove it right through her body. The blow was given
with such force that it actually tripped him over her, and
both fell, the bayonet still sticking in her side. The poor
woman gave a convulsive scream, and in a moment expired.
The grenadier bounded instantly on his feet again, and
stamping one foot on the body of his victim, jerked forth
the bayonet reeking with her blood. Wheeling himself
round on his heel, the fatal weapon tightly clutched in his
right hand, his eyes instantaneously caught the direction
Battersby had taken, and he flew after him with the
speed and countenance of a fiend, to wreak a second vengeance.

The sergeant fortunately arrived in the camp in time
enough to call out the rear-guard, who, of course, were
instantly on the alarm to meet him. The grenadier no
sooner beheld him in safety than he stopped, and casting a
half contemptuous smile towards the body of his dead wife,
wiped the bayonet through his fingers, returned it to the
scabbard, and drawing himself to his full height, calmly
awaited the approach of the guard. When brought before
the Colonel, he said in a rough and manly tone of voice,
while he extended his arm towards his wife, “I have done
the deed, but sorry her seducer has escaped.”

He was afterwards brought to a court-martial, and sentenced
to three months’ solitary confinement. But he
suffered for one month only, when, as I suppose, in consideration
of his case, he was ordered to return to his
regiment. I have since been informed that he was shot in
one of the actions on the Pyrennees. He certainly was a
fine-looking fellow, and by name Bryen.

As for Nelly, we buried her that very night near the
spot where she fell, having dug her grave with the same
.bn 143.png
.pn 129
kind of weapon as that by which she had been deprived of
life.

It was rather strange that Battersby was not noticed, but
still held his rank. It is also as curious, that he was the
second man I saw fall at the battle of Quatre Bras, on the
16th June, 1815, being shot by a musket-ball through the
head.

On our arrival at Salamanca, we took up our position to
the right of that city, near the river Tormes.

Here we remained for some days, our chief having completely
out-manœuvred Marmont. On the evening of the
4th of July stormers were required from our division, to
lead in the assault on Fort St. Vincent, the strongest of
the three forts that the enemy had constructed in the city,
and which commanded the other two; two men from each
company of our regiment were selected, the first for duty.
After marching the men down close to the fort, waiting
the signal for attack, they were countermanded. A few
days afterwards this fort was set on fire by red-hot shot
from our artillery, when it immediately surrendered, along
with the two others.

The enemy, baffled in their views on Salamanca, slowly
retreated, our army following until we arrived near Rueda.
Here our light troops had a smart brush with their rear-guard,
which ended in the capture of some few French
prisoners. I remember seeing on this occasion a party of
the Rifles bringing in a very fine-looking man, a French
sergeant, who seemed inconsolable at his capture. He
actually shed tears as he lamented the circumstance. The
following day, however, to his infinite joy, he was exchanged
for a sergeant of our cavalry, who also had been made prisoner
a few days before.

After this skirmish, our regiment advanced to the neighbourhood
of Rueda, where we occupied a hill, completely
covered with vines, and close to the town. The country
thereabouts abounded in grapes, from which an immense
quantity of wine was annually made. The places used for
the making of wine in this part of Spain are of a very
singular description. They are all subterranean, and of
immense extent, sometimes undermining many acres of
.bn 144.png
.pn 130
ground. Over these are chimneys constructed to admit
the air and light. The vats, into which the juice of the
grape is pressed, are in proportion to the size of the vaults,
and would entirely put to shame the same description of
receptacle used for beer by Barclay and Perkins.

Our fellows, ever alive to the value of good liquor, notwithstanding
the French had well ransacked the “wine-houses,”
used frequently to find something to reward them
for their search in these cellars. Our way of proceeding
was to let one or two of our men down the above-mentioned
chimneys by means of a rope. I shall never forget the
terror I experienced in one of these adventures. Three or
four comrades and myself one evening assembled over the
chimney of one of these wine-vaults, and it was proposed
that one of us should descend to bring up some wine.
This was no comfortable task, as the proprietors frequently
watched below, and would scarcely hesitate to greet an
intruder with his cuchillo or long knife. After some deliberation,
and plenty of peeping, it was at last decided that
I should take the first chance; a rope accordingly was
obtained from one of the muleteers, and being secured
round my waist with a number of canteens, which clinked
enough to awake almost the dead, I was gradually lowered.

The vaults were generally as deep as a three-storied
house, and before I got half way down, I was left dangling
in the air, the canteens chinkling as if with the intention
of hailing a knife the moment I arrived into the lower
region; at last I touched the ground. The place was so
dark that I could scarcely see a couple of yards before me,
and was obliged to grope my way for the vats; at length
one of the tins, that formed a kind of breast-work for my
approach, came in contact with something, and putting
my hand forward, I placed it upon the cold clammy face
of a corpse. My whole blood tingled, the canteens
responded, and at a glance I perceived, from the red wings
(for whether or not, I could see now) that it was a French
soldier, exhibiting most frightful gashes, evidently inflicted
by the same kind of weapon, which I at every turn,
was expecting.

The canteens clattered awfully, for I confess I shook
.bn 145.png
.pn 131
with terror, having no weapon to defend myself, and every
instant looking for the arm of some concealed assassins,
who probably were watching my movements. Afraid to
call out, I instantly tugged at the rope (the signal to pull
up), an answer from above expressed a doubt of the canteens
being filled so soon, and damned my eyes and limbs
for me, but this only made me shake the rope more violently,
until, to my great satisfaction, I found myself
again dangling, and ascending. My comrades seeing me
really come forth with hollow tins, and blowing with agitation,
burst into roars of laughter.

I related my adventure, but this only increased it, until
their mirth rallying us all, one, however, more daring than
the rest, loaded his rifle, and with an oath, suffered himself
to be lowered, and shortly returned, bringing up the canteens
filled with excellent wine.

After remaining here for some time, we left Rueda at
twelve o’clock at night on the 16th, the enemy, who had
concentrated their forces at Tordesillas, being on the advance.
The following morning the sun rose unclouded, presenting
distinctly to the view the two armies moving in parallel
lines along a ridge of low hills, separated only by the intervening
valley and a river fordable in most places. The
French columns appeared in such beautiful order, as to
call forth the plaudits of even our own men. Skirmishing,
however, was soon commenced between some of the cavalry
and light troops.

One or two companies of our Rifles, seconded by a troop
of the 14th Dragoons, were soon partially engaged with
about a corresponding number of the enemy, who would
occasionally dash through the little river, and attempt to
take up a position to annoy our skirmishers. Our riflemen,
in particular, were highly delighted with several little
cavalry brushes that occurred this day between our dragoons
and the French. One instance of gallantry on the
part of a French dragoon, which fell under the eyes of most
of us, was particularly exciting: in a kind of half charge
that had been made by about a section of French and
English cavalry, one of the Frenchmen had dashed alone
through some of our dragoons. His own party having
.bn 146.png
.pn 132
retired, there seemed every prospect of his being instantly
killed or taken prisoner, and, indeed, most of us thought,
as there were at least a dozen of our 14th Dragoons
between him and his section, that he would surrender.
Not so, however, thought the gallant Frenchman, but
wheeling round, he gently trotted his horse for about
twenty yards, when he gave spurs to his steed, and after
several hand-to-hand conflicts with our dragoons in passing,
he actually succeeded in reaching his party, I believe unhurt,
and attended by the cheers of our own men, who
were not insensible, at any time, to the intrepidity even of
an enemy.

Another incident occurred also, which, as an appropriate
companion to the foregoing, I will relate. Indeed, in
gratitude, perhaps, I ought to do so, as I was a gainer on
the occasion by a new pair of trowsers. A man of the
14th Dragoons, named Pratt, a fine strapping young fellow,
and a townsman of my own, brought in a French dragoon
on his horse prisoner. The Frenchman had lost his helmet,
and displayed a severe cut on his cheek. Poor
fellow! he seemed exceedingly chop-fallen, and declared
with much vehemence to Lieutenant Gardiner of our company,
who spoke excellent French, that the Englishman
could not have taken him had he possessed a better horse.
This Mr. Gardiner repeated to Pratt, who answered,
“Then by Jasus, Sir, tell him if he had the best horse in
France, I would bring him prisoner, if he stood to fight
me.” The words caused roars of laughter from all but
the prisoner, who affectionately patting the goaded and
smoking steed, exclaimed, “My poor beast has not had his
saddle off for the last week.” And such, indeed, appeared
to have been the case, as, on the saddle being removed,
prior to the sale of the poor horse, a part of the flesh that
had become a sore, came away with the saddle-cloth. The
animal in this condition was sold to Lieutenant Gardiner
for five dollars. Pratt, on opening the valise of the unfortunate
prisoner (who with folded arms looked on with a
mournful eye), came upon a pair of trowsers which he
threw to me as a gift that was exceedingly welcome, as my
own were worn to rags.
.bn 147.png
.pn 133

The following day, after some slight skirmishes with the
advance of the enemy, we retreated upon Salamanca. As
few occurrences of any interest took place after this, for
some days, beyond the manœuvring of the two armies,
interesting only to the tactician, and which so many professional
men have done ample justice to, I will at once
proceed to the battle; in which, however, I must remark,
the Rifles were less engaged than in any other action fought
during the war: for which reason I shall have but little to
state upon the subject.



.sp 4
.h2 id=ch17
CHAPTER XVII.

.in +2
.ti -2
Battle of Salamanca—My wounds break out afresh—I go into the Hospital at
Salamanca—The Germans and their prisoners—A recognition—Michael Connelly—His
death and burial—Josh Hetherington again—A new acquaintance—His
accounts of the Guerillas, &c.—A keepsake for a sweetheart—The
Guerilla—The army retrace their steps to Salamanca—Proceed to Rodrigo—Heavy
wet—Spanish payment; acknowledgment—A dry coat—Lord Charles
Spencer and his acorns—We continue our march—The babes in the wood—Hard
skirmishing with the enemy’s advanced-guard—A woman in distress—Pepper—Hunger,
cold, and fatigue—Finish of the Burgos retreat.
.in

.sp 2
<sc>The</sc> night previous to the morn that ushered in the day
of battle, viz., the 22nd of July, 1812, was the most
stormy, I think, I ever witnessed. The thunder, lightning,
and rain seemed striving which should excel, while their
united effect was terrible. We lay, without covering, in an
open field close to the river Tormes. It is needless to say,
not a man that night had on a dry shred. It has, I
believe, been previously remarked, by military and other
writers, that rain has been the forerunner of almost all our
general battles. From my own recollection, the truth of
this assertion is singularly supported by facts.

The battle of Salamanca commenced about ten or twelve
o’clock, upon our right, on a rising ground. Our position
was first disturbed by some cannon-shot of the enemy that
fell very near, but fortunately without doing any harm.

Although every moment expecting to be sent into the
thick of it, we kept undisturbed possession of our ground,
from whence we could see the column of the enemy on the
.bn 148.png
.pn 134
heights engaged in attempting to repel the advance of our
troops. When the “glad sounds of victory” reached us,
a general feeling of pleasure pervaded our ranks, mixed
perhaps with some regret that we had not taken a more
active share in the battle. But all we could do we did,
which was to pepper the French well in their hurried
retreat from the field. In fact, it seemed to me as if the
whole French army might have been cut off by a little
promptitude.

We halted at Huerta. The following morning our
division crossed the river Tormes in pursuit of the enemy.
We came up with their rear strongly posted on the side of
a hill on the left of the road. Here we beheld one of
those few charges that so seldom succeed against well-trained
infantry: this was the celebrated charge of Major-General
Bock, who, at the head of his heavy German
cavalry, broke the French squares, taking them prisoners
almost to a man. It was the most gallant dash of cavalry
that ever was witnessed.

This day I began to feel the ill effects of the wound I
had received at Badajoz, which the fatigue of marching
and the warmth of the weather had again caused to break
out. On inspecting the sore, our surgeon immediately
recommended me to go into hospital at Salamanca, for a
few days of medical treatment and rest. Accordingly I
set out for Salamanca with the guard appointed to escort
the prisoners taken in the recent cavalry affair by our
Germans. I never before saw such severe-looking sabre-cuts
as many of them had received; several with both
eyes cut out, and numbers had lost both ears. Their
wounded, who were carried in waggons, were extremely
numerous, and it was painful, even to an old soldier, to hear
their groans and incessant cries for water. The escort
consisted chiefly of the Germans that had taken them
prisoners, and it was pleasing to behold these gallant
fellows, in the true spirit of glory, paying the greatest attention
to the wants of the wounded. Water, as I have
remarked, from the loss of blood that had taken place
among the wounded, was in particular request. One of the
prisoners, who had his arm hanging, probably in endeavouring
.bn 149.png
.pn 135
to defend his head from a sword-cut—for, indeed,
there were very few gun-shot wounds among them—was in
particular very frequent in his demands for “eau” (water),
when none could be obtained. Perhaps imagining himself
neglected, we were not a little surprised to hear him suddenly
change his language, and call out in English, “For
the love of Jesus, give me something to quench my thirst;
I am a fellow-countryman of your own.” On entering
into conversation with him I found he formerly belonged to
the 9th Regiment of Foot, and had been taken prisoner
with a number of others of his regiment, while on board a
ship some time previous, since which occurrence he had
been prevailed upon to enter the French service in preference
to being kept in close confinement. At Salamanca
a sentry was placed over him; what became of him I
know not.

On arriving at Salamanca our wounded prisoners, some
other invalids, and myself were immediately taken into
hospital. There we were, French and English, laid up
together; and there, I must say, I saw sufficient practice
daily in the use of the surgeon’s knife to become perfectly
familiar with every form attendant upon amputation.
While lying in hospital, at all times a wretched place, from
the groans of the numerous sufferers, I was here placed
under the immediate attendance of Sergeant Michael Connelly,
in charge of our ward, who being sufficiently recovered
from a slight wound, was appointed sergeant to
the hospital. He was one of the most singular characters
I ever met with, and if an awkward person and uncouth
face had gained him the preferment, his match certainly
could not be found elsewhere. Mike was exceedingly
attentive to the sick, and particularly anxious that the
British soldier when dying, should hold out a pattern of
firmness to the Frenchmen, who lay intermixed with us in
the same wards.

“Hould your tongue, ye blathering devil,” he would
say, in a low tone, “and don’t be after disgracing your
country in the teeth of these ere furriners, by dying hard.
Ye’ll have the company at your burial, won’t you? Ye’ll
have the drums beating and the guns firing over ye, won’t
.bn 150.png
.pn 136
you? Marciful God! what more do you want? ye are
not at Elvas, to be thrown into a hole like a dog—ye’ll be
buried in a shroud and coffin, won’t you? For God’s sake,
die like a man before these ere Frenchers.”

Mike, however, had one great failing, he drank like a
whale, and did not scruple to adopt as gifts or legacies,
the wine rations of both the dying and the dead, until he
drank himself out of the world, and as his patients remarked,
after all, he died “like a beast.”

The news of Mike’s death spread like wildfire, and all
his old friends and the convalescents crowded to do honour
to his remains.

The funeral of the Duke himself could not have made a
greater stir, for cavalier and foot soldier, from the drum-boy
to the trumpeter, and all the women, children and
camp-followers in the locality, flocked to follow his remains,
the town became unusually alive, and the variegated throng,
headed by the deceased sergeant, borne by four bearers,
and the usual complement of soldiers with their arms reversed,
slowly wound their way through the city of Salamanca.
Many a jest made the streets ring with laughter,
as the crowd followed the coffin, till they reached the
burial-ground (near the French battery taken by us some
time previously.) The bearers here proceeded to enter the
gateway, when they were suddenly aroused by a slight cry
from within the coffin, with a kind of scraping noise, like
an effort to open it. They suddenly halted, paused, and
listened. It was surely Mike scraping. On they moved
again doubtfully. A second time the voice broke upon
their ears. “Whist!” ejaculated the bearers, their caps
moving almost off their heads. “Oh blood and ouns!
where am I? Oh bad luck to yer souls, let me out, won’t
you? oh, merciful Jasus, I’m smoothered.” In a twinkling
out bolted the bearers from under the coffin, and a
dozen bayonets in an instant were sunk under and lifted
the lid. The crowd crushed dreadfully to take a look.
But there lay Sergeant Michael Connelly, sure enough as
stiff as a fugleman but something colder, and my old friend,
that blackguard Josh Hetherington, the cockney ventriloquist,
who had been one of the bearers, as “innocent”
.bn 151.png
.pn 137
as you please, joining in the astonishment of the rest
of us.

Josh winked at me and I at Josh. “Ned,” said he,
“I’m blessed if I think he’s dead. Why don’t some of
them chaps go for a doctor.” “To be sure,” cried the
crowd, “send for the doctor.” Meanwhile a regular rush
was made to press him to swallow some of his favourite
liquor, but his teeth as obstinately opposed the draught, so
that poor Mike was already pronounced “not himself,”
when the doctor arrived.

While here, I got acquainted with a pleasant and intelligent
man who belonged to the 13th Light Dragoons, and
was fast recovering from a wound he had received in the
shoulder. We used frequently to alleviate as much as we
could the unpleasantness of our situation by a little conversation.
His history both amused and interested me.

He had been taken prisoner by the French near Badajoz
while serving in General Hill’s division, but managed
shortly afterwards to make his escape between Vittoria and
Pampeluna. The following morning he fell in with a
party of General Mina’s Guerillas, who, as soon as they
found him to be an Englishman, wished him to enlist in
their band until he could regain his regiment. This offer
he was glad to accept. After giving me a very amusing
account of the manners of the Guerillas, their rich picturesque
dresses and arms, and their wild military life in
the mountains, he proceeded to detail several anecdotes of
their cruelty and ferocity, among which I can well remember
the following, from the impression it then left upon
my mind, and the simple manner in which he related it:

Uniting suddenly several of his Guerilla bands in the
neighbourhood of Vittoria, Mina, whose information of the
movements of the French seemed unerring, one morning
surprised and captured a number of waggons filled with
stores. They had been sent from Madrid for the army at
Vittoria, and were escorted by gendarmes, who were all
either killed or taken. The prisoners, about twenty in
number, were immediately marched into the mountains,
but not before they had time to draw a dark augury of
their own fate by seeing all their wounded comrades
.bn 152.png
.pn 138
brutally stabbed to death on the ground where the skirmish
had taken place. The prisoners, after having been
stripped of nearly every article of wearing apparel, even to
their boots, were confined in a space of ground encircled
by pens or hurdles, and used for keeping cattle, round
which were planted many sentries. In the evening the
ferocious mountaineers, elated with their day’s success,
being joined by a number of females, their sweethearts and
wives made merry with drinking wine and dancing to the
music of several guitars. During this merriment both
men and women frequently taunted their wretched prisoners,
recapitulated the wrongs the Spaniards had suffered
at the hands of the French, until they gradually had excited
their passions to a partial state of frenzy. In this state,
the signal having been given by one of their number, they
rushed in among their hapless prisoners, and commenced a
general massacre, drowning the cries and supplications for
mercy of their victims, as they gave each blow, by enumerating
the different losses each had sustained in his family
during the war. “Take that for my father you shot,”—“that
for my son,”—“this for my brother,” &c., until
the work of death was complete. The most inhuman,
and perhaps most revolting trait in this general murder
was some of the women having actively assisted in the
slaughter.

A short time after I had heard the preceding sketch, I
had an opportunity of observing that sanguinary feeling
of revenge that so peculiarly characterized the Guerillas
during the war. I rejoined my regiment at a little village
about three leagues from Madrid, called Gataffe. In the
farm-house, where the greater part of our company were
quartered, was a very pretty Spanish girl who had a
brother serving with the Guerillas. One hot summer
evening, when several comrades and myself were sitting on
a bench outside the door, joking with the girl, a swarthy,
savage-looking Spaniard came up, and was welcomed with
much joy by the girl and her parents. The new-comer
was armed to the teeth with pistols, daggers, and a long
gun, which, together with his crimson sash and free bearing,
at once proclaimed him the Guerilla. At first we
.bn 153.png
.pn 139
imagined him the girl’s brother, but soon perceived another,
though equally dear tie, cemented their affection: he was
her lover or suitor. While engaged in conversation with
his sweetheart and her parents, we observed him take rather
ostentatiously from his side a long heavy-looking silk purse,
the contents of which he emptied into the lap of his mistress.
The Spaniard’s eyes sparkled with pleasure; but,
for the honour of a British soldier, a general disgust pervaded
the minds of my comrades and myself, when we
beheld a number of human ears and fingers, which glistened
with the golden ornaments they still retained. He
then told us, with an air of bravado, that he had cut them
from off the bodies of the French whom he himself had
slain in battle, each ear and finger having on a gold ring.

“Napoleon,” he observed, in his native dialect, with a
grim smile—“Napoleon loves his soldiers, and so do the
ravens;” as he pointed to several of those carrion birds
perched on the walls of an old convent covered with ivy.
“We find them plenty of food; they shall never want, so
long as a Frenchman remains in Spain.” Such are the
men who were considered the greatest patriots attached to
the Spanish army during the war.

The chief business of the British at this time was laying
siege to Burgos. The enemy having also assembled in
great numbers betwixt it and Vittoria, Lord Wellington,
thinking he was not able to oppose their force, ordered the
whole of the divisions to retire on Salamanca. We of the
light division received orders to the same effect.

On the 22nd of October we left Madrid: the contempt
with which the inhabitants treated us for leaving them
once more to the mercy of the French, cannot easily be
forgotten.

For what the men said gave us little concern; but to be
taxed and taunted for cowardice by the Spanish ladies was
most galling. Even my handsome dark-eyed Clementeria,
sister to the Guerilla lover, who seemed so much attached
to me, and with whom I spent many a moonlight night
serenading to the Spanish guitar, and who first taught me
to use the castanets in the Spanish dance—even she, with
all her pretended love, refused me a buss at our last moment
.bn 154.png
.pn 140
of parting, though I used all my eloquence, welding
the Spanish, French, and English together in pleading my
cause. All had no effect on the hard-hearted <i>Mosa</i>. Her
last words were: “Begone, you cowardly English, you
have not the courage to fight the enemy of our country:
those who have butchered my dear father and brother,”
were her last words. After a harassing march through a
mountainous country we joined the remainder of our army
at Salamanca. There we took up our quarters for a few
days in a convent, which exhibited such a loathsome picture
of filth as to be almost unendurable. In consequence
of our men having torn up a part of the balustrades for
firing, a young officer of the third battalion fell down a
height of fifty feet, and was killed on the spot.

On the second morning after our arrival we again proceeded
towards Rodrigo. The rain fell in torrents, and
from the heaviness of the roads, which were in many places
a foot deep in mud, most of our men lost their shoes, and
were obliged to march barefooted. Among this number I
was unfortunately included. When we had reached our
halting-ground for the night, our prospect was most desolate.
Wet to the skin—without fire or shelter—and at the
same time possessed of a ravenous appetite, with nothing
to satisfy it, formed one of the <em>disagreeables</em> so often attendant
upon our life in the Peninsula—to say nothing of incessant
duty and fatigue. It was these sufferings, in fact, I
am convinced, that oftentimes rendered our men so callous
about death, at different periods during the war, as some
men, from the privations they endured, wished to be shot,
and exposed themselves in action purposely.

On our halt on the above night, the first thing I did
was to take off my jacket and shirt, and after ringing
about half a gallon of water out of them, I replaced them
upon my back to dry as they might. Most of our men
had employed themselves in cutting down boughs of trees
to keep themselves out of the mud; but it was some hours
before we could obtain that greatest of luxuries, under our
present circumstances, a good fire. Still we had not a
morsel to eat after the day’s fatigue—no rations having
been issued—and our men suffered from all the pangs of
.bn 155.png
.pn 141
cold and hunger. Fortune, however, during the evening
favoured a few of us. Towards the middle of the night
one or two of our men brought intelligence that several
cars laden with spirits and biscuit for the Spanish army
were stuck fast in the road, and could not proceed onwards.
The temptation to our hungry maws could not be resisted;
leaving our fires, and getting up to the cars, screened by
the darkness of the night, we managed to get a portion
both of biscuit and aguardiente; but the Spanish guard,
discovering our fellows, commenced firing on them: this
was quickly returned, and several, I believe, were shot;
indeed, the firing continued all night, which alarmed the
chief part of our army. Had the offenders been discovered,
it would not have been difficult to have foretold their fate,
as the Duke’s orders were particularly strict against plunder,
(if such this might be called, for after all, the whole fell
into the hands of the French next morning, as the carts
were then able to be moved). For my own part, such
were my feelings this night, that I believe I should have
expired, but for the liquor I had drank.

With all their hunger, however, there existed among the
men a sympathy for the officers, which, considering their
distance, was rather remarkable; several of the most
haughty of the latter gladly received little kindnesses from
the soldiers; and if the noble lord be now living, he may
chance to recollect an instance connected with it. Lord
Charles Spencer, then a youth about eighteen years of age,
suffered dreadfully from the hunger and fatigue of this
retreat; trembling with cold and weakness, he stood
perched upon some branches, that had been cut down for
fuel, the tears silently starting from his eyes through the
pain he experienced, while thus sharing in the common lot,
anxiously watching a few acorns, which to stay the pangs
of hunger he had placed in the embers to roast. I dare
say his Lordship had never known till then the joys of
poverty—a good appetite! Nor will he, I expect, forget
how willingly the rough soldiers flew to offer him biscuits,
which their own sufferings could not withhold from one so
tenderly and delicately reared; but his Lordship was very
.bn 156.png
.pn 142
much liked amongst us, and, no doubt, it did many a veteran’s
heart good to hear his thanks, and see the eagerness
with which he devoured the offering. These are times
when Lords find that they are men—and men, that they
are comrades.

Before daylight we pursued our route, the rain continuing
to fall in torrents, while the state of our regiment
was pitiable. To add to our comfort, the enemy were close
upon our heels: this night we spent something like the
last—wet, cold, and hungry. On the following morning
we were obliged to continue our retreat rather precipitately,
as the shots of the French, who were in great force, came
rattling in among us. During the morning the enemy’s
cavalry succeeded in getting through a wood, and managed
to cut off the baggage of the seventh division, then in front
of ours. Among some captives the enemy made on this occasion
were several children in panniers carried by donkeys.
One Irishwoman, in particular, I remember seeing, whose
grief seemed inconsolable for the loss she had sustained in
that of her child. In a few days, however, the French,
desiring to be as little encumbered as ourselves with
children, sent them back with a flag of truce. This was
followed by a most interesting scene, as the different
mothers rushed forward to clasp their darlings in their
arms.

This day we were hard pressed by the enemy’s advanced-guard,
and two of our companies, the one in which I served
being one, were ordered to cover the retreat of our division.
The French, confident in their numbers, pressed us
vigorously, and it was with difficulty we could check their
advance. While hotly engaged skirmishing, I was about
taking possession of a tree, when I beheld a poor woman
at the foot of it, who, being unable to keep up with the
regiment, had sank down exhausted. Poor soul! she
seized my hands, and begged of me to assist her; at the
same moment the enemy’s balls came rapping into the
tree that only partially screened us. I was obliged, however,
to leave her, as there seemed every prospect of most
of us being cut off; the “assembly” sounded, and away
.bn 157.png
.pn 143
we dashed, “devil take the hindmost,” in upon the battalion.
Here our illustrious chief, who was generally to be
found where danger was most apparent, seeing us come
puffing and blowing up to our column, called out to us, in
a cheering voice: “Be cool, my lads; don’t be in a hurry!”
But, in faith, with all possible respect for his Lordship, we
were not in greater haste than the occasion demanded, as
the French were upon us, and we were obliged to dash
down the sides of the hill, where we halted for a moment,
and his Lordship also, and then ford a river. While
engaged in crossing the stream, that was much swollen by
the late rains, a round-shot from the enemy, who were
now peppering away at us, took off the head of a Sergeant
Fotheringham, of our battalion, and smashed the thigh of
another man. On gaining the other side of the stream we
turned to give a salute in return, but owing to the wet our
rifles were unserviceable.

We remained that night stationary on the banks of the
river, exposed to all the delights of cold, hunger, and
fatigue. These feelings were not improved by a course of
shelling that the enemy did us the honour to indulge in at
our expense. But, as I have remarked, the sufferings of
our men were such at this period that many of them considered
death a happy relief. The morning at length
dawned upon our half-famished persons, but brought no
alleviation to our miseries. The rain still continued to
come down in torrents. Pursuing our route, we arrived at
Ciudad Rodrigo, and took shelter under its walls, where
we found some sheds used as stables for the Spanish
cavalry. The moment I entered, the first thing that
caught my eye was some Indian corn-leaves, which I considered
a lucky chance, and instantly throwing myself on
them, wet as I was, soon fell into a sound sleep, the only
rest I had had since we left Salamanca. However, in the
morning when I awoke I found myself in a glow of heat,
and covered with perspiration, and on attempting to rise
found myself as if paralyzed, and could not move. Calling
some of the men to assist, they were astonished at the
steam that emitted from under me like smoke. I then
.bn 158.png
.pn 144
found my bed had been hot horse-dung, slightly covered
by the Indian corn-leaves. The doctor being sent for,
ordered me instantly to be carried into the town, where
with hot baths and a salivation in a few weeks I was able
to join my regiment.



.sp 4
.h2 id=ch18
CHAPTER XVIII.

.in +2
.ti -2
Head-quarters at Grenalda—Don Julian Sanchez, the celebrated Guerilla Chief—Weakness
of our numbers—Incorporation of Spaniards into our regiments—A
thief—Punishment of, and opinion of the men—General orders for a collection
among the men and officers to relieve Russian losses—A ball, in which
thousands were present—Campaign of <target id='date-b'>1813 commenced—The Life Guards and
the Blues join us—The French retreat to Burgos—Secret expedition for bread—Our
surprise—Retreat—General Sir Lowry Cole—His temple spectacles
made use of to reconnoitre—Our escape—A few remarks—Three alternatives—A
cavalry affair on the 18th June—German brotherhood again.
.in

.sp 2
<sc>Towards</sc> the end of November our battalion again
became stationed at its old quarters, in the little village of
<target id='all'>Allamada. We obtained here fresh clothing, certainly not
before it was wanted; green having become by far the
least conspicuous colour in the regiment, while so various
had been the expedients resorted to for obtaining a substitute
for shoes, that the fresh supply from England was
welcomed with no common joy. It was quite amusing to
see how our fellows enjoyed their clothing, strutting about
as proud as peacocks among the Spanish peasant girls, in
whose estimation they doubtless conceived they should be
considerably advanced.

Head-quarters were at Grenalda, some miles distant
from where we lay, and a company of our regiment
occasionally did duty over the Duke, whose quarters were
in the house of the Alcalde. We had strict orders to
admit no one inside the gates leading to the house, unless
some particular despatch from the front, or from Don
Julian Sanchez, the Guerilla chieftain. Indeed, a report
had arisen amongst us, at the time, that his Grace was not
altogether right in his head; but this was mere fiction. I
used to observe him walking through the market-place,
.bn 159.png
.pn 145
leading by the hand a little Spanish girl, some five or six
years old, and humming a short tune or dry whistle, and
occasionally purchasing little sweets, at the child’s request,
from the paysannes of the stalls.

Here, for the first time, I saw Don Julian Sanchez, the
noted Guerilla leader, linked arm in arm with the Duke—an
instance peculiar to the time, of obscure merit rising of
its own impulse to an equality with the greatest man of
the age.

My readers may well suppose I did not slightly notice
the square well-set figure, dark scowl, and flashing
eyes of the Guerilla, whose humble birth-place I afterwards
visited, in a small village between Rodrigo and
Salamanca. I had been informed that he first began his
career as a pig-boy, but owing to some cruelties exercised
on a branch of his family by the French, he took an
inveterate hatred to them, which he exemplified by surprising
and slaughtering two or three of their soldiers,
whom he found asleep in a wood. Accompanied by one or
two others, he continued and increased his sanguinary
feats, and gradually collected a small band, then a body,
and eventually commanded upwards of twenty thousand
Guerillas, well-armed, and equipped with British arms and
accoutrements, and who rendered more assistance to the
cause of the British than all the Spanish troops beside.

Our regiments, by constant collision with the French,
were getting exceedingly thinned, and recruits from
England came but very slowly, until we found it necessary
at last to incorporate some of the Spaniards; for this
purpose several non-commissioned officers and men were
sent into the adjacent villages recruiting. In the course of
a short time, and to our surprise, we were joined by a
sufficient number of Spaniards to give ten or twelve men
to each company in the battalion. But the mystery was
soon unravelled, and by the recruits themselves, who, on
joining, gave us to understand, by a significant twist of the
neck, and a “Carago” (much like the very breaking of
one), that they had but three alternatives to choose from,
to enter either the British, or Don Julian’s service, or be
.bn 160.png
.pn 146
hanged! The despotic sway of Sanchez, and his threat in
the bargain, so disjointed their inclination for the Guerillas,
that they hastily fled their native “woods” and “threshold,”
for fear of really finding themselves noosed up to
them, and gladly joined the British regiments. Many of
them were even made corporals, and, indeed, proved themselves
worthy of their new comrades, whom they rivalled
in every undertaking of courage and determination.[14]

While lying here I will give a short description of our
regiment’s opinion of flogging, not indeed by words, but
by signs, as the following anecdote will show, although the
sound of cats was seldom heard in our battalion; for I can
safely say, that for the six years I served in Spain not
more than six men, to my recollection, were punished in
our battalion, and yet withal I cannot brag of our fellows
being the honestest branch in the British army. At the
time I speak of we had a man in our regiment of the name
of Stratton, who, after robbing several of his comrades of
trifling articles, took it into his head to desert to the
enemy, and was detected in the act, in a wood that leads
from Rodrigo to Salamanca, by the vigilant Guerillas, and
brought back prisoner to our cantonments. He was tried
by a regimental court-martial, and sentenced to receive four
hundred lashes.

After the proceedings of the court-martial were read by
the Adjutant, in a wood near the village where the regiment
was formed for punishment, Major Cameron, who
commanded us at the time, devised the following plan to find
out the true character of the prisoner, for the Major was
not only a brave and gallant soldier, but a shrewd man, and
knew well that the men were better judges of the good or
bad qualities of each other than the officers could possibly
be. He addressed the prisoner as follows:—“Stratton, I
ought to have had you tried by a general court-martial; in
that case you would have been shot; but the high character
the regiment has borne in the army prevents me from
.bn 161.png
.pn 147
having it mentioned in general orders, that a man of the
Rifles could be guilty of the heinous crime of desertion to
the enemy. I am yet willing to show you kindness. Now,
Sir, if the men of the battalion will be answerable for your
future good conduct, I shall pardon you.” Turning round
at the same time, Major Cameron looked the men in the
face while he stood in the square, as if waiting for an
answer.

A pause took place, no answer being given. The Major
said: “Strip, Sir.” He was tied to a tree, and received
twenty-five lashes; the second bugler was preparing to
commence, when the Major again said, “Will you not be
answerable, men, for Stratton’s conduct? Well, then, if
his own company will be answerable for his good behaviour
I shall forgive him.” The prisoner, at these words, looked
round with an imploring eye, as far as his position would
allow him, looking towards his own company, saying, “Do,
men, speak for me, I will not act so in future.” I recollect
it well, each man leaning on the muzzle of his rifle with his
left hand, while his right covered his face, and all silent;
not a man spoke. “Go on,” said the Major; the culprit
received twenty-five lashes more, when the Major again
said, “Now, Sir, if only one man in the regiment will speak
in your behalf, I shall take you down.” Still silent, while
the third bugler commenced: when the prisoner had
received about sixteen lashes, a voice from the square called
out, “Forgive him, Sir!”—“Stop, bugler, stop!” said the
Major; “who was the man that spoke?” “I did, Sir!”
was the answer. “Step into the square;” when a man of
the prisoner’s own company came forward. “Oh! is it
you, Robinson?” said Major Cameron; “I thought as
much; as little-good-for-nothing a fellow as himself; but
take him down.”

When the prisoner was conducted out of the square,
the Major addressed the men, saying: “Your conduct in
the field is well known by the British army; but,” added
the Major, “your moral worth I have not known before;
not a man would speak in that fellow’s behalf, except the
man who did, whom you know as well as I do.” This may
.bn 162.png
.pn 148
serve to show, that however soldiers dislike this mode of
punishment, they still like to see a rascal punished; and
nothing tends to destroy all feeling of pity for his sufferings
more than his having been guilty of an act of
cowardice, or robbing his comrade.

Some months before our present sojourn at Allamada,
Napoleon had made his disastrous campaign in Russia,
when Moscow was burnt. The circumstance was now
brought to our notice by the general order, soliciting a
day’s pay from the officers and men of the army towards
defraying the losses sustained by the Russians. This was
most cheerfully bestowed by every man in our battalion
except two, the above-mentioned Stratton and another
man of the name of Frost; and to crown the occurrence
the day was made one of jollity and fun. Country dances
were struck up by the band, and it was most laughable to
behold, one and all, officers as well as private soldiers
kicking about their heels to the tune of “The Downfall of
Paris.”

Our division had been cantoned in and about Allamada
during the winter, when, soldier-like, ever sighing after a
change of scene, the men of our battalion generally began
to grow tired of their monotonous and inactive life: however,
we received orders for marching. This occurred
about the middle of May, when we commenced the campaign
of 1813, and a spirit of enterprize, notwithstanding
past sufferings, extended itself throughout the light division.
We left Allamada in high spirits. On the third day’s
march our battalion encamped near Salamanca, in a wood,
where we were joined by the Life Guards and Oxford
Blues, that had just come out from England, and whom
we beheld drawn up at the side of the road. Their fresh
and well-fed appearance gave rise to many jests at the
expense of the “householders.” They in fact, as I learnt,
took us at first, from our dark clothing and embrowned
visages, for a foreign regiment.

The first peep we got of the enemy was at a place called
Toro, on the road towards Burgos. There our hussars had
a sharp skirmish, in which they took some prisoners.
.bn 163.png
.pn 149
Continuing our advance, we overtook their rear-guard the
following day. After a little skirmishing and cannonading
they continued their retreat to Burgos. The next morning
we were startled by a tremendous explosion, that at first
induced many of our men to think it an earthquake, until
we ascertained the fact that it arose from the explosion of a
mine, with which the French had destroyed the castle and
some of the works of the town of Burgos.

On the 16th of June we passed through the pretty
little town of Medina del Pomar, and encamped on the
other side of it close to the banks of a large river. On
this march we suffered much from a deficiency of supplies
from the commissariat, as anything like rations we seldom
received. Myself and one or two others, having some few
pence, determined to start off on the sly, as we were not
allowed to move from our camp ground, and purchase
bread at a little village we beheld at the other side of the
river, which we forded unobserved and entered the village.
There, however, the alarm of the people became very great
upon our appearance, and not wishing apparently to have
any dealings with us, they asked an immense price for the
bread. Irritated at this conduct, and urged by hunger,
every man seized a loaf and threw down the usual price in
the country. Seeing that we were all totally unarmed, for
we had not even our side-arms, an immediate outcry was
raised against us by the people, and we had to run for
safety. This we did, carrying the loaves with us, until we
were overtaken by some of the swift-footed peasantry, who
came up to us with knives and clubs. Our lives being
thus in jeopardy for the dearly-obtained bread, our party
instantly had recourse to stones for defence. “Muerte a
los peros Ingleses.” “Kill the English dogs,” was the
general cry of the Spaniards, as they brandished their long
knives. They were evidently about to make a rush in
among us, by which my own personal adventures, and
those of my comrades, would, in all probability, have been
finished on the spot, when several men of the 43rd and
52nd regiments, belonging to our division, came running
up, like ourselves, foraging. It was the turn
.bn 164.png
.pn 150
of the Spaniards now to retreat—which they did in a
hurry.

We had scarcely escaped the attack of the Spaniards
and arrived at the bank of the river, when General Sir
Lowry Cole came galloping up to us with some of the
mounted staff, which indeed might be termed the police of
the army. “Hallo! you plundering rascals of the light
division—halt!” was the General’s command, as he pulled
up his temple spectacles, which he generally wore. One
only resource was left us, and that was to plunge into the
river, which at that part was very deep, and swim across,
holding the bread in our teeth. This we immediately
adopted, when Sir Lowry, in an agitated tone, that did
honour to his heart, called out—“Come back, men, for
God’s sake—you’ll be drowned! Come back, and I’ll not
punish you.” But the General’s fears were needless; we
soon landed on the other side.

On arriving at our camp we found that the roll had been
called over several times, and that we had been set down
“absent without leave;” but we were lucky enough to
escape with a slight reprimand.

I cannot here forbear making a few remarks with reference
to the men who composed our battalion in the
Peninsula. The reader will be apt to imagine, that those
men who were in the habit of foraging after a day’s march,
were but indifferent soldiers. Allow me, with some pretensions
to the name of a veteran, to correct this error, and
inform the reader, that these were the very men whose
bravery and daring in the field far exceeded the merits of
their more quiet comrades in quarters.

Our men, during the war, might be said to have been
composed of three classes. One was zealous and brave to
absolute devotion, but who, apart from their “fighting
duties,” considered some little indulgence as a right; the
other class barely did their duty when under the eye of
their superior; while the third, and I am happy to say,
by far the smallest in number, were skulkers and poltroons—their
excuse was weakness from want of rations; they
would crawl to the rear, and were seldom seen until after
.bn 165.png
.pn 151
a battle had been fought, when they might be observed in
the ranks until the Commissary again placed them on
short allowance, when off they started; in this manner
they swelled the muster-rolls.

But the first of these were the men who placed the Duke
on his present pinnacle as one of the great captains of the
age. During the whole of our advance from the frontiers
of Portugal, until we entered the Pyrenees, not more (on
the average) than one biscuit per day was served out to
each man—and it consequently could not be expected
that a soldier, weighed down by a heavy knapsack, and
from sixty to eighty rounds of ammunition (such as we
Riflemen carried at the time), could march from twenty to
thirty miles a day on so short an allowance.

It was not unfrequent, therefore, after a day’s march to
observe groups of our regiment, and, indeed, of the division,
rooting up the fields with their swords and bayonets,
in search of potatoes, &c., and these were the men who
were able to undergo the fatigue of the next day.

The French, also, in their hurried retreat stocked themselves
with several days’ provisions in advance; these
were hung very temptingly from their knapsacks,[15] and as
it were, in defiance of our hungry jaws; as a consequence,
this gave rise to the well-known remark, or alternatives of
the Light Division: “Damme, boys, if the Commissary
don’t show his front we must either find a potato field, or
have a killing day!”

Indeed, but for these resources, so dependent on our
individual energies, his Grace, from our being always in
front, might have occasionally found half his Light Division
“stiff,” and the other half tucked under the blankets
as “Belem Rangers.”

On the 18th of June (a very memorable day to our
army afterwards) we passed along the banks of a fine river.
Our company, along with but half a troop of German
Hussars, formed the advance. On turning a winding of
the road, we suddenly came within sight of a party of the
.bn 166.png
.pn 152
enemy’s cavalry who formed the tail of their rear-guard.
Our Germans, who were commanded by a very smart
young fellow, immediately charged them. The French,
perceiving the number of our cavalry only equal to their
own, instantly wheeled about and calmly awaited the
attack. A very smart combat soon took place, and was
supported by great resolution for some time on both sides,
but terminated in the flight or capture of the enemy.
Several prisoners were brought in, all of whom were badly
wounded; and scarcely one of our gallant Germans had
escaped without some sabre-wound. Another singular
circumstance occurred at this skirmish. One of the German
cavalry, as he came in with a prisoner and his horse,
exclaimed in broken English, as he came up to us—“Mine
Got! mine Got! he is mine own broder!” It
appeared he had brought in his own brother prisoner,
wounded, who was in the French service. The officers of
both parties had been killed in the preceding charge; and
Lord Wellington, who came up at the time, was so pleased
with our cavalry, that he promised the sergeant a commission,
which a few days after, I was told, he obtained.

The whole of our battalion, which soon came up, was
ordered to push forward. We found the French rear-guard
in possession of a little town called San Milan, in
front of which they had drawn themselves up, apparently
with the intention of defending. As we continued to
advance in extended order, they changed their minds and
turned tail. This day I noticed a novel system many of
the enemy had adopted, of firing their muskets over their
shoulders in their retreat, without turning round to face us.
This resulted, in all probability, from the excessive heat
and fatigue they had endured.
.bn 167.png
.pn 153



.sp 4
.h2 id=ch19
CHAPTER XIX.

.in +2
.ti -2
We encamp near Puebla, on the road to Vittoria—Battle of Vittoria—A man
obliged to hold his jaw—Affair of Bayonets—The 88th—Blanco—Daly—French
defeated—A prisoner rescued—The carriage of Joseph Napoleon—His wife,
&c.—His bâton—A prize—Attempt to rob me—Sergeant Lee—Night scenes
after the battle—The sale of the spoils—I distribute my money for safety—We
march on Salvatierra—Halt at Pampeluna—Another brush wanted—Lesaca—The
enemy on the heights of Santa Barbara dislodged—The French
attempt to relieve Pampeluna—The Bidassoa—The French too late for the
“fare”—We also—A race back by way of “hurry”—The Regiment’s birth-day—Sergeant
Fawfoot’s loss and re-instalment—My treasure—My comrade—His
good faith—Siege and storm of San Sebastian—The four hundred gallant
Frenchmen—Their charge and escape—The 52nd and their badges—Remarks,
&c.
.in

.sp 2
<sc>On</sc> the 20th we remained encamped near Puebla, a town
within ten or twelve miles of Vittoria. On the following
morning we fell in rather earlier than usual, when a general
rumour among the ranks augured we should have a busy
day. We were, indeed, on the eve of the memorable battle
of Vittoria. We marched along the left of the high road
towards the previously mentioned city, leaving Puebla a
little to the right. Our battalion, as the advanced-guard,
preceded by the remainder of the division until we came in
sight of the enemy on the other side of the river Zadora.
We commenced a smart brush with their voltigeurs, who
slowly retreated, and took up a position in the rear of some
rocks, from whence their fire swept a bridge in our immediate
front. While thus occupied in skirmishing, we
heard a loud cheering on our left, where we beheld the
third division charge over a bridge much lower down the
stream. Fired by the sight, we instantly dashed over the
bridge before us in the face of a galling discharge from the
enemy. We then drove them from the rocks, and in our
turn had to sustain a heavy fire from several guns mounted
upon a hill that commanded our position. The rocks were
splintered round us in every direction from this fire, and
many of our men were killed or wounded by shot or fragments
of stone.
.bn 168.png
.pn 154

We were soon joined by the remainder of our division,
and pushed forward up a hill, from the summit of which we
could clearly discern the city of Vittoria. By this time the
action had become pretty hot and general with the other
divisions, as well as our own. The chief scene of conflict
was on an extended plain within a mile or two of the city
on the left. Continuing to advance, we arrived near a
small village on the main road, from which we were
annoyed by a furious fire, until, rushing in, we drove them
out, and captured a howitzer in the market-place, the first
that was taken. We were doomed however, to have it but
a short time in our possession, as a whole regiment of the
enemy came charging upon us, and our force, consisting of
only two companies, had to retreat with precipitation, when,
turning round, however, we beheld our favourite third
division coming double quick down the main road to our
assistance—with Picton, who was never absent in time of
need, at their head.

After retiring for about a hundred yards, this sight
encouraged us, and we were at them again. While thus
engaged, a grape or round-shot struck my pouch with such
violence that I was hurled by the force a distance of several
yards. From the sudden shock I thus experienced, I
imagined myself mortally wounded; but, on being picked
up, I found the only damage I had sustained was the
partial destruction of my pouch, which was nearly torn off.

A man of the name of Hudson, who was one of the
pardoned deserters at Rodrigo, while running to my assistance
as I afterwards learned, was struck by a bullet in his
mouth, which knocked out several of his teeth, and came
out at the back of the ear. From this wound, severe as it
was, he however recovered.

Placing some of the ammunition in my haversack and
the remainder in my cap, we were at them again, and
recaptured the howitzer in the village, by the assistance of
part of the third division.

Still pursuing them, the chief part of my company kept
on the right of the main road. In all my military life,
this sight surpassed anything I ever saw: the two armies
.bn 169.png
.pn 155
hammering at each other, yet apparently with all the coolness
of field-day exercise—so beautifully were they
brought into action.

At this moment I noticed a regiment, which by its
yellow facings I think was the 88th or Connaught Rangers,
marching in close column of companies to attack a French
regiment which was drawn up in line on the verge of a hill
with a small village in its rear.

The 88th, although at the time under a heavy cannonade
from the enemy’s artillery, continued advancing
gallantly onwards, which, we skirmishers perceiving, took
ground to the left close to the road, in order to enable
them to oppose this line in front.

Though hotly engaged at the time, I determined to
watch their movements. The 88th next deployed into
line, advancing all the time towards their opponents,
who seemed to wait very coolly for them. When
they had approached to within three or four hundred
yards, the French poured in a volley or I should say a
running fire from right to left. As soon as the British
regiment had recovered the first shock, and closed their
files on the gap it had made, they commenced advancing
at double time until within fifty yards nearer to the
enemy, when they halted and in turn gave a running fire
from their whole line, and without a moment’s pause
cheered and charged up the hill against them. The French
meanwhile were attempting to reload. But being hard
pressed by the British, who allowed them no time to give a
second volley, came immediately to the right about, making
the best of their way to the village.[16]
.bn 170.png
.pn 156

As I have before observed, we had several Spaniards in
our regiment. These men were generally brave; but one
in particular, named Blanco, was one of the most skilful
and daring skirmishers we had in the battalion. His
great courage, however, was sullied by a love of cruelty
towards the French whom he detested, and never named
but with the most ferocious expressions. In every affair
we had since the advance from Portugal, he was always in
the front; and the only wonder is how he managed to escape
the enemy’s shot, but his singular activity and intelligence
frequently saved him. His hatred to the French
was, I believe, occasioned by his father and brother,
who were peasants, having been murdered by a French
foraging party. On this day he gave many awful proofs
of this feeling by mercilessly stabbing and mangling the
wounded French he came up to. In this massacre he was,
however, stopped by a veteran of our regiment, who,
although suffering from a severe wound in the face, was so
exasperated at the Spaniard’s cruelty, that he knocked
him down with a blow from the butt of his rifle. It was
only by force we could prevent the Spaniard from stabbing
him on the spot.

I now observed the Duke come riding up with some of
his staff; and, seeing the confusion the enemy were in,
cried out to one of his aides-de-camp, “Send up a few of
Ross’s guns; here is work for them:” saying to us at the
same time, “That’s right, my lads; keep up a good fire,”
as he galloped in our rear to the right. In an instant up
came Ross’s guns, and commenced peppering them at the
distance of not more than three hundred yards. Here the
whole seemed blocked together in a mass, while we stuck
to them like leeches.

When we arrived close to the barriers of Vittoria, we
.bn 171.png
.pn 157
found them blocked up by a great portion of the French
waggons, bearing the <i><lang='fr'>matériel</lang></i> of their army. After
passing the gates, we were still engaged through the town
skirmishing with their rear-guard; but, notwithstanding
the street-firing, many of the inhabitants threw open their
windows, and, appearing at their balconies, welcomed us
with <i>vivas</i>, while the ladies, according to the established
mode threw flowers into the streets on us, as we passed
along.

In following up the enemy, a few other men and myself
had left the company a little in the rear. While going
through the square I was fortunate enough to save the life
of a French soldier who had been wounded. He was
endeavouring, poor fellow! to follow in the route of the
French, when observing me coming up, he dropped his
musket, with which he had been assisting himself, and
intimated that he surrendered; a Spanish vagabond,
however, observing him, brandished a club, evidently
intending to give the Frenchman the “<i><lang='fr'>coup de grace</lang></i>,” when
he was knocked down. The poor Frenchman expressed
his gratitude, but we were obliged to leave him, probably
after all to the same fate he had just been rescued from,
unless he fell into the hands of our troops who were
coming up at the time.

A few minutes after this, some of the 10th Hussars and
a party of the Life Guards came dashing through the
town, sword in hand, shouting as if they had taken it by
storm.

When I had passed the gates, and forced my way
through the immense quantity of baggage that blocked up
the further end of the town, and through which the
cavalry could scarcely pass, I beheld a French mounted
officer, sword in hand, escorting a carriage and four out of
the town. My comrade and myself immediately fired,
when the officer fell. At the same moment the carriage
stopped. On rushing up to the vehicle we perceived it
contained two ladies, evidently of high rank. They
seemed much alarmed as the balls kept whisking round
them from both sides. We desired them not to entertain
any fears for their safety, as we would not harm them.
.bn 172.png
.pn 158
While thus engaged an officer of the 10th Hussars came
galloping up, flourishing his sword over his head. Not
knowing his uniform at first, I cocked my rifle, upon
which he exclaimed “I am an English officer, Sir.” Hearing
this, I stepped on one side of the carriage, but in
withdrawing I observed a small but exceedingly heavy
portmanteau that was carried by a Spanish muleteer in
the French service. He was in the act of conveying it
towards the town, and as I thought I contributed more
towards its capture, I made him lay it down—not, indeed,
before I was compelled to give him a few whacks of my
rifle in the ribs. My comrades had gone in another direction,
so that I had no one to claim a portion of my booty,
which on inspection I found to consist of several small
bags filled with gold and silver in doubloons and dollars.
Although I never knew exactly the amount, I should
think it not less than £1000. I afterwards learnt that
the lady in the carriage was no other than the Queen of
Spain, the wife of Joseph Bonaparte.[17] The officer of
hussars, I also heard, obtained possession of the <i><lang='fr'>bâton</lang></i> of
Joseph[18] himself from the same carriage.

My chief anxiety now was how to secure my prize; and,
when all who had an opportunity were employed in
reaping some personal advantages from our victory, I
determined not to be backward, but this was a difficult
thing to accomplish. As I could not well carry the portmanteau
from its weight, I soon found means, taking one
of the many mules that were blocking up the road to bear
the valuable load; but being at a loss how to fasten the
portmanteau, I resorted for aid to a sergeant and two men
of the 10th Hussars, who were passing. For this service
I, perhaps, incautiously rewarded them too liberally, by
giving them several handfuls of dollars. In doing this
they got a glimpse of the gold, half of which they
demanded. Perceiving the probability of being thus
deprived of the only prize I had made after years of hardship
and suffering—and particularly by those new-comers,
as this regiment had newly joined from England, made it
.bn 173.png
.pn 159
still worse—I inwardly resolved to forfeit it but with my
life. So catching up my loaded rifle, which I had leant
against a gun-carriage, I instantly cocked, and, retiring
three or four paces, brought it to my shoulder, swearing I
would shoot the first man dead that placed his hands upon
my treasure. My determined air, and the ferocity of my
appearance—my face being completely covered with perspiration
and gunpowder—induced them to pause, and
finally to desist. Taking the sergeant’s word not to
attempt molesting me, with his assistance I completed
the strapping of my treasure, and departed for the
camp.[19]

I had not proceeded far with the intention of gaining
the battalion, when I observed the Duke of Wellington
forcing his way, with some of his staff, through gun-carriages
and waggons into Vittoria. To my great
relief, however, he took no notice of myself and mule.
In fact, his Grace was too much occupied in securing
the brilliant results of our victory in the capture of the
entire <i><lang='fr'>matériel</lang></i> of the French army which fell into our
hands.

Almost all our men at this time, I must remark, to use
a phrase much in vogue among us, were endeavouring to
see what they could <em>make</em>—in other words <em>take</em>. I reached
our camp, however, in safety.

This night we encamped amidst the wreck of the French
army, every man bringing into his camp ground whatever
he fancied—for the unfortunate enemy were compelled to
leave everything behind them, even to their women and
children—so that, if our fellows were inclined to be honest,
their good fortune would not allow them. The ground
occupied by our regiment was near a small village, a little
off the main road that leads to Pampeluna.

As soon as our fires were lighted, the men, who had
.bn 174.png
.pn 160
been under arms from three o’clock in the morning until
eleven at night, and consequently had not tasted food for
the whole of the day, began to fill their hungry maws
from the luxuries of the French camp. Roast fowls,
hams, mutton, &c. were in abundance, and at midnight the
wine and brandy went round in horn tots which we
generally carried about us. The men mostly lay stretched
on the ground, their feet towards the fires, and elbows
resting on their knapsacks; as soon as the grog began to
rouse up their spirits from the effects of the day’s fatigue,
each one commenced inquiries about their absent comrades,
for Riflemen in action being always extended, seldom know
who falls until the affray is over.

“Blood an ounds,” said Dan Kelly, bouncing up from
his reclining posture; “don’t drink all the wine, boys,
until we hear something about our absent messmates.
Does any of you know where Jack Connor is?”

“He was shot through the body, when we took the
first gun in the little village near the main road,” was the
reply.

“Where is Will John,” asked Bob Roberts, with a
sudden glance of suspense.

“The ball passed through his head,” said another, “I
saw poor Will fall.”

“Musha, boys! is there any hope of poor Jemmy
Copely getting over his wounds?” said Tom Tracy,
earnestly, lifting his head from his knapsack.

“Poor Copely!” replied another; “both his legs were
knocked off by a round shot.”

Tracy laid his head on his kit again, and was silent.
Here each man gave a short account of his fallen comrade.

“Why, by Jasus!” exclaimed Tracy, who had been
eagerly listening all the while, “by Jasus, they have kilt
half our mess. But never mind, boys, fill a tot, fill a tot,
and may I be d——d but here’s luck:” he placed the
wine to his mouth, but took it away untasted, and laid it
on the ground. “Poor Jemmy Copely! poor Jemmy!
they had drilled him well with balls before, damn them,
now they have finished him. The best comrade I ever
had, or ever will have.”
.bn 175.png
.pn 161

The last part of the sentence was uttered in a broken
accent as he wiped his eye, then commenced filling a
wooden pipe, the bowl made from a tailor’s thimble, his
head stooping all the while as if to hide the large drops
that unconsciously rolled over his nose; a short pause
took place among the group until Tracy, recovering himself
a little, took up the tot of wine and drank it off, and,
jumping up at the same moment, with a loud voice, he
called out to all, “Hear me, boys, hear me! hear what I
am going to say.” A deep silence followed. He knelt on
his knapsack, his hands squeezed together in the attitude
of prayer. “May the Lord God,” ejaculated Tracy,
“grant that those fellows in yonder camp remain where
they are until we have the pleasure of thrashing them for
the gap they have this day made in our mess.”

“Amen! amen!” responded a dozen voices, with an
emphasis that would have done credit to a clerk in a
country church, and I am certain with a better inclination
for the desired object.

Tracy laid himself at his length once more, and after
recapitulating their different losses, and the good qualities
of their fallen comrades, but taking care not to mention
any of their bad ones, every man gradually relaxed into a
sleep, from which nothing could arouse him, save the
sound of the bugles, or the hard cracking of the rifle,
which ever brings the soldier on his legs again, ready to
advance or retreat, or as the night closed over the column,
to lament or be lamented, as one of the fallen or absent
messmates.

Those unacquainted with a camp-fire, after a hard-fought
battle, can have little idea of its true sublimity,
while leaning on my rifle, surveying the scene at this
dead hour of night; it impressed me with more awe than
any that I had before witnessed. Here I stood, as it were,
a solitary sentinel in the midst of twenty thousand men,
yet so silent, you might have thought yourself secreted
within the walls of a cloister; while, by the moon, now and
then hiding itself behind a cloud, might be observed the
faint light of the French out-post fires that occasionally
caught the eye like meteors. Again emerging from her
.bn 176.png
.pn 162
mantle, by her clear light might here and there be
seen the dead bodies of French soldiers, not yet interred,
ever distinguished by their large red shoulder-knots.
Turning the eye to my comrades, whose happy repose I
envied, might be seen blood oozing from the furrow
made by a French bullet, while the perforated cap lay
beside its owner. How sweet is the soldier sleep when
such repose is earned by the fatigue of eighteen hours
hard fighting. That gave each man a double relish for
repose, knowing it was his own courage gained the spot
of ground on which he laid. The crackling of the fires
soon ceased for want of fuel, and nothing remained but
the embers; the whole camp was as still as the grave;
nothing to disturb the soldiers’ repose, but the casual
braying of the donkeys, that answered each other from
camp to camp, and gradually died away in the echo of the
distant woods.

I quietly walked round the fires to see that none of the
men’s pouches were near it; but, no—there was each
man with his rifle loaded, and leaning on his arm, close to
his breast, hugged with all the affection a fond lover would
press to his bosom the girl of his heart—this was our
usual custom, as riflemen seldom pile arms; yet with all,
I never knew an accident to occur by the rifles going
off.

The next morning the sale of the spoils, which fell into
our hands, took place in the village, near the camp-ground,
where our battalion lay. The Spaniards were in general
the purchasers, and property late belonging to the French,
such as uniforms, horses, camp-equipage, &c., was sold in
abundance at about one-tenth of its value. Mules worth
thirty or forty dollars brought on an average three. As I
had no means of conveyance for the spoil I had obtained,
I set about depositing it where I thought it would be safe:
three hundred pounds I intrusted to our quarter-master,
and several sums to other officers of the battalion, distributing
nearly the remainder of the silver, to the amount,
I suppose, of about one hundred pounds, among the men
of my own squad, who undertook to carry it for me; very
little of the latter, however, I ever received back. But
.bn 177.png
.pn 163
after all money, as may be imagined, was of very little use
during some of the hardships we afterwards endured, when
I state, that I frequently offered a doubloon for a single
glass of rum, and was not always able to obtain it.

About twelve o’clock we marched in pursuit of the
enemy through the town of Salvatierra, many of our men
gibing me for my wealth, saying, among other agreeable
things, that if I fell they would take care of my knapsack
for me. To tell the truth, I was not now over anxious to
go much to the front, as I began to look upon my life as
of some value.

On our second day’s march we came up with the rear-guard
of the enemy, who made a stand in the road,
assisted by the only gun they had carried from Vittoria.
The first shot fired from this piece took off the arm of one
of our corporals at the socket. But on our dashing at
them they soon abandoned their gun, which we took,
making the first and last piece of ordnance we had captured
from them on this retreat.

We halted a couple of days in a small village opposite
Pampeluna; and, as I considered that our fellows had
contributed towards my greatness in money matters, I
could do no less than treat them to a dinner; but unfortunately,
the place afforded no other luxuries than bacon,
eggs, and wine, for which the inhabitants took care to
charge treble: I paid ten doubloons for three flitches of
bacon, and three pig-skins of wine. This we enjoyed
within the walls of a house that the French had burnt the
roof off on their retreat. There were some excellent toasts
given, such as—“May we have another brush with them
before they get to Paris,” &c. &c.

As nothing of any interest to the reader occurred for
some time, I shall merely say, that we continued in pursuit
of one division of the French army night and day.
During this period the fatigue we underwent was almost
incredible, nor could we have supported it but for the
excellent wine with which that part of the country then
abounded, and which we all had plenty of money to purchase.
After continuing these harassing marches for
several days, we at length chased them into France. We
.bn 178.png
.pn 164
next retraced our steps in some degree to Pampeluna, in
the suburbs of which city we remained a few days, and
from thence we again advanced in the direction of the
Pyrenees, and took up our quarters at the pretty little
town of San Estevan; here we halted some days also. Our
next march was to Lesaca. The enemy had possession of
the heights of Santa Barbara, from whence we dislodged
them after some hard fighting. We remained upon these
mountains for several days, but the enemy making an
endeavour to relieve Pampeluna which some of our troops
were then besieging, a part of our division were ordered to
cross the Bidassoa to frustrate this attempt. This could
only be done by a forced march at night. We were
obliged to have torches and lighted straw to enable us to
find our way over the mountains, which were in most
places rugged and precipitous, and even without the
semblance of a path. The fatigue incident to that night-march,
I think I may say, was greater than any of the
men of our battalions had before endured; and after all,
you could fire a rifle-ball to where we started from.

Accidents were numerous, many of our men had severe
falls, and numbers of rifles were broken. But all our
hurry was of no avail, as the enemy had been already frustrated
in throwing supplies into Pampeluna. We had
again the agreeable task of retracing our steps, with the
same hurry we had advanced. By this addition to the
fatigue we had previously endured, we lost many of our
men who were unable to endure it. There was a sort of
rivalry between the regiments of our division who should
hold out the longest, urged by this feeling many continued
marching until they fell and expired by the road-side. I
myself, on the second day fainted; but, on having my
stock taken off, recovered sufficiently to stagger on and
finish the march.

Descending from the mountains we pursued our march
till we came to the bridge that crosses the Bidassoa, where
we beheld the French moving along on the other side of
the river. The poor fellows, like ourselves, seemed dreadfully
harassed. Part of our battalion commenced firing
upon them across the river, every shot telling as they
.bn 179.png
.pn 165
retreated. To the honour of the British soldiers, however,
I am happy to say, that many of our men knowing the
sufferings of the French from what they had themselves
endured, declined firing, while they called out to the others
to spare them, as it was little better than murder. We
remained encamped here this night, and the next morning
marched back to the heights of Santa Barbara.

As soon as we had arrived on the hill, and were anticipating
a little rest, the assembly sounded, and we were
ordered to drive the enemy from a high mountain which
they occupied on our right. This was a heavy task at the
time; but to it we went, and in extended order mounted
the hill, on the summit of which the enemy were clustered
as thick as bees on a hive. After some very hard fighting
we carried their position, but not before we had lost many
men. While engaged I lost a friend to whom I was much
attached, a sergeant named Kelly. He had just invited
me to take a draught of wine out of his canteen, and was
in the act of handing it to me, when he received a shot
through the right temple that came out at the eye. I
never before saw a man die so hard. He writhed about,
poor fellow, in the greatest agony, without it being in my
power to afford him the slightest relief. Some of our men
raising a shout that the enemy were flying, I was obliged
to leave him for a time. On my return I found him quite
dead. This was a bad day’s work. Another regiment
was left in charge of the hill, and we returned to our
camp ground by the river-side.

On the 25th of August, it being the anniversary on
which the regiment was raised, called among us “The
Regiment’s Birth-day,” a general jollity was kept up
throughout the regiment. On this occasion I have often
reflected with pleasure on having assisted in saving a
gallant soldier from the consequences of a pecuniary loss
he had sustained, and which might have embittered the
remainder of his life. I allude to a pay-sergeant of one of
the companies of our battalion, who, getting rather tipsy,
was robbed while in that state of £31 belonging to his
company—the first money, indeed, that had ever been
intrusted to his hands, having only just been appointed
.bn 180.png
.pn 166
pay-sergeant. The circumstance had so strong an effect
upon him, that on waking me up the following morning
and acquainting me with his loss, he stated to me his
determination of deserting, as his credit would be for ever
destroyed in the regiment, and he could not endure remaining
with the battalion afterwards. Having money by
me, I felt much pleasure in arresting the despair that
seemed to take possession of the mind of a gallant soldier,
and one whom I much esteemed: I enabled him to make
up his losses. Some time after, this very sergeant obtained
a commission in the second battalion of our regiment: this
was the late Quarter-master Robert Fairfoot.

Having by me still a very considerable sum, the remnant
of my prize at Vittoria, I was naturally apprehensive
respecting its safety, particularly as I had no place to keep
it but in my knapsack, which I could not always carry
about with me.

I was consequently obliged to intrust my treasure to the
care of a comrade of the name of Bandle, who, true to his
charge, never gave me reason to repent my confidence.
Many were the stratagems resorted to, to persuade Bandle
to relinquish his guard. Sometimes he would be suddenly
warned for duty by the non-commissioned officers, as
these last assured me “for fun” only, in hopes he would
leave it behind him; but Bandle was always awake, and
on these occasions would take my knapsack on his back
and leave his own. He was wakeful as a weasel, and
faithful as the dog, for both of which qualities I took good
care not to be ungrateful.

San Sebastian was now closely invested by the British,
and eventually, the breaches being considered practicable,
preparations were made for the assault. Volunteers accordingly
were required from our regiment. The duty was
so “attractive” that although two only were to be selected
out of each company, six stepped forward from ours. This
brought on a controversy, and lots were drawn according
to regulation, and decided in favour of two, named Royston
and Ryan.

The reader may judge of the value attached to this
service, when I tell him that the offer of £20 was
.bn 181.png
.pn 167
made and refused for the exchange, thus illustrating the
truth of the great dramatist,

.nf b
“He that is truly delicate to war
Hath no self-love; nor he, that loves himself,
Hath not essentially, but by circumstance,
The name of valour.”
.nf-

The next day the town was to be attacked. Our men
were all on the fidget to know the result, and every tree
and hillock within sight or hearing of the scene was taken
possession of.

At about twelve o’clock, <sc>A. M.</sc>, the breaches were assaulted,
and the place carried after a severe contest.

Three or four hundred French, unable from the great
rains to ford the Bidassoa, charged fiercely upon one of
our companies, and another of the second battalion, then
posted at the bridge of Vera. After a sanguinary struggle
they effected their purpose, and escaped. They were the
remnant of the French troops that had forded the river in
the morning, and whom our Spanish force distinguished
themselves in repulsing. After this we remained quiet for
several days in our camp ground.

It was about this time that those men of the 52nd, who
were fortunate enough to have survived the “forlorn-hope”
of Rodrigo and Badajoz, were distinguished with a
badge of laurel on the right arm. It was given by their
commanding officer as a testimonial of their gallant conduct,
which was expressed by the two letters V. S. or
“valiant stormer” placed beneath the wreath. Why the
men of our battalion and those of the 43rd, who had
equally distinguished themselves on those occasions were
not similarly honoured, I know not.

For my own part, all I ever received in the way of
reward, for my services as a stormer, was the sum of six
dollars. This was after the taking of Badajoz. In the
French service, those men who volunteered in the ranks
of “Les enfants perdus” were always first in the list for
commissions, and were distinguished also by a cross of the
Legion of Honour, which was so respected amongst their
countrymen, that even their comrades were always obliged
to salute him who wore it. How must the heart of
.bn 182.png
.pn 168
those thus distinguished beat at the possession of such a
mark. How different is the case of the British soldier!
This “hope” in his country remains unnoticed, and he
quits its service “equally forlorn” for obscurity without
distinction, save that which points him out with his empty
sleeves, or wooden stump limping his way to Chelsea.
Some, perhaps, may argue that an improvement took place
at Waterloo. That may be, if we allude to those, who on
that occasion, performed their first and last military feat,
and came away unscathed. How “pleasant” then must
it be to the old Peninsulars, whose battles fought and won
outnumber perhaps the men of their company, to see
whole squads of Waterloos strutting about with medals
dangling on jackets which, as their first and last, had
scarcely been on long enough to collect the dust of a
“donkey’s trot.”

In this camp an order also arrived from the Horse
Guards for the appointment of a colour-sergeant in each
company, to be considered as senior or sergeant-major
with an extra sixpence per day. As no badges (the cross
swords) had arrived from England, the deficiency was
supplied by our master-tailor, who formed an imitation
with coloured silks worked on the arms of the men
appointed.



.sp 4
.h2 id=ch20
CHAPTER XX.

.in +2
.ti -2
We encamp on the banks of the Bidassoa—Scenes on the water-edge—A narrow
escape with a lady in question, “Ah, there’s the rub”—Tom Crawley and the
biscuits—Our third battalion carry the heights of Vera—The French camp,
“the last of the French”—The Pyrenees—The mountain father—Up hill and
down dale—The battle of the Nivelle—Manly and Spanish affection—Blanco
again—His gallantry—Tom Crawley—A hug from a granny dear—The last
struggle—Crawley’s departure—A tear for Tom—A reel—St. Jean de Luz—The
French endeavour to make a stand—Colonel Sir Andrew Barnard wounded—Death
messengers fly fast.
.in

.sp 2
<sc>We</sc> remained encamped, for several weeks, close to the
river Bidassoa, Lesaca in our rear, and Vera in our front.
We used to amuse ourselves while here, bathing. This
.bn 183.png
.pn 169
river which divides the French and Spanish territories, we
were on the eve of crossing to go into France. It was
heart-stirring to witness our men, as it were, unconsciously
exposing to liberated Spain the evidence of the dangers
they had endured for her liberation, stripped on its banks,
and prepared to dash into the clear water, the perforated
and wounded exteriors of the Rifles proved what they had
seen and suffered. But the veterans, not thinking thus,
generally amused themselves on these occasions by remarking
and jesting to each other on the peculiar situation of
the different bullet holes, and the direction the shot had
taken in passing through them.

One day I remember nearly losing my life by my own
folly. It was as follows:—We had a very handsome
little Spanish girl attached to one of our sergeants, named
Dillon: she by some means got to the other side of the
river, which was generally occupied by the enemy, crying
bitterly, and begging of the men, that were on our side, to
get her over, as she was afraid to go to a bridge lower
down lest she should be taken by the French. Having a
respect for her, I instantly stripped off all except my
trowsers, and swam across—for here the river was not
wide but deep—and, without a moment’s hesitation, placed
pretty Louisa, for so she was called, on my back, with the
intention, as I thought, of bringing her to our side.
Placing her arms round my neck, I waded as far as I was
able, and then commenced swimming; but I no sooner got
into the deep water than she squeezed me so tight round
the neck that I lost all power, although a good swimmer,
and down I went. At first our fellows thought I was
playing tricks; but on rising and bellowing out for assistance,
they became alarmed, for she stuck to me all the
time like a leech. Several of the men upon seeing me go
down a second time, stripped and jumped in to my assistance;
one of the name of Kelly, of my own company,
diving down, for the place was twelve feet deep, seized her
by her long hair, and brought both to the surface of the
water; and, by the assistance of the rest, dragged us to
land insensible. When I came to myself, I found our
head surgeon, Dr. Burke, with some of our fellows,
.bn 184.png
.pn 170
rubbing me to life again; and, with the assistance of a
little brandy they had poured down our throats, both
recovered. For myself, I was able to walk to my tent in
the course of some time: but not so with the pretty
Louisa, as she was kept wrapped in blankets the whole
day. Poor thing! she remained with the regiment while
in Spain, and afterwards followed us to England; but
what ultimately became of her, I know not.

Here my old friend, Tom Crawley, got the whole of our
regiment out of a precious scrape. It was as follows:—Our
division was served out with linen bags, made exactly
to fit across our knapsacks, and, at the same time, three
days’ biscuit (3 lbs.) in each bag. This biscuit was to be
kept strapped on the top of each man’s knapsack, well
tied, with brigade orders for no man to taste a morsel of
it, unless given out in written orders to that effect, as our
brigadier expected we should be on short commons while
on the Pyrenees, and this was to be, in case of scarcity, our
last resource. These bags were examined regularly every
morning by officers commanding companies, but, while
seen strapped snugly on the knapsacks, were considered
by them all right. However, our fellows, who were never
at a loss for a subterfuge, devised the following plan to
evade the officers’ vigilance: they eat their biscuits except
one whole one, which they kept at top to be seen, and in
their place substituted chips. This passed on very well
for some time, as the sight of the top biscuit satisfied the
officers, until one day Captain Johnson of our regiment
took it into his head to see his company’s biscuit shaken
out, and whilst on private parade ordered them to untie
their bags to see their biscuit. The first man on the
right of his company was the unfortunate Tom Crawley.

“Untie your bag, Crawley,” says the Captain. Tom
instantly did as he was ordered, and showed the Captain a
very good-looking biscuit a-top.

“Shake the whole out,” said the Captain, “until I see
if they are getting mouldy.”

“Oh, faith, there is no fear of that,” said the astonished
Crawley, looking the Captain hard in the face, at the
same time casting a woeful eye on his bag. However, the
.bn 185.png
.pn 171
Captain was not to be baulked, and taking the bag by
both ends, emptied out its contents, which turned out to
be nothing more nor less than a few dry chips. Poor
Tom, as upright as a dart, stood scratching his head,
with a countenance that would make a saint laugh.

“What have you done with your biscuit? have you
eaten it, Sir?” said the Captain. Tom, motionless, made
no answer. “Do you know it is against orders?”

“To be sure I do,” says Tom; “but, for God’s sake,
Sir, do you take me for a South American jackass, that
carries <target id='gold'>gold and eats straw?”[20] This answer not only set
the Captain, but the whole company, in roars of laughter.
On further inspection, the Captain found his whole company,
indeed the regiment, had adopted the same plan.
Through this our bags were taken away, and we relieved
from carrying chips.

About the beginning of October we had an opportunity
of witnessing the gallantry of our third battalion.
Although they had not seen our service in the country,
yet on this occasion they showed themselves “old hands,”
and worthy of their green jackets. They had to dislodge
the enemy, then holding possession of a high hill behind
Vera. This they did in most excellent style, in the sight
of our division and the fourth. Our battalion was not suffered
to remain idle, and we soon joined in pursuit of the
enemy, who took refuge in the valleys of France. On
taking possession of their camp ground we found a whole
range of huts, constructed in the most ingenious manner,
of turf and stone. One of our men came in for rather a
novel prize: this was a large monkey, which we kept in
the regiment for some time. One strange antipathy this
animal was remarkable for, was his utter dislike to the
sight of a woman.

On the morning of the 9th, the day after the preceding
skirmish of Vera heights, we took ground considerably to
the right, marching along the summit of the Pyrenees
until we came to a very high hill, on the top of which
stood the remains of an ancient castle. Our men styled
.bn 186.png
.pn 172
the hill the “father of the Pyrenees,” as it was by far the
highest mountain we had ever seen, and was called La Rhune
by the French, who had possession of it. On our arrival
we had the satisfaction of compelling them, after a smart
skirmish, to evacuate their lofty tenement. Of the difficulty
of this enterprize some notion may be entertained
when it is known that our men had, in most instances, to
crawl up the mountain on their hands and knees, in consequence
of its steepness. The French, fortunately for
them, had a less precipitous side to retreat down, or they
must all have been destroyed.

My curiosity, after this, led me to explore the old building,
in company with one or two comrades. It was
originally the ruin of a very strong fortress or castle, in
which, I subsequently heard, the Spaniards used formerly
to keep state prisoners. After searching about for some
time we discovered a narrow pathway that conducted us to
a cellar or cavern, which, to our surprise, we found
tenanted by an old gentleman with a venerable beard, and
who received us very courteously. He seemed a hermit
from his appearance, but how he managed to maintain his
residence against the dominion of eagles, vultures, and
owls, as well as the occasional jar of contending parties,
was a wonder he did not condescend to explain. The only
gift we could obtain was a little spring water, which, after
our scramble, was refreshing. The splendid view from our
elevated position, however, made ample amends for our
work.

Our battalion at this time was stationed about a mile
below La Rhune, and greatly exposed to the storms of
wind and rain that we experienced at this period, together
with scarcity of provisions. Few of the country people
visited us, so that even those in possession of money found
little or no benefit from it. Meanwhile the French army,
who were encamped about three-quarters of a mile in our
front, we had reason to believe, were more fortunate, as
they were plentifully supplied with provisions. Occasionally,
too, some of our officers were visited by a
supply that was smuggled past the French lines.

A general attack upon the enemy was now daily expected,
.bn 187.png
.pn 173
as Lord Wellington with his staff had been
observed inspecting the enemy’s position with more than
ordinary care for the last two or three mornings. On the
9th of November every disposition having been made for
attack, the following morning ushered in the battle of the
Nivelle. The company I belonged to being this night on
picquet, we had orders on the first dawn of light to attack
and drive in the enemy’s picquet opposed to us; and as
we were preparing for the task, to our surprise we beheld
the whole of our division about a hundred yards in our
rear waiting to support us. As soon as our attack commenced
we could hear the alarm given by at least a
hundred drums and bugles; and as the light dawned more
clearly, we could see the French columns all in motion.
The remainder of our battalion and division coming up, we
were soon hotly engaged, a valley only partially separating
us from the main body of the enemy.

After we had routed them from their first line, and
were getting close to their second, an incident occurred
that fell under my observation, and I may say, of the
greater part of our company. There was a man of the
name of Mauley, a shoemaker, who fell shot through the
head. This man, nearly the whole time we had been in
Spain, lived with a Spanish woman, who was tenderly
attached to him. She always got as near to her lover as
possible during action, generally on a donkey. On this
occasion some of our wounded men passing, informed her
Mauley was killed. The poor girl was almost distracted;
leaving her donkey and stores behind her (for she acted in
some degree as one of the suttlers to our regiment), she
rushed down to the spot where Mauley had fallen. We
were then in the thick of the fight, and our only safety
was cover, as the balls came as thick as hail, so that every
moment I expected to see the poor woman shot. She,
however, seemed callous to every danger: throwing herself
on the blood-stained body of her lover, she commenced
giving way to the most appalling ebullition of grief, tearing
her hair and wringing her hands.

The gallantry of Blanco, the revengeful Spaniard, whom
.bn 188.png
.pn 174
I have previously mentioned at Vittoria, was conspicuous
on this occasion. He had been an intimate friend of
Mauley. Seeing the danger his countrywoman was exposed
to, he rushed boldly from his cover, and placing
himself in front of her, continued loading and firing at the
enemy, loudly swearing all the time such oaths only as a
Spaniard can do justice to. Notwithstanding the real
horrors of the scene, it was impossible to resist the impulse
of laughter at the fierce grimaces and oaths of Blanco,
who escaped as it were almost by a miracle.

A part of our division at this time were endeavouring to
enter the French lines on our right. But the enemy
seemed determined to defend their huts, which they had
doubtless been at considerable trouble to construct, and the
action there was close and sanguinary; part of our battalion
taking them on the right flank, they were eventually
obliged to yield. As soon as we had arrived at the huts,
which they had arranged in most excellent order, and from
which they had reluctantly been compelled to retreat, in
passing along a row of them I heard a scuffle going on in
one, and on entering it I beheld a huge French grenadier,
with red wings, and my old acquaintance Tom Crawley
struggling together on the ground. The Frenchman had
been surprised, but was getting the better of Tom, when
my appearance at once determined the matter, and the
grenadier surrendered.

It appeared from what I could make out that the
Frenchman in his hasty retreat from the hut had forgotten
some of his needfuls, and on his return for them, was met
at the doorway by Tom, who, according to his old custom,
was preparing to explore its interior. Crawley was immediately
attacked by the grenadier with fixed bayonet.
Poor Tom, in his attempt to parry off a thrust, received
the blade through his right hand, and bled profusely. We
did not kill the Frenchman but left him to the mercy of
the Caçadores, who were following close behind us. Tom
went to the rear, and I never saw him afterwards, nor can
I say I have since heard of him. Many an anxious
inquiry was made, many an old scene was revived, and
.bn 189.png
.pn 175
passed current amongst us, and Tom Crawley will live in
our recollections as long as we can enjoy the good company
of a comrade.

The enemy, although retreating, did so in an orderly
manner, keeping up a tolerably brisk fire. I had no
sooner regained the line of skirmishers than I received a
severe hit just about the centre of my waist, that nearly
knocked me down, and for the moment I imagined myself
mortally wounded through the body; however, on my
examining, I found myself only slightly bruised. A ball
had actually stuck in the serpent[21] of my waistbelt, from
whence it was afterwards taken out with difficulty.

After I had recovered from the shock, I joined in the
pursuit of the enemy, who once or twice attempted to
make a stand, but we were close at their heels, so they
thought it better to pursue their way at an accelerated
pace, covered, however, by some battalions of light troops,
who displayed considerable coolness. The French descended
the heights, at the foot of which stands the pretty
little town of St. Jean de Luz, with its white houses.
Our battalion was hotly following, engaged in sharp
skirmishing, when our gallant Colonel, Sir Andrew
Barnard, who was very conspicuous during the day, on a
brown long-tailed horse, received a shot in the breast. On
running up to him, which I did with several other men,
we perceived him spit blood, but he would not dismount.
One of our buglers supported him on his horse, while
another led it to the rear.

Immediately after this occurrence, my attention was
attracted by seeing the 52nd regiment charge up the side
of a hill on our right, and take a fort. Shots are very
strange things, and fly fast: a Sergeant Watts, of the
Rifles, at this moment, received a ball in the head, being
next to him, he laid hold of me with both hands, at the
same time calling out—“Am I dead? Am I dead?”
Poor fellow! he was mortally wounded, and it was with
difficulty I could extricate myself from his deadly grasp.

The French, after a severe loss, made good their retreat
.bn 190.png
.pn 176
across the river that leads to St. Jean de Luz. With our
usual luck we took up our camp on the side of a bleak and
barren hill for the night. After this we got into better
quarters on the other side of the river. This was at a
château called Arcangues. We were as usual in the immediate
front of the enemy, and our outlying sentinels and
theirs were little more than thirty yards apart. While
here, such a good feeling reigned among the French and
our men, that they frequently went into each other’s
picquet houses—terms of intimacy which they extended to
neither the Spanish nor Portuguese troops, for whom they
expressed an unmeasured contempt. But this state of
things at our outposts was too subversive of discipline to
be tolerated by those in command, and of course was only
done upon a reliance of mutual honour on the sly; still it
exhibits a pleasing picture of the absence of all revenge
and prejudice on either side among men of opposing
interests. This feeling, however, could not stay the effusion
of blood that was still to be shed.



.sp 4
.h2 id=ch21
CHAPTER XXI.

.in +2
.ti -2
9th December—Our picquets driven in—We are nearly outflanked—We retire—A
rally under the eye of Wellington—Lieutenant Hopwood and Sergeant
Brotherwood killed—Excellent feeling between the French and English
soldiers—Consequent General Order—Johnny Castles in the advance—Picquet-house—Murder
at Tarbes—Blanco again—Collection made for the widow—Battle
of Toulouse—“Amende Honourable”—We encamp on the banks of the
Garonne—“Fall in”—The Spaniards make a mistake—General Picton rectifies
it—The enemy retreat into Toulouse—They evacuate the town—French
leave—Theatre of Toulouse—“A Rifleman on the look out.”
.in

.sp 2
<sc>On</sc> the 9th of December they drove in the picquets,
which were chiefly furnished from our battalion. The
columns of the enemy came briskly forward with the
apparent intention of driving us from our position. Our
company had been ordered to line some brushwood on the
side of a lane that led from the château, where we received
them with a fierce and deadly fire, as they came on, which
they replied to with spirit, at the same time endeavouring
to outflank our position. In assisting to repel this attempt
.bn 191.png
.pn 177
we came in for a shower of shot, and Lieutenant Hopwood
and Sergeant Brotherwood, with several more of our party,
were killed on the spot. By this time they were getting
round us, and our opponents perceiving how few our
numbers were, comparatively to their own, at once attempted
to close, and fairly obliged us to take to our heels
down a field. From thence we sprang into the lane; in
doing which I remember dropping my cap, where it
remained during the day, until I regained possession of
it on the retreat of the enemy.

At this period Lord Wellington and his staff were
watching our motions through their glasses from the
château, which some one made known. Seeing ourselves
under the eye of the Commander-in-chief, we instantly
rallied. Our third battalion meanwhile were hotly engaged
on our left. They, however, found themselves
unable to make any serious impression, and were not sorry,
I dare say, when night closed upon their baffled columns.
As to ourselves, we had little respite from the fatigues of
the day, as we were busily employed in fortifying the
château for the anticipated attack of the morrow.

On the following morning however, the enemy retreated
within their works, upon which we took possession of our
former ground, where we found the bodies of Lieutenant
Hopwood and of poor Brotherwood, both of which had
been stripped, and covered partially with a little loose
earth.

After this we had a succession of fights or skirmishes
with the enemy for the five or six days following, which is
called the battle of Bayonne, but without eliciting any
particular result. We still kept up an excellent private
feeling on both sides at the outposts. As an instance,
although I must remark a general order had been promulgated
prohibiting all intercourse with the enemy on
pain of death, our company was on picquet near a dwelling
called Garrett’s house, when we clubbed half a dollar each,
and sent a man into the French picquet-house to purchase
brandy. It was, I recollect, Christmas-night. Grindle,
the name of the man who was our messenger, staying
longer than was usual, we became alarmed, and imagining
.bn 192.png
.pn 178
something must have happened to him, sent two other
men in quest of him. These learnt from the nearest French
sentry that Grindle was lying drunk in their picquet-house.
Fearful that the circumstances should come to the knowledge
of Lieutenant Gardiner, the officer of our picquet,
they went and brought Grindle back with them quite
drunk; but just as they were emerging from the French
lines, who should ride down to the front post but Sir
James Kempt, who commanded our division at that time.
He instantly ordered Grindle to be confined; he was so
fortunate as to escape, however, with only a slight punishment.

About the beginning of January, 1814, the enemy were
seen advancing, as we understood, to straighten our lines,
that were in a half circle. With three or four others, I
was ordered to hold possession of a small farm-house that
communicated with some cross roads, and to keep up a
brisk fire until the <i><lang='fr'>assemblée</lang></i> sounded, in which case we
were to retreat upon the company, who occupied a hedge
two hundred yards in our rear. On our right was a high
stone wall, and on our left, in parallel, was a hedge also
that served as a cover for the French who, by this time,
had possession of it. Between was an open field, our only
passage. As soon as the <i><lang='fr'>assemblée</lang></i> was heard, we of course,
were on the alert to retreat, but this was to be accomplished
only at very imminent risk, for the moment we
showed our noses, we were saluted with a regular hailstorm
of bullets, which put us all in rather moody condition. It
was proposed, however, to retire by independent files.

The first to “run the gauntlet” was a tall, gaunt Irishman,
and such a shower whizzed about him as almost
unnerved the rest of us. Johnny Castles, who had figured
at Badajoz with a rope round his neck, and yet had escaped,
was one of the party. He was particularly at a stand-still;
since the “hanging business” he had made up his
mind to live for ever, and had grown fat on it; but his
corpulency now threatened to mark him out.

“Oh, dom your limbs,” growled Johnny, in the true
Caledonian dialect, with an awful grin, “ye are the rascals
to drink and carouse with as ye did yesterday. Eh, look
.bn 193.png
.pn 179
at ’em! dom their eyes, they are sure to hit me!” and
away he bolted, ducking his head, his face half averted all
the way. Johnny, however, was spherical, and puffed and
blowed like a whale, while the French peppered away at
him in prime style, the dust rising from the balls in every
direction. Johnny however, escaped, with a brace of
samples through his knapsack and mess-tin, and rolled
over the hedge.

Taking advantage of the welcome given to Castles,
Gilbert and I, without allowing them to reload, followed,
and as the devil would have it, the pair of us arrived as
safely. There now only remained our comrade Jones, a
good-looking Welshman, who quickly came after us, but
he, poor fellow! was met half-way by a shot.

After all, the enemy never took the house, for by a
reinforcement from the 52nd we beat them back again. I
often laugh at the recollection of Johnny Castles, though I
must say, I funked dreadfully. Like the frogs in the fable,
though death to us, it was sport to the French, who kept
roaring with laughter as we bolted by.

Castles, after this affair, could never be induced to
drink or hold any acquaintance with the enemy.

Having remained some four or five months at Arcangues,
on the 21st of February, 1814, the army broke up
their cantonments, and marched for Toulouse. Our
battalion, standing in need of new clothing, did not march
with the division, but were ordered into St. Jean de Luz,
where we received them. In the course of some time
afterwards we rejoined our division. This was after the
battle of Orthes had been fought, and which our battalion
felt much chagrined in not being present at.

On the 18th of March a circumstance occurred at
Plaisance, near the town of Tarbes, which I cannot help
noticing. A French peasant was shot, under circumstances
that fixed the crime upon some of the men of our
company. Although the greatest endeavours were made to
discover the culprit, and the company punished to make
them give him up, still it was without avail. The facts of
the case were these. Blanco, the Spaniard, accompanied
by one or two of our men, went out this evening in search
.bn 194.png
.pn 180
of wine. They entered the house of a peasant who,
resisting the intrusion, struck Blanco, for which the
Spaniard instantly shot him on the spot. A very handsome
collection was made for the widow and children of
the poor peasant, for whose distress a very sincere sympathy
was entertained by our battalion. Three months
afterwards I was told that Blanco was the perpetrator of
this cruel deed.

The morning we left Plaisance we had a long and dreary
march over a range of hills, until we came to the village of
Tarbes, a short distance beyond which we observed the
enemy in possession of a hill both sides of the road to
Toulouse. We were immediately ordered to commence an
attack upon them. Passing on at the “double,” some
of our regiments of cavalry gave us an encouraging
huzza as we passed up the road. The French had
thrown up strong entrenchments, and were, to use a
nautical phrase, “tier above tier.” I never remember to
have been so warmly engaged as on this occasion, except
at Badajoz. The enemy were in great numbers, our
attacking force few, being only our three battalions of
Rifles which their bullets were fast thinning as we struggled
up the hill: still, although under every disadvantage,
the victors of so many hard fights were not to be repelled,
and the French were obliged to retreat. I was very sorry
this day for striking a poor Frenchman whom I came up
with, as I discovered he was badly wounded; but I made
the <i><lang='fr'>amende honorable</lang></i> by a sup from my canteen, which he
received with grace.

We saw but little of the enemy after this, until we came
within sight of Toulouse, where they seemed determined
on a resolute stand. We took up our cantonments on
this side of the Garonne in the beginning of April. The
aspect of the country here was very agreeable: it abounded
in wine of a rather superior quality to what had hitherto
been served out as our rations. Although the inhabitants,
from Marshal Soult’s orders, had been obliged to fly on
our approach, yet, I am happy to say that our men were
restrained from most of those excesses in the waste and
destruction of property, that had taken place in Portugal
.bn 195.png
.pn 181
and Spain. This was greatly occasioned by the very
excellent general order of Lord Wellington, published
throughout the army at that period, explaining to the
troops that although we were at war with an usurper and
his army, we were not with the inoffensive country-people,
who were subjected by fear.

About twelve o’clock on the night of the 9th of April
we were ordered to fall in. We marched to the side of the
Garonne, which we crossed by means of a pontoon bridge,
and took up our station behind the walls of a château
about a mile from the town. Having had scarcely any
rest the preceding night, most of our men were buried in
profound sleep, when we were suddenly roused by the
most expressive words to the ear of a soldier—“Fall in.”
This was done in an instant, and we were ordered to
advance in double time.

As we proceeded, we heard a heavy firing as if from the
left of the town, and soon after beheld a disorganized mass
of Spanish soldiers flying towards us. At first some of
our fellows took them for the French, and fired among
them, by which some lives were lost. They were a part of
the Spanish force who attempted to carry a French fort or
redoubt, from which the enemy had sent them to the
right-about faster than they had come. We continued to
approach the town, which was protected by a long series
of fortifications, and that appeared full of men. On our
approaching, they opened a running fire from some field-works,
but with little execution, as we were sheltered by
some trees and walls of houses near the place where we
halted. We had not remained in this quiescent state long,
when the thunder of the conflict was heard going on in
full roar on our left: the salvos of artillery, with the
constant cracking of musketry and the rushing sound of
shells, together with the occasional wild “hurra,” formed
a very pretty concert. The scene was still more electrifying
when we found it to be the sixth division engaged in
storming batteries, which the Spaniards had just run from;
they at length carried them, after a hard tug, in glorious
style; General Picton’s division was also conspicuously
engaged on our right, close to the river. The general
.bn 196.png
.pn 182
attack was crowned with the Duke of Wellington’s usual
success: the enemy retreating over the bridges of the
canal of Languedoc into the town of Toulouse, while we
took possession of their outworks.

The French army on the second day evacuated Toulouse,
as the town was completely commanded by the batteries
we had taken. Our battalion was ordered to take possession
of part of the suburbs, near the canal. Although
there was a strict order that no man should be allowed to
go into the town, my curiosity induced me to take “French
leave” to see a place I had heard so much of; so I
managed to elude the vigilance of the sentry. I found
almost all the shops open, and business going on apparently
as if nothing had taken place. Hearing that the theatre
was open, I was induced to pay it a visit: it was very
crowded. One box I perceived very magnificently fitted
up, and surmounted by laurel, and while I was wondering
for whose occupation it was intended, my curiosity was at
once allayed by the arrival of the Duke and his staff, who
were received with loud acclamations. “God save the
King” was played, and all appeared to testify the greatest
pleasure on the occasion but myself. I, indeed, I must
fairly confess, feared that my insignificance would not
conceal me from the glance of the chief or some of his
staff, although wedged into the centre of a dense crowd
in the pit. My dark dress, however, effectually screened
me.



.sp 4
.h2 id=ch22
CHAPTER XXII.

.in +2
.ti -2
We continue to pursue the enemy on their retreat—Halted on the second day—A
carriage brings Soult and peace—French troops disbanded—Friendly intercourse
with our men—Castle Sarazin—Our men prefer the ground for a bed,
in preference to a feather one—The French sergeant—The invitation—Parade—The
dinner—Farewell to the Spaniards and Portuguese—Cupid enlisting
deserters—Poor Blanco—Embarkation for England—The ‘Ville de Paris’—The
sergeant in hope of a wife—Arrival at Portsmouth—The sergeant in search of
a wife—Their meeting and parting.
.in

.sp 2
<sc>A few</sc> days after we had to execute our old manœuvre
of allowing the French no time to rest, as we were put in
motion after them. On the second day as we halted on
.bn 197.png
.pn 183
the Paris road, our men reposing from the fatigue of the
morning’s march, we heard several loud huzzas in our
front. This was followed by the appearance of a carriage
and four horses, which contained a French officer, who we
afterwards understood was Marshal Soult. The carriage
was attended by a detachment of English and French
cavalry; the shouting arose from the tidings that were
joyfully repeated, that peace was proclaimed, and that
Bonaparte had retired to Elba.

We were immediately on this intelligence ordered to the
right-about, and marched back to Toulouse. Before we
had proceeded many miles we were overtaken on the road
by great numbers of French soldiers who had been disbanded,
or had disbanded themselves, and who now
were about returning to their homes, tired enough, no
doubt, like ourselves, of the war they had been engaged so
long in carrying on. The good-feeling testified by many
of these really fine-looking fellows to us was general, the
Frenchmen in many instances sharing the fatigue in carrying
our men’s knapsacks, &c.

.nf b
“As for myself, upon my simple word,
I’d rather see a score of friendly fellows shaking hands,
Than all the world in arms.”
.nf-

From Toulouse we marched, in a few days, to Castle
Sarazin, situated on the right bank of the Garonne,
between the previously-mentioned town and Bordeaux.
Here we came in for most delightful quarters, being
billeted in the houses, where we all had excellent beds.
But it was highly amusing to see our rough, hardy fellows
spurn this latter luxury—which one would have thought
would have been most welcome—with contempt. From
having almost constantly been exposed for the previous
five or six years to have “the earth their rude bed, their
canopy the sky,” with generally a stone for a pillow, our
men could obtain no sleep on beds of down; and it was
actually a fact, that they preferred wrapping a blanket
round them and the hard floor, as a place of rest: so
much for custom.

At Castle Sarazin we used to be on our usual excellent
.bn 198.png
.pn 184
terms with the French quartered in the neighbourhood,
and to while away the time had constant matches with
them in running, jumping, and gymnastic exercises. I got
acquainted here with a very smart fellow—a French
sergeant belonging to the 43rd regiment. A friendship
was cemented between us, naturally enough, by our both
being free-masons.

One day we were sitting in a wine-house, when the
subject of fencing—a science at which the French prize
themselves in excelling—was started. My friend, the
sergeant, was observing he was a tolerable hand with the
foil, when a short lump of a fellow, who proved to be the
fencing-master of the town, overhearing him, immediately
challenged him to a trial of skill. This the sergeant in an
instant accepted, and the sport, at which he showed himself
a perfect adept, at the fencing-master’s cost, was
carried on with perfect good-humour, until a fierce dispute
arose about a hit, when it was mutually agreed to determine
the controversy with points. A pair of foils with
sharpened points, kept for this particular service were
immediately produced, while the by-standers instantly
commenced betting upon the combatants with all the <i><lang='fr'>sang
froid</lang></i> in the world. Both had taken off their coats and
bared their right arms for the strife, when—I am sorry to
disappoint the reader, who may expect an account of a
duel—our guard, which some good-natured soul had
privately summoned, came in and put an end to the affair,
greatly to the chagrin of the sergeant, who swore he would
have killed the professor on the spot.

That same evening the sergeant, whose name, in the
lapse of years, I have forgotten, went to our Colonel and
obtained leave for me to visit him at Montauban, where
his regiment, the 43rd, was quartered. He had invited a
corporal, myself, and another, to a dinner given by the
non-commissioned officers of his regiment. On the day
appointed away we started, Gilbert, the corporal, and
myself. I shall never forget it. It was a fine morning.
After crossing the Garonne in open boats, for the bridge
had been destroyed previous to the battle of Toulouse, we
entered Montauban, and found the 43rd and two other
.bn 199.png
.pn 185
regiments forming a brigade, drawn up on parade in the
square of the town, and two splendid bands playing in
front.

As we went in search of our friend we had to pass
down the front of two of the French regiments, which we
did, saluting, soldier-like, their officers. The latter returned
our salute in the manner for which they are so
justly remarked, and made us feel not a little proud of
their courtesy. Our uniforms were almost new, and fitted
us well. My two comrades had the advantage of being
tall, and exceedingly smart-looking fellows; for myself, I
was fat as a butt, and as strong as I looked. We moved
along the line, until we fell in with the sergeant, who,
starting out of the ranks, gave us a hearty welcome. We
waited beside him while the band played some favourite
airs, until the regiments were dismissed. But they had
scarcely broken their ranks when their officers crowded
around us, and severally shook us by the hand, giving us
also sundry smacks on the shoulders, with “Bravos les
Anglais, soyez les bien venus,” &c. The sergeant escorted
us immediately to his quarters. The dining-room was a
splendid one, and fitted up beautifully. The tables
groaned under every delicacy of the season, and we did
not forget, even here, to do “justice” to the acknowledged
“merits” of John Bull in all matters of this “nature.”

Much good feeling and conviviality followed; and
encomiums and compliments were passed on the English;
all went on very well until singing was introduced with the
removal of the cloth. It had been agreed among the
French that no song should be sung that reflected upon
our country. Several famous songs, so far as we could
understand, were introduced. Our sergeant gave us an
excellent specimen; and Gilbert and myself joined also in
our own rough manner. But a French corporal, under
the influence of wine, commenced a “Chanson de guerre,”
rather contre les Anglais, for which, with a very proper
feeling, he was by general consent kicked down stairs.
The guests, however, resumed their seats, and all went on
as quietly as before; here we remained enjoying ourselves
till three the next morning, when we were accompanied to
.bn 200.png
.pn 186
the boats by a number of their band, playing “Patrick’s
Day,” as they escorted us down to the river-side.

The foregoing anecdote, trivial and uninteresting as it
may seem, still serves to show, in a pleasing point of view,
the hospitality and kind feelings of the French, who have
always claimed our highest respect.

In a few days we received an order to proceed to
Bordeaux, to embark for England. The delightful emotions
of pleasure this generally induced throughout our
men, after all their hardships and sufferings, may be better
imagined than described. The second day’s march we
stopped at a village, the name of which I forget, where we
had to part from our allies, the Spanish and Portuguese.
Much, and even deep feelings of regret, were particularly
felt by the men of our battalion on parting from the
Spaniards, who had been for so long a period incorporated
in our ranks. They had been distinguished for their
gallantry, and although sixteen had been drafted into our
company, but five had survived to bid us farewell. Poor
fellows, they had grown attached to the battalion, and expressed
much grief on leaving! Even Blanco, the
sanguinary Blanco, actually shed tears. Notwithstanding
the wretched and ineffective state of the Spanish armies
during the campaigns in the Peninsula, I am convinced,
and have indeed become more so from subsequent experience,
that there is right stuff in the men to make
excellent soldiers, far superior to the Portuguese.

Many men of our regiment, bound by the charms of
the Signorettas, who had followed their fortunes throughout
the war, took this opportunity to desert their country’s
cause, to take up that of their Dulcineas. Among others
were two of my own company, who, not contented with the
“arms” offered by these “invincibles” took rifles and
all with them, and we never saw or heard of them after.

We embarked in high spirits at Bordeaux, for Portsmouth,
on board the ‘Ville de Paris,’ Captain Jones, commander.
She was a splendid ship, and astonished us all
with the size and regularity of her crew. The sailors,
who seldom like a red coat, went hand in hand with us
green jackets, and were a jolly set of fellows.
.bn 201.png
.pn 187

We had in our regiment, at this time, now on board
with us, and on his way to England, a sergeant of the
name of S——n, (which must be a sufficient explanation
to the reader, as he is, I understand, now living, and in
London), a fine, smart-looking fellow, about six feet in
height. He had been with us during the whole of the
Peninsular campaign, and was one of those who, after the
battle of Corunna, had remained in Spain. He was now
on his passage homeward to his wife, to whom he had
been married for ten or eleven years, and whom, some
months after the wedding, he was obliged to leave with
her friends at Portsmouth to rejoin his regiment, then going
abroad; by some unaccountable circumstances, incidental
to long campaigns, he never had received any tidings of or
from her; and he consequently was now very uncertain
as to where he should find her, or whether she were living
or dead.

On the 22nd July, 1814, we anchored at Spithead, the
sailors cheering us and manning the yards as we went
ashore. As soon, however, as we landed at our destination,
he requested of me to assist him in his search. After
tramping up and down and around Portsmouth, in vain,
we at last made a stand in High Street—indeed he was
growing almost desperate with disappointment—and here
he made random inquiries of every person he met. This
eventually drew a crowd of women of all ages about him
but not one could answer his inquiry. He was on the
point of giving it up altogether, when an old woman on
crutches, from the rear of the crowd, casting a very
shrewd keen look at him, asked him to repeat the name,
“Mary S——n,” shouted my friend. “Ah!” exclaimed
the hag, rather musingly, “if you will just inquire at
No.—, near the Post-office, at the back of the street, you
will, I think, find the party you require,” casting up her
eye as she finished her directions. Away we hurried,
some five or six women straggling after us, and in a few
minutes found ourselves at the door of a small neat-built
cottage. After knocking—every moment seemed an hour
to my poor friend, until the door was opened—a pretty-looking
.bn 202.png
.pn 188
little girl, of about ten years of age, inquired his
errand.

“Does Mrs. S——n,” asked the sergeant, and paused
to look at the child, “does Mary S——n live here?”
“Yes,” said the little girl, starting with surprise, “that’s
my name.”

“Right,” exclaimed the sergeant, clasping the astonished
little one in his arms, and dashing into a side room well
sprinkled with children. “Where, where’s your mother?”
The words were scarcely uttered, than a shrill shriek was
heard from the inner apartment, and at the same moment
the mother rushed before us, and gazing on him fell instantly
into a fit of hysterics. My poor friend looked
perplexed; his features alternately changing from doubts
to fears, with uncertain satisfaction. The little one was in
an instant out of the house, and returned in a short time,
leading in a square, well-made, good-looking man, in appearance
a carpenter.

The facts were stubbornly plain to every one. The
children, the comfortable, respectable air of the place,
were too plain; and the two husbands now stood within
range of each other, with nostrils dilated in agony, and
hands clenched, awaiting an expected onset. I think I
never saw two better models of manhood in its prime,
wrought up to melancholy and indescribable excitement.
The two men, as it were, dug their eyes into each other,
and then on the shrieking woman, who in recovering a
little clung, as if for refuge, to the carpenter.

My poor comrade, hitherto on the rack of suspense,
now suddenly drew breath, and taking a skipping-rope
which his daughter held in her hand, threw it lightly over
his wife’s neck. “Now,” said he, in a somewhat collected
tone, “Now, Mr. Carpenter, as it appears that
Mary, who <em>was</em> my wife, has decided on her choice, suppose
we have a bargain on the matter? It’s no use our
skirmishing about in this manner any longer; (and I have
no doubt of your abilities,”) pointing to the children, who
crowded round the parents and opposite the sergeant.
“With Mary’s consent, as she seems to prefer your manner
.bn 203.png
.pn 189
of doing business, suppose you clinch the bargain with a
sixpence, and take her to you altogether?” The money
was handed out in a moment, and as quickly passed between
the sergeant’s teeth, while he employed both hands
to withdraw his sash aside, and taking from his pocket a
guinea, which throwing into his only daughter’s lap, left
the scene, closed the door, and hurried into a small public-house
across the street.

“Come, landlord, a pot of your sixpenny,” throwing
down the ill-fated bit of silver, “and take that for your
settlement; and Ned,” said he, turning to me, “call for
your likings.” He grasped the vessel as the landlord
handed it, and swallowed the whole at a draught, like a
man who had thirsted for a week; smacked his lips, in
conclusion of the barter, cast two or three glances up and
down his person, then rubbing his hands smartly together,
strutted up the street as if nothing whatever had annoyed
him.



.sp 4
.h2 id=ch23
CHAPTER XXIII.

.in +2
.ti -2
Quartered in Dover—Receive our new clothing, &c.—May, 1815—Receive orders
to embark for Ostend—We arrive safe—Bruges—Ghent—Brussels—15th of
June—Belong to the fifth division under General Picton—Descend the wood of
Soignies to Waterloo—Duke of Wellington arrives from Brussels—Battle of
Waterloo—I receive a wound in my right hand, shatters one of my fingers—Return
to Brussels—The pretty house-keeper—The child—Its dead mother—Genappe—Scenes
on the road to Brussels—Arrival at Brussels—Numbers of
wounded in the streets—Kindness and attention of the Brussels’ ladies—The
fair surgeon.
.in

.sp 2
<sc>Safely</sc> returned to England, and quartered in Dover
barracks, our men soon forgot the fatigues of the Peninsular
campaigns; and being joined by a batch of recruits,
and supplied with new clothing, the old soldiers once more
panted for fresh exploits; for their souls were strong
for war, and peace became irksome to them—nor were
they long disappointed. In the beginning of May, 1815,
we received orders to embark at Dover for Ostend, where
we arrived safe; from thence we proceeded through
Bruges to Ghent in open boats by the canal: here we
.bn 204.png
.pn 190
halted a few days, and then marched to Brussels, where
we remained several weeks, not even dreaming an enemy
was near us.

On the 15th of June, as I retired to bed, at the hour of
eleven o’clock at night, I heard bugles sounding and drums
beating through different parts of the city. Equipping
myself as quickly as possible, and entering the market-place,
I found the whole of our division assembling. I
then belonged to the fifth division, under the command of
General Sir Thomas Picton. Being orderly non-commissioned
officer of the company at the time, I received
orders to draw three days’ rations for the men, the chief
part of this was left behind, as none but old soldiers knew
its value, or felt inclined to take part with them; some of
the men, however, cursed their hard fate for not taking
away a portion. All things arranged, we passed the gates
of Brussels, and descended the wood of Soignies, that leads
to the little village of Waterloo. It was the 16th—a
beautiful summer morning—the sun slowly rising above
the horizon and peeping through the trees, while our men
were as merry as crickets, laughing and joking with each
other, and at times pondered in their minds what all this
fuss, as they called it, could be about; for even the old
soldiers could not believe the enemy were so near. We
halted at the verge of the wood, on the left of the road,
behind the village of Waterloo, where we remained for
some hours; the recruits lay down to sleep, while the old
soldiers commenced cooking. I could not help noticing
while we remained here, the birds in full chorus, straining
their little throats as if to arouse the spirits of the men to
fresh vigour for the bloody conflict they were about to
engage in. Alas! how many of our brave companions, ere
that sun set, were no more! About nine o’clock, the Duke
of Wellington with his staff, came riding from Brussels
and passed us to the front; shortly afterwards, orders
were given to the Rifles to fall in and form the advanced-guard
of our division, and follow. We moved on through
the village of Waterloo, and had not proceeded far, when,
for the first time, we heard distant cannon; it was, I believe,
the Prussians engaged on our extreme left.
.bn 205.png
.pn 191

About three o’clock in the afternoon we arrived at four
roads; at this time there was a smart firing going on in
our front; this, I believe, was caused by some Belgians
playing at long shot with the enemy. Here I again saw
the Duke of Wellington looking through his glass, as we
halted a few moments; this was at Quatre Bras, and immediate
orders were given by one of the Duke’s staff to
occupy a clump of trees a little on our left; our company
were ordered to take possession of it. While performing
this task I could see the enemy emerging from a wood
about a mile on our right, which was rather on a hill, with
a clear plain between us. We had scarcely taken possession
of the wood, when, for the first time, I beheld a
French cuirassier or vidette. He was in an instant fired
at by our men and his horse shot under him; he disengaged
himself from the stirrups as the horse was falling,
waving his sword over his head to put us at defiance, but
he was immediately dropped by another rifle-shot. I
think I can venture to assert that our company was the
first of the British army who pulled a trigger at this celebrated
battle.

The enemy’s light troops, I could soon perceive, in extended
order, and in great force coming down to oppose us.
This caused a corresponding movement on our part, and
we were ordered to take ground to our left, passing close
to a pond of water, the main road separating us from the
enemy. While executing this the French commenced a
very brisk fire on us, until we gained possession of a few
houses on the main road on a rising ground, which two
companies of our Rifles instantly occupied. The remainder
of our division was now enveloped in one blaze of fire on
the plain before mentioned. But we remained very quietly
where we were, until the French bringing up some artillery,
began riddling the house with round-shot. Feeling rather
thirsty, I had asked a young woman in the place for a
little water, which she was handing to me, when a ball
passed through the building, knocking the dust about our
ears: strange to say, the girl appeared less alarmed than
myself.

Fearing that we might be surrounded, we were at length
.bn 206.png
.pn 192
obliged to leave the building, in doing which we were
fiercely attacked by a number of French voltigeurs, who
forced us to extend along a lane, from whence we as smartly
retaliated, and a galling fire was kept up for some time on
both sides.

It is remarkable that recruits in action are generally
more unfortunate than the old soldiers. We had many
fine fellows, who joined us on the eve of our leaving
England, who were killed here. The reason of this is, that
an old rifleman will seek shelter, if there be any near his
post, while the inexperienced recruit appears as if petrified
to the spot by the whizzing balls, and unnecessarily exposes
himself to the enemy’s fire.

Being hard pressed by superior numbers, we were at
length joined by a number of Belgians, and received orders
to advance, which we did, driving the enemy through the
skirts of a wood, and passing a field of rye, which obstructed
them from our view. As soon, however, as we
emerged from the wood, a regiment of French infantry on
our right received us with a running fire. I was in the act
of taking aim at some of our opposing skirmishers, when a
ball struck my trigger finger, tearing it off, and turning
the trigger aside; while a second shot passed through the
mess-tin on my knapsack. Several of our men were killed
by this volley, and Lieutenant Gardiner, a worthy little
officer of the company, was severely wounded in the lower
part of the leg. We wounded men made the best of our
way to the rear; and on my return to the house at the
corner of the lane, I found the pretty Belgian still in possession,
looking out of the window, and seemingly quite
unconcerned, although a dozen shots had perforated the
house: all our entreaties for her to leave were in vain, as
her father, she said, had desired her to take care of the
place until he returned from Brussels.

The dusk of the evening soon set in, myself and numbers
of others disabled, took up our quarters for the night in
another farm-house lower down, and some distance from
the main road.

The house became soon thronged with the wounded of
our division, who were momentarily brought in, until the
.bn 207.png
.pn 193
out-houses, courtlages, &c., were literally crammed. All
the straw and hay that could be obtained was procured, of
which, fortunately, there was plenty, and strewed everywhere
to lay the men on. To sleep was impossible with
the anguish of my shattered hand and the groans of my
fellow-sufferers. The dawn came on before we were aware of
it, and ere it was light, our advanced sentries were again
in continual skirmish along the whole line; indeed, the
balls kept patting through the doors and windows as we
lay there. Such as were able to walk soon started for
Brussels; but several of the severely wounded were
obliged to be left behind for want of conveyances.

We had not proceeded far towards the main road along
a pathway partially protected by a hedge from the enemy’s
fire, when one of my companions heard the cries of a child
on the other side; on looking over he espied a fine boy,
about two or three years of age, by the side of its dead
mother, who was still bleeding copiously from a wound in
the head, occasioned, most likely, by a random shot from
the enemy. We carried the motherless, and perhaps,
orphan child, by turns, to Genappe, where we found a
number of women of our division, one of whom recognised
the little fellow, I think she said, as belonging to a soldier
of the First Royals.

Genappe, also, was literally crowded with the wounded,
who were conveyed with every possible dispatch to
Brussels. Feeling most anxious to know the fate of our
regiment, I stood on a hedgerow, on the skirts of the
village, when I descried the division retreating towards us,
the rain at the time coming down in torrents. I remained
until some of the regiments entered the village, together
with many of our wounded, who gave me information that
our regiment, with the cavalry, formed the rear-guard. I
now retraced my steps the same road I had advanced, and
once more arrived at the little village of Waterloo, which
many of our men never saw again, as our battalion lost
more on the 16th than on the 18th of June. Here I
stopped for the night. The cries of the wounded on their
way, in cart-loads, to Brussels, were most distressing, and
.bn 208.png
.pn 194
many carts broke down through being overloaded, and
through their haste to get forward.

It is curious to observe the confusion and uproar that
generally exists in the rear of an army in battle, while all in
front is order and regularity. Many people imagine the
reverse. This, however, is generally to be imputed to the
soldiers’ wives and camp followers of all descriptions, who
crowd in great numbers, making inquiries after their husbands,
friends, &c., for whom they generally are prepared
with liquors, and other refreshments. I had no such ties,
save my comrades, who now were too busily occupied
watching their enemies, and with their own personal considerations,
to have either time or opportunity to inquire
after mine. The crowds of carts, horses, &c., which thickly
thronged the roadway, were greeted on all sides by anxious
faces and earnest inquiries. But now and then as one of
the vehicles hurried along, a burst of laughter hailed it,
and indeed, it seemed to bear a load of a more enlivening
nature than that which characterized the others. My
sound legs, for my arm only was wounded, and hung suspended
in a sling, enabled me to approach the cart, and
scrutinise its contents. My surprise was soon dissipated,
and wounds almost forgotten, in the merry features of my
old friend, Josh Hetherington, who, having received a flesh
wound in the leg, was now being borne to the hospital with
other fellow-sufferers.

Josh, like myself, had no ties—no one to bring him
brandy, &c.; but wider awake, and better acquainted with
the world, in the bustle of a dark night, he had laid himself
at his length on the inside of a cart, and there awaited
the current of fortune.

One or two women in search of their husbands he particularly
knew, and knowing also their spouses, he replied to
their inquiries in as exact an imitation of their voices, as
one could reasonably give a man credit for. The result
was, that the bottle was instantly handed into his hiding-place.
Josh took sundry deep gulps, while the duped
woman continued anxiously walking by the side of the
wheels, wishing to heaven that the daylight, or some other
.bn 209.png
.pn 195
light, would enable her to enjoy the sight of her better half.
The <i><lang='fr'>dénouement</lang></i> of the cheat came with the return of the
empty flask, and a sincere hope from Josh that her husband
would find enough liquor left—and not be wounded at all—at
all.

The disappointment and rage of the woman only gave
rise to a burst of merriment, in which the wounded men
joined heartily, and the circumstance travelled forward,
among her companions, and accompanied the cart the
whole of the way to Brussels.

The next morning I proceeded slowly onward, for my
wound, as yet, had not been dressed. I could not help
remarking on my way through the woods, droves of Belgians,
and even English, with fires lighted, busily cooking,
having left their comrades in contest with the enemy, and
apparently nothing the matter with them.

On my arrival at Brussels, and going to my quarters, I
found it so crowded with Belgian officers and men (some
of them quite free from wounds), that I could get no
reception. It was about six o’clock in the evening of the
18th. I was entering the large square, and gazing on some
hundreds of wounded men who were there stretched out on
straw, when an alarm was given that the French were
entering the city; in a moment all was in an uproar; the
inhabitants running in all directions, closing their doors,
and some Belgian troops in the square, in great confusion;
loading my rifle, I joined a party of the 81st regiment who
remained on duty here during the action. The alarm,
however, was occasioned by the appearance of about 1700
or 1800 French prisoners, under escort of some of our
dragoons.

The panic over, I partook of a little bread and wine, and
lay down for the night on some straw in the square; and
in spite of the confusion and uproar, occasioned by the
continual arrival of waggons loaded with wounded men, I
slept soundly. In the morning the scene surpassed all
imagination, and baffles description: thousands of wounded
French, Belgians, Prussians and English; carts, waggons,
and every other attainable vehicle, were continually arriving
heaped with sufferers. The wounded were laid, friends
.bn 210.png
.pn 196
and foes indiscriminately, on straw, with avenues between
them, in every part of the city, and nearly destitute of
surgical attendance. The humane and indefatigable exertions
of the fair ladies of Brussels, however, greatly made
up for this deficiency; numbers were busily employed—some
strapping and bandaging wounds, others serving out
tea, coffee, soups, and other soothing nourishments; while
many occupied themselves stripping the sufferers of their
gory and saturated garments, and dressing them in clean
shirts, and other habiliments; indeed, altogether careless of
fashionable scruples, many of the fairest and wealthiest of
the ladies of that city, now ventured to assert their pre-eminence
on the occasion. It was enough that their
ordained companions were in need, to call forth the sympathies
that ever must bind the sexes to mutual dependance.

One lady I noticed particularly, she was attended by a
servant bearing on his shoulder a kind of pannier, containing
warm and cold refreshments: her age I guessed about
eighteen, and the peculiarity of the moment made her
appear beyond the common order of humanity. She moved
along with an eye of lightning, glancing about for those
whom she thought most in need of her assistance. A tall
Highlander lay near her as she hurried along, and drew
her attention with a deep groan, arising from the anguish
of a severe wound in the thick part of the thigh. The soldier
fixed his eye with surprise on her, as in a twinkling she
knelt at his side, and gently moving aside his blood-stained
kilt, commenced washing the wounded part; the Scotchman
seemed uneasy at her importunity. But with the
sweetest voice imaginable, she addressed him in English,
with, “Me no ashamed of you—indeed, I will not hurt
you!” and the wounded man, ere he could recover his
rough serenity, found his wound bandaged, and at ease,
under the operations of his fair attendant. Such acts as
these must ever draw forth our admiration.
.bn 211.png
.pn 197



.sp 4
.h2 id=ch24
CHAPTER XXIV.

.in +2
.ti -2
Brussels’ hospitals—The British and French soldiers under amputation—I lose
my finger—Another loss also—I leave the hospital and am removed to the
Provost Guard—The Belgian marauders bared to the skin—The point of
honour—Sensation produced on their comrades—The Belgian regiment under
arms—Guard-house surrounded—Narrow escape—Removal of the Belgians—Assassination
of a French Count by a Cossack officer—Medals sent from
England—Consequent dissensions—Poor Wheatley—Quarters at Mouvres—Augustine—An
old acquaintance—A rival—Augustine leaves her father’s house—Pursued—Her
father’s despair—Removal to Cambray—The regiment receives
orders to embark for England—We part.
.in

.sp 2
<sc>I remained</sc> in Brussels three days, and had ample
means here, as in several other places, such as Salamanca,
&c., for witnessing the cutting off legs and arms.
The French I have ever found to be brave, yet I cannot
say they will undergo a surgical operation with the cool,
unflinching spirit of a British soldier. An incident which
here came under my notice, may in some measure show
the difference of the two nations. An English soldier
belonging to, if I recollect rightly, the 1st Royal Dragoons,
evidently an old weather-beaten warfarer, while
undergoing the amputation of an arm below the elbow,
held the injured limb with his other hand without betraying
the slightest emotion, save occasionally helping out his
pain by spirting forth the proceeds of a large plug of
tobacco, which he chewed most unmercifully while under
the operation. Near to him was a Frenchman, bellowing
lustily, while a surgeon was probing for a ball near the
shoulder. This seemed to annoy the Englishman more
than anything else, and so much so, that as soon as his
arm was amputated, he struck the Frenchman a smart blow
across the breech with the severed limb, holding it at the
wrist, saying, “Here, take that, and stuff it down your
throat, and stop your damned bellowing!”

The accommodation at Brussels not being sufficient for
the wounded, it was found expedient to have many of them
conveyed to Antwerp, myself among the rest; and the
entire of the 81st regiment were employed conveying the
men on stretchers to the boat on the canal, communicating
.bn 212.png
.pn 198
between the two cities; there I had my wound attended
to, and my shattered finger taken off at the socket. A
singular case of loss of limb here fell under my notice:
a young fellow, a German, one of the drivers to the German
artillery, had lost both his legs by a round-shot, which
passing through the horse’s belly, had carried away both
limbs; while on the ground in this mangled state, he
received a dreadful gash in one of his arms, from a French
cuirassier, and a ball in the other; through these he was
also obliged to undergo the amputation of both arms, one
below the elbow and the other above; here the unfortunate
youth (for he was not more than nineteen), lay a
branchless trunk, and up to the moment I left, though
numbers died from lesser wounds, survived. At first the
latter were so numerous that it became a matter of surprise
to even the doctors, who at length discovered that
the water, which the patients were in the habit of washing
their wounds with, was brought from a spa, which in some
instances, had the effect of poisoning the flesh.[22] In the
course of a few weeks, however, I was sufficiently recovered
to rejoin my regiment, at Clichy camp, near Paris.

Shortly after my arrival I was ordered on the Provost
Guard, which my readers will better understand, is a kind
of military police. We were under the command of the
Provost Marshal, named Stanway, whose instructions were
to take all whom he found marauding about the gardens
in the neighbourhood of Paris, and to march them down
to his guard-house for punishment.

The Provost was a keen fellow, and sometimes would
pounce on as many as eighteen or twenty in the course of
a morning; these were immediately flogged, according to
the amount of their offence, or the resistance they made,
and instantly liberated.

The depredations, however, became so universal, that
the inhabitants of Paris complained to the generals of
divisions, and we, in consequence, received orders to
keep a stricter look out, and take into custody and flog
.bn 213.png
.pn 199
every man we caught in the act of plunder. Our guard-house
consequently was daily filled by soldiers of every
uniform, indeed, ours may be said to have been a true
Owenite Guard, for we made no objection to “sect,
country, class, or colour,” as we served them all “alike.”

We had a deal of trouble with the Belgians especially.
These fellows would go forth in sections, and lay everything
waste before them. This was not for want, as they
were well supplied with regular rations daily from Paris,
which we were aware of. As soon as they perceived the
guard hemming them in on all sides, they would invariably
salute us with brickbats, stones, and sometimes even make
a regular attack. But Stanway seldom let any escape
him.

One morning we brought in sixteen of them, and the
Provost, as usual, marched them into the little yard where
the punishments were generally inflicted. The triangles
stared them in the face from the centre of the ground,
and the culprits one and all, as soon as they rolled their
eyes on it, gave a bellow of horror, fell on their knees, and
commenced praying and crossing themselves, and other
symptoms of repentance; but Stanway was inexorable.
Our men had the greatest difficulty in unbreeching them,
and getting them tied to the halberts. The first stripped,
I recollect was a short, stumpy, fat, desperate-looking
fellow, who by the circumference of his seat of honour, and
his struggles for its safety, seemed to bear about it all the
honour of his native Belgium. The first whistle of the
cat, even before it reached him, appeared to have verified
the assumption, for he roared to such a degree, and his
fellow-culprits sympathised so loudly, and with such a
crash of Belgic, that it set the whole vicinity by the ears,
and actually aroused their whole regiment quartered in the
village, and the place became in an uproar. The Belgians
flew to arms and instantly surrounded the guard-house;
Stanway nevertheless was determined not to relax his duty,
and ordered every man of us to load, and placed us in
different parts of the building, barricading the doorways,
prepared for every resistance, and during intervals continued
the flagellation. The assailants meanwhile became
.bn 214.png
.pn 200
furious, and attempted to scale the walls for a rescue, but
they were kept off by the guard with fixed bayonets, until
a shower of brickbats, &c., being thrown over the walls,
made us gladly retire into the building. Our lives were now
in jeopardy; not a man of us dared to stir out, until a
signal being given to some English soldiers who were
passing, these gave the alarm to the division then encamped
outside the village, and our Rifles, followed by
the 52nd, came instantly to our assistance.

The two regiments remained under arms the whole
night, and the Belgians, out of bravado, retired to a field,
a little distance from them, and kept under arms also.
The morning after the occurrence they were removed from
Clichy, and we saw no more of them.

Going into Paris a day or two after this disturbance to
draw rations for the guard, I had to pass the Barrière de
Clichy, and before entering the gates I perceived a crowd
collected round a doorway in the street adjoining. Naturally
anxious to know the cause, I mingled with the
throng, and pushing to the centre perceived the dead body
of a French gentleman stretched out on some straw,
literally saturated in blood, and on inquiry, I was informed
that he had been slain by a Cossack or Prussian officer
some few minutes before. The deceased (who was a
French Count) and the Cossack, it appeared, had quarrelled
the night previous, and had decided on settling the matter
the next morning by a meeting with pistols. It had been
agreed by the seconds that the two principals should be
placed back to back, and each measuring six of his own
paces, should, as the distance was completed, turn round
and fire.

As soon, however, as the Count commenced his first
pace, the Cossack turned round discharged his pistol into
the back of his adversary’s head, and stretched him lifeless
on the ground, exclaiming as he did it, “I have been
shot at enough by your cursed countrymen, now for my
turn.”

The assassin and his second fearful, however, of the
consequences fled instantly, and taking horse, rode off to
their camp, but they were never discovered; although I
.bn 215.png
.pn 201
was told that the Duke, when the circumstances were
related to him, offered a reward for their apprehension.

The unfortunate Count had been an officer in the
French service, and to all appearance was a very smart
young fellow.

In the beginning of February, 1816, we left Paris, and
marched to the environs of Cambray; shortly afterwards
we were presented with medals sent out by the British
government, in commemoration of that celebrated battle;
every man who was in the field on the 16th, 17th, and
18th of June, was distinguished with this honourable
badge. I am sorry to say this caused many dissensions
among the men, particularly some of the old veterans of
the Peninsular campaigns. One named Wheatley, as
brave a man as any in the service, was unfortunately in
hospital at Brussels during the action, and was not
honoured with this mark of bravery; whenever he met
with badges on what he termed recruits, he would
instantly tear them off, and frequently throw them away.
For this too often repeated offence, poor Wheatley was
tried by a court-martial, and sentenced to three months’
solitary confinement. He was sent to Valenciennes, where
the 43rd regiment lay, who formerly belonged to our light
division during the Spanish war. The men of that
regiment who knew Wheatley, as well as the offence he
had committed, not only fed him well during his imprisonment,
but at the expiration of his confinement sent him
back in all the pomp a hero could wish. He was conveyed
in a carriage drawn by four horses, Wheatley’s head as
well as those of the postilion and horses, were decorated
with blue ribands. On seeing the gay equipage enter the
village, we were much surprised, but more so on seeing
Wheatley jump from the carriage amidst the loud acclamations
of his old companions. Poor Wheatley felt
neglected on receiving no medal, and became, from one of
the bravest, one of the most dissipated men in the regiment;
he was shortly afterwards discharged.

My own company was quartered at Mouvres, a pretty
little village off the main road that leads to Douay, myself
and three privates being billeted on the house of a rich
.bn 216.png
.pn 202
old fellow named Bernard Loude; he was the richest man
in the village possessing upwards of three hundred acres
of land, his own property, with stables, granary, waggons,
and cattle, indeed everything that constitutes a farmer’s
stock. The house, like all others in that part of the
country, was built long, with only a ground floor. On
entering it, I observed three pretty girls spinning; the
youngest, about sixteen years of age, was named Leucade;
the next, about nineteen, named Augustine; and the eldest,
who was not above twenty-four years of age, was named
Julie; they were all attractive in appearance.

After living there some weeks, I looked upon myself as
one of the household; and, soldier-like, began toying
with the girls: the one who attracted my attention most
was Augustine; she was a fine young woman, with light
hair and fair complexion. Her manners were playful, yet
gentle, and there was an air of innocence in her freedom,
which showed her thoughts were untainted by that knowledge
of the world, which restrains the levity of youth.
Her disposition corresponded with her manners, frank,
generous, and confiding; her sisters used to say she was of
a most forgiving temper, yet of a firm and determined
spirit, and they loved her with more than the love sisters
generally bestow upon each other. I now, day after day,
became more intimate with the family, and the fair Augustine,
whether serious or jesting, was always my favourite.
The courtship of a soldier may be somewhat rough; I
used to steal a kiss now and then, which my pretty
Augustine would check me for doing; yet so much
goodness was there in her manner, that her reproof, rather
than otherwise, tempted a repetition of the offence. To
those who know the inconveniences to which soldiers are
subjected in being billeted, it must appear I was now in
clover; I certainly never shall forget the happy hours I
then enjoyed.

One day, it was I remember on a Saturday, I was
ordered on duty to the head-quarters of our regiment, at a
small village called Burloun, about two miles from
Mouvres. Previously to my departure, the youngest sister
Leucade told me Augustine was soon to be married, being
.bn 217.png
.pn 203
engaged to a young Frenchman who lived our side of
Cambray, and had formerly been a prisoner in England,
jokingly adding, that he could speak a little English.
It was customary for me to dine with the family every
Sunday; and on my return off guard next day, as usual,
I joined the domestic party. I noticed a stranger at table,
who by his manner appeared the favoured suitor of
Augustine. We had, however, scarcely been seated, when
he gazed intently upon me, and suddenly starting up,
seized me by the hand, and nearly bursting into tears,
exclaimed, “Mon brave soldat, est-ce vous?” I immediately
recognized in him the faithful Frenchman whose
life I had spared in the streets of Badajoz before mentioned.
Returning to his seat, he described to the party
the scenes we had gone through at Badajoz, which
sometimes called forth fits of laughter, and sometimes
tears.

All eyes were fixed on me; I particularly noticed Augustine;
she looked more serious than I had ever seen
her; she did not shed a tear or yet smile during the whole
narrative of her young French lover; but I could plainly
perceive by the heaving of her bosom, she was more
deeply affected than the rest. He extolled me to the
skies, but he knew not the interest he was exciting in
favour of an unknown rival. The French I have observed
to be a people fond of glory and sentiment, and a story of
la Gloire et l’Amour will always excite their admiration.
He then related to me the cruelty he had received from
the Portuguese soldiers who conducted him with the remainder
of the garrison of Badajoz on their march to
Lisbon, where he was put on board a ship and conveyed
to England. After Bonaparte had been conducted to
Elba, he with some thousand other prisoners, returned to
his native home. He took no part, he said, in the battle
of Waterloo. After dinner I and my old companion
parted, having both enjoyed mutual good cheer. The
attention of Augustine after this accidental interview was
redoubled, and what I before suspected I now plainly discovered,
I had won her heart. From this time, we were
more frequently alone; and although her father wished
her married to the Frenchman, he being a relation as well
.bn 218.png
.pn 204
as in good circumstances, she had never herself been
seriously attached to him. The affection that subsisted
between us became no secret in the family, and it was
rumoured even about the village; at length it burst out in
songs composed by the “Troubadours” of the neighbourhood.
Her father thought it prudent to get my quarters
changed: he accordingly applied to the Colonel, and I
was sent to another hamlet in charge of tailors making
clothing for the regiment; it was at a pretty neat little
village called Saint les Marquion, on the main road to
Cambray. At the house of an old widow who lived at
Mouvres I still corresponded with Augustine, and enjoyed
many stolen interviews. At length, harassed with the
remonstrances of her family, who insisted on diverting her
affections from me, she determined on leaving her father’s
roof, and in the dusk one evening met me at the widow’s,
where we betrothed ourselves to each other. On hearing
of her elopement, her father unrelentingly pursued her;
he went to Cambray and applied to the executor to deprive
her of her patrimony, but the law prevented him doing so.
He then appealed to the military authorities, and one
morning, about ten o’clock, four gensdarmies, to my
surprise, entered my quarters in search of her. I was
about to give them a very rough reception, and some of
my comrades, who were quartered with me, proposed
giving them a threshing; but the corporal who commanded
the party warning me I should be held responsible
for any ill-usage they might receive, then produced a
written order for her return to her father’s house, signed
by General Sir John Lambert, who commanded our brigade,
and countersigned by Colonel Balvaird, our head colonel,
Sir Andrew Barnard being at the time Commandant of
Cambray.

I saw all remonstrance was vain, and there was no
alternative; so accompanying her myself, she was obliged
with a heavy heart to retrace her steps. Her reception by
her father was most unkind; he confined her in a room,
the windows of which were darkened and secured by crossbars
of iron, the handiwork of the village smith, whose
services were called in requisition upon the occasion. In
this gloomy prison she was not permitted to see her sisters;
.bn 219.png
.pn 205
her meals were sent her at long intervals, and scantily
supplied; a priest was sent for, who was paid handsomely
for trying to wean her affections from me; but the bars of
iron, and the prayers of the priest, were alike in vain.
She contrived on the first opportunity to escape from this
durance vile to me, as we had been clandestinely married
at her first elopement by an excommunicated priest; for I
must here mention, the Duke of Wellington had given
positive orders that no British soldiers should be allowed
to marry French women. Immediately on her return we
went together to our colonel, who lived at the château of
the village, to request she might be allowed to remain
with me. On entering the room, she threw herself in an
impassioned manner on her knees, and begged we might
not be separated. The Colonel, taking her by the hand,
raised her from her humiliating posture, saying it was not
in his power to grant the request, but he would speak to
General Lambert on the matter, which he did, and she was
allowed to remain with me. We now fancied ourselves in
a great measure protected, but she was again pursued by
her father, who one day very unceremoniously rushed into
our cottage, and desired she would return with him. She
instantly flew to me for protection, throwing her arms
around me, exclaiming, “Mon Edouard, je ne te quitterai
jamais.” Her father, as if seized with a sudden fit of
phrenzy, laid hold of a hammer that was on the table,
and struck himself a blow on the forehead with such force
that he fell, and remained some time on the floor insensible.
The distress of Poor Augustine cannot be imagined, for it
was some time ere she recovered, but after this we remained
unmolested, and lived happily together.

About the latter end of June, 1818, we broke up our
cantonments, and encamped on the glacis of Cambray,
where we remained until the latter end of October, when
we received orders to proceed to England, after remaining
in its environs for the space of three years. The Colonel,
who did not know we were married, sent for me, and
informed me she must return to her parents, as she would
certainly not be permitted to embark with me for England.
We now consulted together as to what step would be most
.bn 220.png
.pn 206
advisable to adopt. It was agreed I should go to her
uncle, who resided in Cambray, and request him to intercede
with her father to allow her to receive part of her
patrimony; for, although he could not deprive her of it
after his death, she was not entitled to receive it during
his lifetime; and, if he consented to do so, I promised to
obtain my discharge from the army, and publicly marry
her. Her uncle, after my interview with him, accompanied
me to Mouvres (a distance of about three or four miles),
with the intention of discussing the matter with the father;
but, on my entering the house, all was uproar; a tumult
of voices from all the family assailed me, during which one
of the brothers cried, “Délie le chien! Délie le chien!”
Upon which a huge wolf-dog was unchained; but, instead
of attacking me, remembering that I had once lived in the
house, he came and fawned on me. In the midst of this
confusion I expected every moment would be my last, as
there were no British soldiers nearer than Cambray. At
this instant Augustine entered. She had heard at her
uncle’s that I had gone with him to her father’s, and,
apprehensive of the consequences, had followed me. Not
attending to any other person present, she entreated me to
leave the house, and return to Cambray with her. I did
so; and early next morning, the regiment being in marching
order, I was reluctantly compelled to part from my
almost broken-hearted faithful Augustine. It was agreed
she should remain with the family of her uncle until I
could communicate with her from England, where we
hoped happier days awaited us.
.bn 221.png
.pn 207



.sp 4
.h2 id=ch25
CHAPTER XXV.

.in +2
.ti -2
Disembark at Dover—Shorn Cliff Barracks—I am invalided, and pass the Board
at Chelsea—Augustine’s arrival—Sixpence a day—Sir Andrew Barnard—Sir
David Dundas—My hopeless condition—Blood money—The Honourable
Doctor Wellesley—Mr. Walsford—Augustine returns with me to France—I
retrace my steps alone to Calais—To Dover—Dreadful extremes—A new field
for practice—A friend in need—Another “Forlorn-Hope”—Colonel Ford—A
Rifleman without an appetite—Death of Augustine.
.in

.sp 2
<sc>Disembarking</sc> at Dover, our regiment marched to
Shorn Cliff Barracks, where we had not long been quartered
when an order arrived from the Horse Guards for
two sergeants and two corporals of each company of the
Rifles to be discharged. Men who had been wounded were
to be first, and old men next. I was accordingly, although
only about thirty-one years of age, invalided by our doctor,
on account of my wounds, and immediately departed for
Chatham, to await an order from Chelsea to proceed to
London, to pass the Board. Here, to my astonishment,
one day Augustine presented herself before me. Her
appearance almost electrified me. “Edouard—mon cher
Edouard,” she exclaimed, “je te suivrai partout.” I then
learned that, having arrived at Shorn Cliff Barracks, and
inquired for me, Colonel Leach had kindly paid her passage
by coach to Chatham, directing her where to find
me. Here she gave birth to a child. Shortly afterwards
I received orders to appear before the Chelsea Board, and
we proceeded to London, with others. On our arrival, our
circumstances being very needy, we took a single room in
Red Lion Street, Chelsea, where we resolved to live as
sparingly as possible. I passed the Board, but soon found
the pittance allowed me insufficient to maintain us, being
only sixpence per day. I had yet hopes, however, that
my case was not understood, and I therefore applied to
my Colonel, Sir Andrew Barnard, and explained it to him.
Sir Andrew instantly gave me a note (which I now hold in
.bn 222.png
.pn 208
my possession)[23] for Sir David Dundas, the then Governor
of Chelsea. Thus provided, and equipped in my uniform,
I set out for Sir David’s residence, and found him walking
about the grounds in front of his house, at Chelsea College.
I handed my paper to him in person, and retired aside while
he perused it. But Sir David having scanned it without
turning his head, tossing aside his pigtail with his fore-finger,
cooly handed the note over his shoulders to me,
remarking at the same moment, that he dared say the Lords
Commissioners of Chelsea had given me what they thought
I deserved.

The old gentleman, I suppose, possessed too much of
the Spartan blood, to notice me more than he did; and
like the two survivors of Thermopylæ, he thought my
return to England highly inglorious, and unbefitting a
soldier; since it had made me a sixpenny burthen on the
country I had served.

Day after day we struggled with our necessities, and I
confess I saw nothing but starvation staring me in the face.
What was to be done? My faithful Augustine deliberated
with me in our misfortune, with great patience, and we
agreed that it would be most desirable for her to return to
her uncle, and endeavour to move the family of her father
to a reconciliation with us both. Her infant, she thought,
could not fail to excite commiseration; but how were we
to defray the expenses of so long a journey? However,
having received several wounds in the service, I was
.bn 223.png
.pn 209
entitled to what is commonly termed “blood money.” A
certificate to that effect, and signed by my commanding
officer and the adjutant of my regiment, I now had by me.
This was to be presented to the parson of the parish in
which I was resident one month after my discharge. The
Honourable Dr. Wellesley, brother to the Duke of Wellington,
being rector of Chelsea, I appealed to him, and he
referred me to a Mr. Walsford, Secretary of the Patriotic
Fund, No. 80, Cornhill. But this gentleman was even
more Spartan than the Lords Commissioners, for after two
or three struts up and down his office, he suddenly stopped,
and staring me very stupidly in the face, said, “Damn it,
Sir! did you expect to fight with puddings or Norfolk
dumplings? If men go to battle, what else can they expect
but wounds! I am now busy, and cannot be troubled with
you.” I returned to Chelsea—represented my situation to
Mr. Wellesley, and through him, succeeded in obtaining
a small sum—five pounds—for the wound at Waterloo,
but none for the others which I received in the Peninsula.
With this scanty supply we proceeded to Dover, thence to
Calais, and from thence to St. Omer, where, taking leave
of my beloved Augustine and her infant (<em>for the last time</em>),
we parted. She promised to write me word immediately
she succeeded with her family, and, if not, it was agreed
that as soon as my circumstances improved she should
return to me. “Ne m’oubliez pas” were her last words:
as she squeezed my hand.

Without a farthing in my pocket, for I had given the
last sou to her, and was determined to forage my own way
home the best way I could, I again set off for Calais,
where I arrived in much distress. Here fortune was
favourable to me. A brother mason kindly befriended me,
and gave me a free passage to Dover. Had it not been
for this kind assistance, I know not how I should have
crossed the Straits. At Dover nothing could exceed my
wretchedness; I had struggled with difficulties in a foreign
country, but I was now returned to my own as if I had
been an outcast upon earth, without a friend or farthing
in the world. The thought maddened me. For a day and
a night I walked the streets of Dover, and scarcely tasted
.bn 224.png
.pn 210
food. A thousand times I asked myself “What can I
do? How shall I act?” Begging was out of the question—a
<em>soldier</em> could not beg. More fitted in this state of mind
for a highwayman than a beggar, I said to myself, “Can
I not rob?” I had no fire-arms. Thus, pondering how I
should proceed, I walked slowly along the road that leads
to Canterbury, and on a sudden espied a number of hop-poles
in an adjoining field. The thought flashed like
lightning on my brain, that I would seize one of these, and
knock down the first man who came past. Clearing the
hedge at a jump, and pulling one of the poles out of the
pile, and snapping it off at the butt-end, and retiring to my
position on the road, I resolutely glanced about in search
of the first passenger, and as quickly at some distance,
observed two men walking smartly towards me. I squeezed
my cudgel firm in my hand, and awaited their approach;
but ere I could bring myself to a proper sense of what I
was about, one of the men suddenly shot himself beside
me, saying, “What, Ned! is that you, my boy? How
are you?” shaking me by the hand at the same time. In
an instant I recognized him to be a man of my own regiment,
named Jem Conner, but I could scarcely answer
him; he noticed my confusion, and in the same breath,
while he still held my hand, insisted on my returning with
him to Dover. Little dreaming the true cause of my
agitation, I returned with him, where he informed me he
was married. I have often thought that the circumstance of
a friend being the person on whom I thus alighted, was a
providential interference that prevented my committing an
act which would ever have embittered my future life.
Perhaps, by similar interposition, however imperceptible to
man, many are saved from the commission of crime.

Before parting from my generous comrade, who insisted
on my sleeping at his house that night, and although
himself in needy circumstances, he provided me most
liberally with what I most required; (poor fellow! he was
severely wounded at Waterloo, passed the board, and
married a woman at Dover:)[24] I explained to him my
.bn 225.png
.pn 211
abject situation, when he advised me to lay my Chelsea
discharge before the Commandant at Dover, who was then
Colonel Ford, and solicit from him sufficient means to
carry me to London. This was to beg—a task contrary
to my nature. I asked him what I was to say? how act?
for I had been a soldier since I was sixteen years of age,
and was unacquainted with the forms of civil life. He gave
me such advice as occurred to him, accompanied me on the
road, and showed me the house at which the Colonel
resided. It was, I remember, at the end of the town, near
the General Hospital.

With an unwilling hand I rung the bell. The door was
immediately opened. “Is the Colonel at home?” said I.
“Do you wish to see him?” answered the footman, surveying
my person. “I do,” was my reply, “tell him that
a sergeant of the Rifles wishes to speak to him.” The
servant then stepping across the hall, went into the room,
and while the door was ajar, I heard the Colonel ask,
“Is he in uniform or in coloured clothes?” “In coloured
clothes,” was the answer. “Tell him to come in.” I
entered the room slowly, and believe me, I went with more
spirits on the forlorn-hope at Badajoz than I now did into
the presence of this officer. He was standing with his
back to the fire-place. “Well, friend,” said he, “what do
you want?” In a doubtful tone, I answered, “I want to
know, Sir, if you will lend me a little money, to carry me
to London, and I will pay you when I get my pension.”
While thus delivering myself, which I did in a very confused
manner, the Colonel stooped, and staring me full in
the face, as if he thought me mad, with a stentorian voice,
he exclaimed, “God damn you, Sir! who are you, what
are you, what do you want?” The Colonel’s uncouth
manner suddenly overwhelmed my already sinking heart;
but the whole spirit of the “man” rebounding from the
shock, instantaneously brought me about again, for recovering
myself, in a firm, earnest, yet determined manner, I
replied, “Sir, I am a man brought to the last pitch of
distress, without friend or money. If you will assist me,
pray do so, but do not insult my feelings.” Then laying
my papers on the table, I added, “There, Sir, are my
.bn 226.png
.pn 212
papers; keep them until I refund the money. I am a
Sergeant of the Rifle Brigade, who has seen service.”
Taking my Chelsea discharge, and reading over attentively
the wounds I had received, he looked at me with altogether
an altered expression, and said, “You must have been a
gallant fellow, or you would not have got so many scars in
the service; which battalion did you belong to?” I told
him the first. He then asked me what money I wanted to
take me to London. I answered it was only seventy-one
miles, and two shillings would be sufficient, as I could walk
more than thirty-five miles a day, I had no knapsack to
carry, and a shilling per day would do for me.

There my feelings overpowered me, and he, seeing my
emotion, turned himself round to the fire-place, evidently
affected; then, facing me again, said, “Tut, tut! a brave
soldier should not mind a little poverty;” for at this time
I could not answer him; then, ringing the bell, the footman
who was in attendance came into the room, “Tell the
cook,” said he, “to get a good dinner ready for a gallant
soldier.” Then, putting a chair towards me, in a friendly
manner told me to sit down, and began conversing familiarly.
He asked a number of questions concerning the
Peninsular war; but we were shortly interrupted by the
servant, informing him dinner was ready. “Go, now,”
said he, “and take some refreshment.” But, alas! my
appetite was gone; I could have eaten a donkey before, but
now I could not break bread. The servants, observing me
so discomposed, went and informed the Colonel of it, when
he came to me himself, tapping me on the shoulder, saying,
“Come, come, make a good dinner,” then, turning to the
servant, ordered him to bring a bottle of wine. After my
repast he again returned, accompanied by a lady, perhaps
his wife or daughter, to whom he had probably been
speaking of me, and who may have felt curious to see the
rough soldier who had gone through so memorable a
campaign. He now slipped some twelve half-crowns into
my hand, and desired me on no account to walk, but to
take coach to London; at the same time he presented me
my papers. I thanked him, but requested he would keep
them until I could return the money. “No, no;” he
.bn 227.png
.pn 213
replied, “I make you a present of it.” He then, in a very
kind manner said, “Your old Colonel, Colonel Barnard, is
made a General, and a Knight. He is now Major-General
Sir Andrew Barnard; and, if you wish it, I will write to
him about you.” Again I thanked him, and said, “The
Colonel is well acquainted with me.” I left the house with
feelings of gratitude which I could not give utterance to;
and never, although many years have passed, shall I forget
the kindness of Colonel Ford.

On my return to London I wrote to Augustine, but
received no answer. I waited with anxiety, and then came
the mournful intelligence of her death; most likely owing
to her father, as he remained inexorable to the last. Poor
Augustine! Peace be to thy memory!



.sp 4
.h2 id=ch26
CHAPTER XXVI.

.in +2
.ti -2
I enter the British Legion as Lieutenant—I raise a regiment of Riflemen—Appoint
the non-commissioned officers—Recruiting districts—The peer and the
dustmen—General Evans thanks—Embark at Gravesend—Voyage across the
Bay of Biscay—Arrival in Spain—We land at Portugaletta—Pat’s logic—Spanish
sentries shoot a man by mistake—A bad omen—Men confined for not
wearing that which they never had—Modern rifle officers—Colonel de Rottenburgh—Legion
officers classified—Fine appearance of the men—Rifles march
to Zorossa—Head quarters at Bilboa—Bad quarters of the men—Severe drills—Bad
beginning—The men begin to droop through ill-treatment—“Cats” indiscriminately
used—Lieutenant Robinson drowned.
.in


.nf b
From early youth, war has my mistress been,
And tho’ a rugged one, I’ll constant prove,
And not forsake her now.
.nf-

.sp 2
<sc>It</sc> will be unnecessary for me to drag the reader through
my chequered life, from the time I left the British army
until my last campaign in Spain. I shall, therefore, jump
across the interval, and bring him at once to the period at
which I entered the British Legion.

It is generally remarked that the life of a service soldier
is full of incident; but the sphere in which he is designed
to move can be understood only by those who have themselves
moved in it. In general, old soldiers in describing
.bn 228.png
.pn 214
battles, fill their accounts with the roar of cannon, the
clouds of smoke, and the groans and cries of the wounded
and dying; but in this part of my narrative, if I cannot
relate the former, I will endeavour to describe the miseries
of the unfortunate men with whom it was my fate to serve;
and as I mean neither to borrow nor dispose of any other
man’s stuff, I will relate those things only that came under
my own observation.

I am aware that some military men fancy a man cannot
fight unless he has his country’s cause at heart, that in
their ideas being the only thing capable of arousing his
martial ardour; but I beg most humbly to differ from
those gentlemen, and to tell them, that when a British
subject is put into uniform, and placed in the ranks, with
a firelock in his hand, before an enemy, he requires no
stimulant nor patriotic impulse to urge him in attacking
those opposed to him; neither can I see why a British
subject should be ridiculed or prevented from (what he
terms) “earning an honest livelihood;” nor why if he
prefers being knocked on the head in serving a Foreign
Power, he should be termed a mercenary and a murderer,
as has been the case with the Legion.

But if he be kidnapped by a recruiting-sergeant, or
pressed by a press-gang into the British service, there is
no doubt but that John Bull and his brethren of the sister
kingdoms, will make the best of a bad matter, which, as
old soldiers well know, is only to be done by going the
whole hog on every occasion; most soldiers like myself,
find in their muskets and bayonets, their only title-deeds;
these from the “<em>smallness</em>” of the estates they represent
are but poor guarantees: when, <em>cut up</em> and well <em>drilled</em>
by bullets, or long and active service; old age steals on,
and premature infirmities commence their march upon
them.

In the beginning of July, 1835, I enclosed documents
from officers of rank in the British army, with a statement
of my own service and the rank I had held in that service
to Colonel, now Sir De Lacy Evans, and expressed a wish
to enter under his command.
.bn 229.png
.pn 215

In the course of a few days an answer was sent to me
from Mr. H. Bulwer,[25] M.P. for St. Marylebone, stating
that Colonel Evans had appointed me as Lieutenant in
the 7th Light Infantry, B.A.L., and requesting me to
attend at his house that day, as General Evans wished to
see me.

I attended at the hour appointed, and for the first time
had the honour of conversing with the General himself,
who treated me with that gentlemanly courtesy for which
he has ever been remarked; among other matters, he asked
me several questions concerning a Rifle regiment, and
their probable efficacy in the field. To these, according to
my humble experience, I gave him to understand that as
the war was principally confined to the Pyrenees, and the
northern and more mountainous provinces, no body of
men could be more efficient, both from their dress as well
as their arms.

He approved of my remark, and resolved accordingly to
form at least one regiment of Rifles, and, as a first step, to
appoint me Lieutenant and Adjutant of the regiment. He
then gave me instructions to form recruiting parties, to
raise five or six hundred men for that regiment, and particularly
enjoined me to get as many old soldiers of the
British Rifles as I possibly could. The Adjutancy I declined
accepting, but I begged to be empowered to appoint
a few non-commissioned officers as an encouragement to the
old Peninsulars. This power he instantly granted me, and
extended even to all whom I thought fitting for that duty,
adding, “I will acquaint the Colonel of your regiment that
I have granted you these privileges.” Mr. Bulwer remarking,
“If I went into the country I might pick up many
gamekeepers, who, he thought, would make excellent riflemen.”
I replied, “That man shooting and game shooting
were very different,” at which they both laughed
heartily.

I immediately set to work and got hand-bills printed,
and established recruiting parties at Westminster, the
Borough, and Tower Hill, &c., and appointed about half a
.bn 230.png
.pn 216
dozen sergeants and corporals, who were immediately supplied
with green clothing. I next proceeded to Chatham
and Gravesend, and stationed recruiting parties there also;
and in the short space of two months we raised five hundred
men.

A motley group I enlisted, from the sons of peers, down
even to dustmen, including doctors, lawyers, parsons’
clerks, and all the trades necessary to form a national
hive of cunning, craft and industry. I had an honourable
for a sergeant (the Honourable A. Curzon), a doctor for a
corporal (A. M. Hart), the former of whom was afterwards
appointed Lieutenant.

These recruits I sent in small detachments on board the
‘Swiftsure,’ then lying at Portsmouth, the head-quarters of
the regiment, appointing one sergeant and one corporal to
every sixteen privates. In the beginning of September
1835, I received a letter from Baron de Rottenburgh, our
Colonel, that the regiment was about to start for Spain,
wishing me to make as much haste as possible in joining.

A few days after this I embarked from Gravesend, with
nearly one hundred more men for the Rifles, on board the
‘London Merchant’ steamer, and arrived at Portsmouth the
following day; but, unfortunately, the whole of the <target id='regi'>regiment
had already sailed for Spain; after paying the men their
bounty of two pounds each, the next morning we sailed
also.

After a very pleasant voyage through the Bay of Biscay,
about the middle of September, we came in sight of the
Spanish coast; at first the eye was struck with the wild
and magnificent sweep of the Pyrenean mountains, which
to those unaccustomed to such scenery must be truly sublime.
Through our glasses we could distinctly perceive the
various little towns that dotted here and there the different
inlets of the bay, and which had a very peculiar and wild
appearance. But as we approached the land we could
plainly discern, marching up the mountain sides, small
bodies of soldiers which many on board mistook for the
troops of Don Carlos, but on closer inspection we discerned
to be the Queen’s.

Brigadier-General Evans, who was on board, having
.bn 231.png
.pn 217
determined to land here, the necessary preparations were
being made, when, to our surprise a vessel hove in sight,
bearing the remainder of the Rifles from Santander to
Bilboa. They were fully equipped with rifle and green
clothing, and disembarked near Portugaletta, while we with
the recruits landed also.

Thus, on the 19th September, about seven o’clock on a
beautiful summer evening, I again landed on that soil on
which, some four or five and twenty years ago I had witnessed
so many severe contests. We landed near an old
church, where the recruits were to remain for the night,
without blankets, great-coats, or any sort of comfort, in the
colonnades of a damp church. I shall never forget the discourse
which took place between two of the men. One
said to the other, “Are we to get no billets, but stop here
for the night without straw, and nothing but these cold
damp flag-stones to lie on? why, I see the General’s horses
over the way, that have just landed, put into warm stables
with straw; surely we are better than horses?” “Arrah,
and who the devil tould you so?” said a countryman of
mine, looking him hard in the face, “be my soul, the
Queen of Spain only gave two pounds a-head for such
fellows as you and me, and can get thousands more at the
same money; while she is compelled to give fifty pounds
for every horse!” Pat’s logic had the desired effect, and
the poor recruits stretched their weary limbs for the
night, with nothing but a thin smock-frock to keep them
warm.

There was, at the time, in possession of Portugaletta, a
Spanish regiment of the Queen’s Infantry doing duty, this
made it exceedingly dangerous for any of our men to approach
those fellows, from their ignorance and stupidity,
for they looked upon anything bearing arms to be an
enemy. One of my company had a melancholy experience
of this, for on coming close to a Spanish sentry, under the
darkness of the evening, he was challenged from a loop-hole
through the mud-wall surrounding Portugaletta. The
Englishman not knowing the language, could give no
answer, and the consequence was, the Spaniard instantly
.bn 232.png
.pn 218
fired and shot him through the knee. The poor fellow
remained on the spot where he fell until the morning, his
comrades being afraid to approach him for fear of a similar
fate, and when brought to the company the next day,
through weakness and loss of blood, while under amputation
he died under the hands of the doctor. This for the
first night of our landing was rather a bad omen. Passing
the guard-house, with the intention of seeing how the men
had fared during the night, at least half a dozen voices
assailed my ears, “Oh! Sir! I hope you will get us released;
we have been confined all night and have done no
crime.” Perceiving they were some of the recruits I had
brought over, I called the sergeant of the guard to inquire
the cause; he informed me that they had been confined by
officers of our regiment, for walking about without their
regimentals; the men, however, had disembarked only the
night before, and had not received their clothing; I ordered
them to be released.

For this act of justice I shortly afterwards was nearly
what was termed “called out” by a brace of officers of the
Rifles (whom I knew only by their uniform), and who
very abruptly asked me, why I had released men whom
they had confined! I answered, that no crime had been
committed by them, and that I deemed it right to release
them, as men in the British Army were never confined
without cause.

“Sir,” said one, in an austere voice, “I know what
soldiering is. I have fought and seen service as well as
the British Army.” The reader has, perhaps, already
guessed that these “gentlemen” formerly belonged to Don
Pedro, and had served in Portugal during the struggle for
that crown.

I was anxious to see my Colonel to report myself, but
on going to his quarters I heard another of my poor fellows
lustily calling on me to intercede for him. This was in a
small field, close to the village, where he was being held
down, across a low, dry wall, by two men, while the bugler
was belabouring him on the bare breech with the “cats,”
and another of these Pedroite officers standing by seeing
.bn 233.png
.pn 219
the punishment inflicted. The poor fellow had been formerly
a bugler in the British Army, and was now flogged
for straggling into Portugaletta without leave. I had not
yet been sixteen hours on the Spanish soil, but I was
growing heartily sick of the campaign, even at this early
period.

In the course of the day, I had an opportunity of
mixing with the officers; who in appearance were a fine
set of fellows.

They were composed of three different classes. The
first were gentlemen who formerly held commissions in
the British Army; the second were those who, through
interest, had obtained commissions from General Evans;
and the third class, and who, I was sorry to find, were
treble in number to the other two, were what is termed
Pedroites. These last self-taught heroes were brought up
in neither military nor civil life, but had passed a little
Quixotic tour under Don Pedro. In fact, every regiment
of the Legion, like my own, was full of Pedroites.

The recruits, at length, having received arms and
clothing, were drafted into companies, each about a hundred
strong, and of which six completed the regiment;
they were a fine set of men, and with the Legion altogether,
if properly handled, would have done credit to any army in
Europe.

During the few days that we remained here, a Major,
formerly in the British Army, named Barton, of the Rifles,
resigned; this left a vacancy, which was immediately filled
by the senior Captain, Fortescue. This caused a vacancy
for a Captain, and I was promoted to that rank, in his
place, and took command of his company; I may say with
safety, I was one of the few officers in command of a company,
at the time, that could put the men even through
their facings. After remaining here about a week, our
regiment was ordered to march, and we took possession of
a small village, Zorossa, about two miles from Bilboa, and
situated on the left bank of the Nervion. This place had
experienced all the ravages and desolation a civil war could
inflict; the houses were in a most dilapidated state. That
in which myself and a number of other officers were quartered
.bn 234.png
.pn 220
had been evidently tenanted by an opulent person;
but the furniture and interior decorations of the rooms had
been destroyed, or defaced by the soldiers of Don Carlos,
who had been in possession of the village a short time before
our entry.

Here lay one of her Britannic Majesty’s gun-brigs, the
‘Ringdove’, to afford assistance and protection to vessels
passing up the river from the bay to Bilboa, with arms,
ammunition, and stores for the Legion: yet, strange to say,
the crew of the ‘Ringdove’ were on the most friendly terms
with the Carlist troops until we arrived.

Bilboa was at this time the head-quarters of the Legion.
With the view of relieving this important commercial town
from the state of blockade which it had sustained; and of
affording protection to the works which were at this time
erecting for its defence, and probably also for keeping open
a more easy communication with England, for the supply
of recruits, stores, &c., a few troops were stationed at
Bilboa—but in straggling convents and houses about its
suburbs. The soldiers of the Legion, notwithstanding
these arrangements, were badly quartered—the greater
part of them laying on the cold stone floors of churches
and convents, without beds, blankets, or even straw. It
was evident to me, even thus early in the campaign, that
General Evans did not display much solicitude or feeling
for the comforts of his soldiers. The men, who were at
this time chiefly raw recruits, unaccustomed to the change
of diet as well as to the climate of the country, undergoing
fatiguing military instructions by a severe daily drill of
six hours, surely a representation of their situation to the
proper Spanish authorities by General Evans would have
made things better for the poor men: but this was merely
a foretaste of the treatment that was to be endured by
them, which I shall have more particularly to allude to,
after their arrival at Vittoria, &c.

But the miserable and comfortless condition of the men
was nothing to the disgraceful Provost system which was
carried on most rigorously in every regiment of the
Legion. Any officer, for the slightest supposed dereliction
of duty, or as he felt inclined, could order a man
.bn 235.png
.pn 221
from one to four dozen lashes. Every regiment had its
provost; nay, in some there were two, with a proportion
of cats.[26]

It mattered not who they were, recruits or old campaigners,
of which last there were no less than a dozen
(Chelsea pensioners), in the company I commanded.
Although the rules of the service at first starting were
boasted as being purely British, I now found them entirely
different.

In the British army there was only one provost in a
division of perhaps eight or ten regiments. Again, no
officer, not even the provost himself, could order a dozen
lashes unless he found the man in the act of plundering.
Below is given a G. O.[27] issued by the Duke of Wellington.

I had the misfortune to lose a fine active young officer of
my company, a Second Lieutenant named Robinson. In
crossing the river from Bilboa in the dark, by some accident
he fell overboard and was drowned. His body was
.bn 236.png
.pn 222
not found until next morning. His father is Captain and
Paymaster in the 60th regiment. This unfortunate young
man, like a number of others who died in Spain, had an
excellent kit, which was sold amongst the officers of our
regiment.



.sp 4
.h2 id=ch27
CHAPTER XXVII.

.in +2
.ti -2
Intention of the Spanish Government respecting our winter quarters—March to
Vittoria—Enemy oblige us to go round—The rear of the Legion engaged—Baggage
divided from it—Commencement of the plunder at Bilboa—Arrival at
Castro—Enemy supposed to be in the vicinity—We remain at Castro—March
the next day—Mountainous route—An accident—The pass of Las Goras—March
to Bonia—My company placed in the advance—Orders to prepare for cavalry—Doubts
and fears—A narrow escape—Arrival at Breviesca—Breviesca—Head
Quarters—My old Patrone—Hints to revolutionists—System of regular drill
begun—Riflemen drilled collectively—I practice my company in sham fighting—Provosts
and hardship—Lay in a winter stock of sickness—Legion paid up
to November, 1835—Last payment—March of death—We march for Vittoria—Pass
of Pancorbo—The dead Patrone—Approach to Vittoria—My old recollections—The
45th—Halt about three miles from the city—Spanish troops
come out to meet us—Triumphant entry into Vittoria—The veteran Colonel.
.in

.sp 2
<sc>In</sc> pursuance of the intention of the Spanish Government
that the auxiliaries should winter and complete their
military discipline in Vittoria or Breviesca, on the 30th of
October, 1835, the Legion, in conjunction with a division
under Espartero, commenced its march to those places. It
was well known that at this period the enemy were anticipating
our movements and intended destination, and learning
that our route would be on the Durango road, they
posted themselves in great strength to give us a warm reception.
The formidable attitude of the Carlists, however,
induced General Evans to abandon this direct line of march
upon Vittoria, not more than twelve leagues distant, and
to take a more circuitous, and almost pathless route, of
sixty leagues, over a difficult and mountainous district.

The main body of the Legion started about six in the
morning, but the whole had not quitted till late at noon,
when closed in upon their rear by the Guerillas and Carlist
peasantry. They became separated from the baggage,
.bn 237.png
.pn 223
which, but for the contiguity of Bilboa, would have been
all taken. The consequence was, that almost the whole
returned, and was supposed to have been placed under the
care of the British Consul and the Alcalde of the city,
who, in conjunction with a few others, actively employed,
may be said to have originated the plunder which subsequently
devoured almost all the luggage of the Legion
officers; quantities without lists, or any regular accounts,
having been indiscriminately heaped in stores, and thence
as carelessly embarked for Santander.

Meanwhile, on the second day’s march, we came to
Castro, where, as we expected to meet the enemy, my
company was selected to form a rear-guard in the event of
the Carlists attacking our rear. Near the town, as expected,
a number of the Guerillas, who were always on the look-out,
fired on our rear sections, and a poor fellow of the
Westminster Grenadiers, who through fatigue had straggled
from his regiment, was shot through the thigh. I instantly
started a few old soldiers after them, who very soon put them
to flight. This was the first time that I had heard the
whistle of a Carlist ball. I then placed the wounded
soldier on my pony till we arrived at Castro, where we
halted for the night. We found this place to be a wretchedly
filthy hole; a sea-port on the Bay of Biscay, and then occupied
by two regiments, and some artillery of the Queen’s
troops.

At daybreak the next morning, we left Castro, and
after an advance of five or six miles, a Spanish officer who
had been riding rapidly to overtake us, informed the
General that the enemy were again advantageously posted,
and in great strength, awaiting our arrival a few miles
further on. On this intelligence we were again ordered to
the right-about. However, my company, who were on
the advance in the morning with some Lancers, received
orders from General Reid to remain where we were, until
the main body had reached the bottom of a hill, about two
miles distant; but expecting to see the Carlists fast advancing
upon us, I thought it more prudent to follow in
quick time, with the Lancers behind us. We remained for
the night in the small villages round Castro.
.bn 238.png
.pn 224

The next day’s march was a very harassing one. Our
route led over high mountains, with scarcely a path, and
almost unknown even to our guides; however, for my own
part, this was compensated for by one of the most majestic
pieces of scenery I ever beheld. The country around us
was beautifully romantic; the Bay of Biscay, from our
elevated position, appearing but a short distance off, while
the clouds which encircled that part in our view, kept
circling upwards and throwing a reflection on the serene
surface of the sea, that seemed almost enchanting.

At the entrance of a small village on the hill just mentioned,
the rifle of a Sergeant Johnson, of my company,
while on trail, went off, and shot a man named Neal, the
ball entering at the back and passing out at the groin.
We conducted him to a house where, for want of conveyance,
we were obliged to leave him to the mercy of the
mountain peasantry; this poor fellow, strange to say, was
brother to the man who, the night of our landing, had
been shot by the sentry at Portugaletta. They were both
fine young men, and deserved a better fate.

At night, after a fatiguing march, the brigade as usual
was quartered in a damp church. The day following we
proceeded on our march, but a great deal of anxiety was
experienced lest a celebrated pass (Las Goras) which we
had to advance upon, should be occupied by the enemy.
About four o’clock we arrived, but found it in possession of
the Queen’s troops, and for the first time, we bivouacked
in a wood. The next morning the harassed and jaded condition
of the men was so evident, that we could not proceed
until several bullock-carts had been procured.

On the following morning we continued our march for
several days, till we arrived at the banks of the river
Ebro, the scene of many of my former campaigns. After
passing the bridge the prospect became beautifully varied,
the Ebro silently meandering in its serpentine course,
through a broad and fertile valley, at the base of a
chain of mountains which, verging towards the Mediterranean,
were here and there dotted with villages and
lonely cottages, the scattered husbandmen quietly occupied
in the tillage of their fields.
.bn 239.png
.pn 225

We still continued to advance for about fifteen miles,
through a country increasing at every turn in beauty and
attraction, until we entered a very narrow pass, surrounded
on every side by stupendous and rocky mountains, all
rising so abruptly, and to such a magnificent height, that
they seemed to threaten destruction to the whole Legion
as it passed beneath.

This formidable passage could with ease be defended by
a handful of men against several thousands. The immense
and natural magazines of rocks that appeared to nod destruction
to the passing stranger, might be hurled with
awful effect on troops marching below.

Early in the afternoon the Legion reached Onai, a small
and very ancient town, celebrated for its splendid and
richly endowed monastery. Our brigade was quartered for
the night in the monastery, and as we entered I observed
the monks and friars apparently in great consternation,
making a hasty exit with their beds and furniture. Time
and war had made strange changes in this magnificent
convent, originally built for the religious exercises and
devotional retirement of its monkish recluses, was now
turned into a barrack; its sacred silence seldom disturbed
but by the devotional hum of the prostrate “sinners,”
now broken in upon by boisterous clamour and the sacrilegious
intrusion of men whose worldly object and employment
formed a strong contrast to the ascetic life of the
secluded monks.

On the 9th of November, very early, we proceeded on
our line of march towards Breviesca. An attack of the
enemy’s cavalry was at this time expected in great force,
therefore the whole of the Rifles, prior to marching, were
ordered to load. Our Colonel and General Reid called me
on one side, and told me, as my company was going to take
the advanced-guard, they wished me to keep a good look
out, as everything in the shape of cavalry was sure to be
our enemy. We had not proceeded more than a mile on
the road, and before the morning had clearly dawned,
when the advanced files cried out to me the cavalry were
formed across the road. I made it a rule, during the
march, to leave my two Lieutenants with the rear subdivision,
.bn 240.png
.pn 226
and take the advance myself, as they were inexperienced,
and knew little of these matters. I instantly
ordered the bugler to sound the halt, merely to give notice
to the battalion in the rear, and dismounting from my
pony took one of the men’s rifles. I sent directions for
the Lieutenant to see the men get under cover in the most
secure manner, in case the cavalry should charge, and to
keep up a brisk fire on them. I then advanced to the
front file, and immediately challenged the cavalry, then
about fifty yards from me, with rifle cocked and half
presented. The answer was given, “amigos” (friends).
I then ordered them to advance, which a few did, with
their officer, very cautiously. When I found them to be
the Queen’s troops I allowed them to pass. There was
about a troop. Before we had proceeded a quarter of a
mile further, we came in sight of a regiment of infantry,
which immediately threw out a company in extended order
on both sides of the road. This put us on our metal again,
and bringing up the rear section, I gave them directions
to extend; but no man to fire without receiving orders
from me. We then advanced most cautiously, when I
perceived an officer waving a white handkerchief on a
sword, and advancing towards me. I instantly met him,
and found these also to be Queen’s troops, the cavalry
which we first met being their advance-guard. General
M’Dougal and General Reid, with our Colonel de Rottenberg,
rode up, and thanked me for the cautious manner in
which I had acted, remarking that, had any inexperienced
officer been in my place, most serious consequences
might have ensued, as the Queen’s troops had taken us
for the enemy, not knowing that any of the Legion was
dressed otherwise than in red uniform. I jokingly replied,
I had been brought up in Wellington’s school, where we
were taught to make no blunders. I could find, the short
time I had been with the Legion, that chief part of the
officers did not know a friend from the enemy. We arrived
at Breviesca about four o’clock in the afternoon, much to
the joy of the Legion, as it was appointed as a temporary
place of rest, if not of winter quarters.

This march occupied nine days. The distance from
.bn 241.png
.pn 227
Bilboa, by the circuitous and difficult route we had taken,
was about sixty leagues, which is, upon an average, about
twenty English miles a day.

Breviesca is an ancient town of considerable extent,
situated in an open plain, in the province of Castile; and
is distant from Vittoria about forty miles, and twenty from
Burgos; it is surrounded by a mud wall.

Head-quarters were now at Breviesca, but the town not
affording accommodation sufficient for the whole Legion,
several regiments were quartered in the adjacent villages.

The inhabitants of this and the neighbouring localities,
had been much oppressed at different periods, and particularly
by the French, during the Peninsular war. The
old patrone of the house in which I was quartered, gave me
a long recital of the exactions he had been subject to,
during that period, by soldiers of different armies, these
he related with the tears rolling over his aged cheeks,
which, no doubt, his extraordinary sufferings had mainly
contributed to wither. Indeed, the Spaniards, since my
last sojourn amongst them, had made but very little progress
towards improvement, the joint influence of foreign
invasion, priestcraft, and civil strife, having so long, and
so continually absorbed their energies, that they could
scarcely be said to have recovered themselves: their
beautiful country, rich as it was in natural resources, now
bore the appearance of a desert, patched here and there
only, by the hands of the cultivator, who planted in fear,
and gathered in trembling, under the dreadful probabilities
of having it uprooted, or trodden down by the soldiers of
either party, and himself, perhaps, and his family stretched
lifeless amid the ruin.

If there are any among my readers so lost to common
sense and patriotism, as to glory in the prospect of revolution
in their own favoured country, let me tell them that
the “lopping” of the limb is a dangerous remedy, and
that can scarcely ever be justifiable. Few can wander
amid the realities of dissevered and disjointed Spain, and
not feel the truth of my observation. Her treachery may
be a good plea with some, but war, and especially those
inappropriately called “civil” are enough to make any
.bn 242.png
.pn 228
nation treacherous, especially when “pretended friends”
ride rough-shod over the soil and feelings of the inhabitants.

At Breviesca we commenced a regular system of
drilling, but, in my opinion, useless; the Rifles were drilled
collectively, instead of being exercised in light infantry
manœuvres, which last, every practical soldier must well
know, was better adapted to the mountain warfare we were
about to engage in (not only for the Rifles, but for every
regiment of the Legion). But instead of this, they were
confined to marching round in columns of companies,
saluting the General, forming lines, &c. This I pointed
out to our Colonel, with a request that we might be
allowed fifteen or twenty rounds of blank cartridge, to
exercise the men a little in sham fighting; to this he
acceded, and it afterwards proved of great service.

During the short time we remained at Breviesca, the
drilling and the provosting system were as usual carried on
most rigorously: these, with our long and harassing
march from Bilboa, together with the damp convents, &c.,
laid the foundation of all the sickness and mortality that
afterwards befel the unfortunate Legion.

About this time an order came from Madrid, for the
whole of the men to be paid up to the last day of November,
1835; this was the only settlement that Captains of
companies had with the paymaster, until the dissolution of
the Legion.

After remaining in this town about three weeks, the
Legion marched for Vittoria, leaving two large hospitals
crowded with sick.

The morning of our departure was exceedingly inclement,
and those who witnessed our march from Breviesca, will
not readily forget the scene that presented itself. The
ground was covered with snow; such of the sick as could
not be accommodated in the hospitals, in the absence of
every other conveyance, were mounted upon donkeys,
supported on each side by their comrades, and enveloped
in old rugs, watch-coats and blankets, as a protection
against the inclemency of the season. As this spectre
group moved along in sad and melancholy procession,
.bn 243.png
.pn 229
their gaunt appearance produced a strong sensation upon
the troops, as they passed them on the line of march.
The Englishman commented on their worn and wretched
appearance, and commiserated their sufferings; while the
calculating Scotchman anticipated that before long, such
probably might be their own fate. But an Irishman roared
out from the ranks, “Prepare to receive cavalry!” and then
making a full stop, and scratching his head, as he deliberately
surveyed, with a serio-comic expression of countenance,
the melancholy cavalcade of invalids, exclaimed,
with a significant nod to his comrades, “By Jasus, boys,
there’s no danger, they are quietly marching to tother
world!”

After going through the romantic pass of Pancorbo, we
halted for the night in a mountain village, on the left of
the main road. My company was told off to two houses,
and as I ever made it a rule to visit the men’s quarters
after a day’s march, I found in one of their billets, the
patrone and two of his children laying dead, huddled
together on some Indian corn-leaves, with an old blanket
thrown over them, and the unfortunate mother in another
corner of the room weeping most bitterly, with an infant
in her arms, without fire, or any other thing to comfort her.
It appeared, from the forlorn widow’s statement, that her
husband was pressed by the Carlists for a soldier. Being
fond of his children he deserted, and remained secreted
until he died from want. We collected a small sum for
her, and I got the children interred.

The next day, at about two o’clock, we came in sight of
the city of Vittoria; its towers slowly emerging to the
view as we neared it over the plains.

I cannot describe how I felt, on again beholding this
place, so celebrated for the victory we had gloriously
achieved here, under our immortal Wellington, some four
or five-and-twenty years before. The very hedges became
familiar to me; but when we arrived at the village on the
main road where we had taken the first gun, and where I
so fortunately escaped death, I could no longer suppress
my emotions, but turning my pony off the road from my
.bn 244.png
.pn 230
company into the fields, I gave vent to my feelings. Weak
as this may appear, it nevertheless is true, and I stood
as one—the last of the time-forgotten numbers who had
consecrated the scene. I felt as it were amidst them, and,
unconsciously looked about, as if under the impression that
the soil would throw out some of my old comrades. But
all was one bleak flat, edged in on either side by mountains,
which seemed to rear their heads like tombstones o’er the
glorious sleepers at their base.

How many a year had passed, how many a care had
done its best to wither up my heart-strings, but oh! how
vain! I was still the “old soldier!” and though garbed and
tilted with the appointments of Captain of a company, it
had not altered my nature; and I verily believe, if the
offer could have been made, that I should have given up
epaulettes and all for one short hour’s converse with my
old brother campaigners.

In the midst of my retrospections, General Reid, together
with my Colonel, rode up to ask some questions
about this celebrated battle, which they were aware I had
been present at, but seeing my discomposed state of mind,
they most kindly declined making inquiries. Between the
sorrow I felt for those brave companions, who had fallen
on every side of me, and the inward pride that burnt in
my bosom, as one of those who had assisted in that ever-memorable
contest, I could not compose my fluttering and
overwhelming feeling; but this agitated state was broken
in upon by one of the men of my company, who coming up
to me said:

“You cannot conceive, Sir, how queer I feel at the sight
of this town; for there, Sir, I was born (pointing to Vittoria):
my poor father was dangerously wounded, and
while my mother, who so many a time told me the tale,
attended to him in the hospital, she took to her bed and
brought me into the world.”

I inquired to what regiment his father had belonged;
he informed me the 45th. He seemed much affected as well
as myself; I slipped him a trifle to drink to his father’s
memory. Poor fellow! he came to keep his sire company,
.bn 245.png
.pn 231
and to fatten the Spanish soil with his own remains,
as he died in about a month after his arrival in “his birth-place.”

We halted for an hour about three miles from the city;
we were joined by a number of Spanish troops, both infantry
and cavalry, who had marched out to meet us; as soon
as the chief part of the Legion had come up, we proceeded
to march into the town, with Spanish bands at our head,
playing their national airs. The inhabitants had placed
over the gates an illuminated globe and festoons of laurels
&c.; on the former was an inscription in variegated lamps,

.nf b
“To the brave and generous English
Who fight for the liberty of Nations.”
.nf-

The windows were crowded with old and young, with
beauty and deformity, some perhaps from curiosity, some
to welcome, but most of them waving handkerchiefs,
shouting vivas and giving other demonstrations of what we
supposed to be a universal welcome—to thousands a welcome
to their last home. Banners were hoisted from tower
and steeple, and bells jingled in every one of them, and as
the darkness set in, the whole town was illuminated, and a
display of fireworks in the Plaza finished the evening. But
alas! how soon the Spaniards changed their tune; we had
not been three weeks in this sepulchre of the unfortunate
Legion, before they wished us, General and all,
at the devil.

I was billeted, as luck would have it, on an old Colonel
who formerly belonged to the Spanish service and who had
fought under the Duke of Wellington. He had for some
years retired on half pay, and as he was very proficient in
the French language and I also had some knowledge of it,
we made the time pass very agreeably, entertaining each
other with anecdotes of our respective services.
.bn 246.png
.pn 232



.sp 4
.h2 id=ch28
CHAPTER XXVIII.

.in +2
.ti -2
Vittoria as it then was—A bad wind that blows nobody any good—Rifles rather
comfortable at first—Severe weather—Morning scenes and cries in Vittoria—The
flogging system—Men not starved—A comparison of facts—Hospitals get
crammed with sick—Singular economy—The old Colonel’s two sons—The Chapelgorris
decimated by order of Espartero—The Rifles march to Matuca—The
whole Legion assemble at Matuca—Cordova engaged—A Carlist village—A
confession—A night retreat—Colonel’s anxiety—Arlaban—Change of looks
both in the men and the inhabitants—March to Trevina—Sharp winter of
1835.
.in

.sp 2
<sc>The</sc> morning after our arrival, I took the earliest opportunity
to look about the town, and I passed through the
gates on the great road, leading to Pampeluna. On coming
to the spot where I fell in with the carriage of Joseph
Bonaparte, I found that a convent had been built over it,
which was now converted into a hospital for the Spanish
soldiers.

The city and its suburbs, however, were much improved,
which was accounted for in the immense quantity of money
and valuables left by the French, in their hurried flight
before the British troops. Indeed, as the old Colonel
assured me, the conquerors in that battle were the making
of Vittoria and had greatly enriched the inhabitants.

The Rifles were quartered in a convent, and enjoyed for
a short time more comforts than they had known since
their arrival in Spain; as every three men were allowed
a straw mattress and one blanket, and I made it a practice,
as long as I could, to see each man provided every morning
with a pint of warm chocolate, at a charge of three-half-pence
per day, and also with soups made with rice,
flour, &c. This soon became general throughout the
regiment.

The weather set in very severely, and the morning sun
not unusually brought on a thaw, after a night which had
perhaps left the plains ankle-deep in snow. Our drill
ground also lay some distance from the city, and it frequently
happened that after serving the men with new
shoes at the morning parade, preparatory to their going to
.bn 247.png
.pn 233
drill, they as often returned with them torn to pieces by
the stiff mud.

But the most disgusting annoyance I ever met with, was
on going to inspect the company in the colonnades of the
convent; as the whole of our brigade consisting of the
Rifles, the 3rd Westminster Grenadiers and the 6th Scotch
were quartered here; every morning therefore at inspection
my ears were saluted with the cries of the unfortunate
soldiers, receiving from one to four dozen lashes, for misdemeanors
committed the evening previous. Indeed it was
a duty imposed upon the Captain of the day, to see these
punishments inflicted; but the Colonel agreeing with me
that this might be performed by the orderly subalterns, I
escaped the unpleasant office.

General Evans, however, possibly might not really have
been aware of the real state of the men, and I should be
sorry to say that he did not care. He was very much
of the “recluse” at all times, and therefore insurmountable
difficulties lay in the way of a man’s getting a hearing from
him; consequently there was no hope for the poor fellows,
save what might have been expected from the mercy of the
Provost, or the whims of his judges, who may be said
to have administered as many sentences as would have
whipped every man in the Legion twice over, with the
exception of hanging, which, in many instances, would
have been preferable; never were punishments carried to
such an extent, nor authority so unlimited or arrogated by
any men, as that usurped by the chief part of the officers
of the British Auxiliaries.

Meanwhile, however, the reports circulated in England
that the men were starved for want of rations were unfounded,
as the resources of the neighbourhood, and the
fact of our being under the employ of the Spanish Government,
opened even a better medium for supply than what
formerly had been allotted to the British army under the
Duke of Wellington.

Here the hospitals were soon crammed with sick; but
the most cruel part of this was, a man was no sooner conveyed
to hospital, than the chief part of his clothing was
taken from him, and given to men able to perform their
.bn 248.png
.pn 234
duty; so that, if he happened to recover, he rejoined his
regiment almost naked. From this cause he generally
got a relapse, returned to hospital, and nothing more was
heard of him. To give the reader some slight idea of the
number of men who died through want and negligence,
I will subjoin the names of Sergeants alone belonging to
my own company (observing that I had the charge of what
is termed the staff company). They are as follows: Sergeant-Major
Powley, Colour-Sergeant Smith, Pay-Sergeant
Madicott, Sergeants Bushel, Watson, and Hornsby, and
Armoury-Sergeant Bleakey.

I remember one day, while sitting smoking a cigar at my
quarters at Vittoria, the Colonel’s wife rushed into the
room, and throwing her arms around my neck in tears and
in the most heart-rending tone, cried, “Mon Dieu! mon
Dieu!” and almost fainted. At this moment her husband,
the old Colonel, entered, with looks and attitude baffling all
description; he approached near me, while his wife still
hung on my neck. He stood silent and motionless; at one
moment despair depicted in his face, the next his eyes
glistened with apparent transports of joy, although the
tears rolled rapidly down his cheeks. I was transfixed to
my chair (while the old lady still remained crying on my
shoulder), wondering what could be the cause of this strange
visit. But, with the reader’s permission, I will unravel the
mystery. Some time previously, the Chapelgorris—in
which regiment the Colonel’s two sons had volunteered—had
taken a Carlist village, named La Bastide, and in
driving the enemy out, a priest, who was flying with the
Carlists, was shot. On the Chapelgorris returning to the
village, they plundered the church, and drank wine out of
the chalice. This was made known to the government of
Madrid; and it was falsely added, that the priest had been
murdered in the church, with a view to spoliation. Espartero,
the commander of this division, was accordingly
written to, and censured for having suffered such an outrage.

The means he adopted to justify himself was cold, deliberate
butchery. Although at the time this supposed
sacrilege was committed, Espartero called them his noble,
.bn 249.png
.pn 235
brave <target id='chapel'>Chapelgorris, on this day—the 12th of December—the
bravest of Spanish soldiers, whose pride it was to fight
by the side of the English, were doomed to have their
laurels plucked from their brows, and that enthusiastic and
loyal spirit broken for ever. The whole of the Chapelgorris
were marched a few miles on the Miranda road; and,
without the slightest notice of what was intended, they
were ordered to ascend a rising ground. Here they found a
large body of infantry and cavalry, which had preceded them
from Vittoria, all drawn up. When they had ascended the
hill, they were ordered to pile arms, and marched to some
distance. The cavalry then rode between the Chapelgorris
and their arms, when, for the first time, the poor fellows
had some idea of what was intended. Espartero, who commanded
in person at this scene, then ordered lots to be
cast, and every tenth man was set apart from the rest.
These ten were shot in the presence of their unarmed comrades.
The Colonel’s two sons were ever known to stand
side by side in the ranks, but on this morning one of their
comrades had taken his position between the two brothers,
and this poor fellow, being the tenth man, fell by the ruthless
and murderous command of Espartero. When my old
host, the Colonel, and his wife, heard of this providential
escape of their sons, their joy occasioned the sudden
entrance and extravagant conduct of the poor old Colonel
and his lady, who came to impart the tidings to me, but
were too overpowered by their feelings to give them utterance.
“But the most horrid part of this butchery was,”
said the old veteran, who by this time was a little collected,
“that the men were not despatched at one volley, but
individually, four men firing at each victim, who was
placed beside his dead comrades, until the tragic scene was
finished.”

In the beginning of January, 1836, we left Vittoria, and
marched to a small town on the main road to Salvaterra,
called Matuca, about six miles distant. Here we remained
several weeks, chiefly occupied in barricading our houses
with loopholes, &c., and occasionally going out on the
hills, opposite the castle of Guevara, a strongly fortified
place, occupied by the Carlists.
.bn 250.png
.pn 236

The whole of the Legion having assembled at Matuca,
we moved towards the heights of Arlaban, where, as Cordova
was warmly engaged on our left; we expected an
encounter also, but after manœuvring for the day, we encamped
on a bleak hill without firing a shot. The following
evening we entered a village just quitted by the Carlists,
where we remained for the night, using every precaution by
barricading the doors and windows of all the houses we
occupied. Meanwhile, from its being a Carlist village, our
men thought it right to make free with whatever fell in
their way.

In the house in which I had taken up my billet, the
owner was a remarkably pretty woman, with two children;
some of our men picking up a Carlist muster-roll, she confessed
to me that her husband was a Captain in Don
Carlos’s army, and had left her only a few nights before.
The house was well stored with wine, and with every necessary
comfort; myself, and my two subalterns, fared most
sumptuously, our hostess spreading the table with every
delicacy the place afforded. She was a very intelligent
woman, and spoke the French language fluently; she
placed herself under our protection to avoid the importunities
of the men, but everything else these last “gentlemen”
could lay their hands upon they did.

We returned to the hills on which we were stationed the
day before: but we still heard firing on our left, and remained
here till twelve o’clock at night. After the men
had collected wood, and lighted large fires, and laid down
beside them for the night (it was severely cold, with frost
and snow, and a number of men without even watch-coats),
to our surprise, about midnight, the “word” was silently
passed to “fall in” as quickly as possible, and make the
best of our way from the camp-ground, as the Carlists were
in great force around us.

We quietly moved about a mile lower down, across a
small river, where, as it was impossible to light fires, we
remained, ankle-deep in snow, till the morning. This was
one of the most distressing nights I ever experienced during
my whole life. In the morning I felt alarmed for the safety
of the Lieutenant of my company; who, being a favourite
.bn 251.png
.pn 237
of the Colonel’s, was in the habit of remaining with him.
On inquiry, the Colonel told me he had not seen him, and
clasping his hands together, he exclaimed, “Good God!
he must be taken and assassinated by the Carlists.” Fearing
the truth of his supposition, I instantly started for the
camp-ground we had left, with some of my company (such
as were not frost-bitten by the inclemency of the night),
and on my arriving near the camp, to my pleasing astonishment,
I beheld Lieutenant Tottenham, my lost officer,
with one or two others, who had not been disturbed by our
silent retreat, but remained comfortably sleeping by the
large fires the men had lighted, and most reluctantly
left.

All the honour gained by this Arlaban expedition, was
about a dozen men, who happened to straggle from the
regiments, most brutally butchered (by the Carlists); on
one man in particular, whom Colonel de Rottenburg and
myself had stripped, we counted no less than twenty-six
stabs through his body; and about half a dozen of my
own company also were severely frost-bitten: indeed from
our having no other conveyance, some of these men were
obliged to be carried on the backs of their comrades, to
save them from falling into the hands of the Carlists. Thus
ended the celebrated Arlaban expedition. Certainly it is,
Cordova did not cause all this by his imputed treachery
and bad faith.

We returned once more to Matuca, our old quarters. I
could see the inhabitants did not regard us with the same
eye as before we started; but it was unjust to look scornfully
on our poor fellows, who would have fought if they
had had proper men to command them.

In the beginning of February the chief part of the
Legion left Matuca, and, marching to the right, took up
their position in a mountain town called Trevina, about
four leagues from Vittoria. This town is surrounded by
bleak and barren mountains, which the Carlists a short
time previous had quitted. The crowded state in which
we were in here, caused the men to die by sections. Besides
two large hospitals, which were filled, the sick were at last
compelled to be sent to Vittoria, guarded by strong detachments,
.bn 252.png
.pn 238
as there were not sufficient places for their reception,
and, to crown our misfortunes, during the greater
part of our stay here, there was snow a foot deep. The
men, although nearly barefoot, were constantly employed
barricading the houses and streets in every part of the
town, which a short time afterwards we left to the mercy of
the enemy.

The winter of 1835 was one of the severest known in
Spain for the last half century, as if the elements also
contended against the unfortunate Legion. Here we were
shorter, both in money and rations, than at any other
place since our arrival in the country. We remained about
three weeks, and then retraced our steps to Vittoria; the
men completely harassed by fortifying the place, that after
all turned out to be of no use to us.



.sp 4
.h2 id=ch29
CHAPTER XXIX.

.in +2
.ti -2
Return to Vittoria—The mortality and state of the hospitals—Deaths among the
medical officers—Scenes in the wards—Legion supposed to be poisoned—Don
José Elgoez—His first ordeal—A discovery—Execution of the two bakers—Description
of the “Garotta”—Legion march and counter-marches—Mode of
warfare adopted by General Evans—Frequent desertion.
.in

.sp 2
<sc>At</sc> our return, the fever still continued to rage most
fearfully, and Vittoria resembled a city infected with the
plague. The scenes in the hospital were truly appalling.
The wards were so crowded, that suffocation must have
been inevitable, but for the inclement season; which had
free access through the wards, from the entire want of
window-sashes, and in many instances doors, most of which
had been destroyed by the monks—the former and forcibly
ejected occupants. But this prevention of one evil only
gave rise to another equally calamitous; as scarcely a
patient escaped being frost-bitten. There was also a total
absence of bedding of any kind, or even bedstead, and many
a poor fellow, in the height of fever, was forced to content
himself with loose straw, and nothing to cover him but a
great coat or a rug; hence the scenes in the wards became
disgusting in the extreme.
.bn 253.png
.pn 239

At length the medical men themselves began to feel the
pestilence, and the casualties among them so reduced their
number (for the most attentive suffered first) that the requisite
attendance could not be given, and death strode
amongst the sick unchecked. The delirious, the dying,
and the dead, were all indiscriminately huddled together,
and sometimes mixed up with their groans, might be heard
the cries of some poor fellow undergoing a course, not of
medicine, but of cat-o’-nine-tails, which in many instances
were resorted to by the medical gentlemen to beat out what
they could not cure. Many and many a sick soldier
has been accused of skulking, while his thin, cadaverous,
wan, fevered countenance alone has dared to belie the
charge, made by his tyrants. But happily this was not
general.

I remember going one day to the hospital to see my
servant, a worthy, honest Yorkshireman, named Jackson,
who at this time was also suffering under the dreadful
malady. I had to pass through several wards before I
arrived at that in which he was; such a sight I never witnessed
before. The raving maniac, in all the degrees of
delirium, made the room ring again, and effectually withstood
any attempt on the part of the sick only, to keep
them from annoying the sleeping.

I particularly noticed one, a <target id='serg'>sergeant-major, sitting upright
on the mattress. He was haggard and worn to a
skeleton, with a beard of at least three weeks’ growth.
The wild and unsettled glance of his eye told at once, that
the old soldier was delirious: his mind, however, was
actively at work, and he was drilling an imaginary regiment,
in the most pressing yet deliberate manner. I stood
to listen to him. At length he was interrupted by a
brother sufferer in an adjoining pallet. In an instant he
summoned an hospital orderly and in the same imperative
tone, bade him go immediately and bring the Provost, that
he might inflict summary punishment on the delinquent,
who had thus dared to commit such a breach of discipline,
as to interrupt him in the performance of his duty. The
orderly was actually on the point of obeying his orders,
.bn 254.png
.pn 240
when I informed him his patient was not in his right
senses.

The sergeant seemed a veteran, who had seen service;
and from the manner in which he had delivered his word
of command, was no doubt well qualified to put a regiment
through its manœuvres.

The mortality amongst the troops increased to a frightful
extent in some regiments, as many as a dozen or fifteen
dying of a day, and the duty of attending the dead to their
last home became so fatiguing that it was at last done away
with altogether. The bodies were carried from the hospitals
in cart-loads. The surgeons staggered through
sickness and laboured under a want of medicines. At
length it was whispered about that the bread had been
poisoned; finally the report became so loud, as to cause
one general thrill of horror, and immediate steps were taken
to discover the agents in so fiendish an affair.

At length private information having been given to the
paymaster of the 7th regiment of the Legion he disguised
himself, and went about making observations, which resulted
in his taking prisoners some agents of Don Carlos,
in the act of persuading our men to desertion; a woman
also was amongst them, whose very pretty person was
made use of to decoy them off our boundaries to the enemy;
and it was further said, a conspiracy was traced to the house
of a baker and his assistant, who up to this time had supplied
the Legion with ration bread.

At all events, on the day in question, this pair of demons
had already gone through an ordeal, sufficient to cure even
Carlos of his villanies. Some of the Spanish troops for
want of immediate rations applied to our commissariat, and
having obtained permission to take their bread from our
stores, they had received several hundreds of rations. In
the course of the day, however, a number of their men
were taken very ill, and many, even to sixty in number,
it was reported, had died. Whether these deaths be true
or not I cannot say, but the cause of their sudden illness
was traced to Don José Elgoez, who was instantly brought
bound to the Plaza and a piece of black bread, slung on a
.bn 255.png
.pn 241
bit of string, being tied round his neck, the men commenced
their retaliation.

Eight or ten of the strongest men in the battalion, each
armed with a long staff, were selected, and severally beat
him over the back and shoulders, until the culprit dropped
powerless and senseless on the ground. He was immediately
taken from the scene to prepare for a second ordeal
of a more awful character, as his assistant and himself
were tried and sentenced to be strangled on the charge of
having been in communication with the enemy, &c.
During the interval that elapsed between the sentence
and execution, great efforts were made by his fellow
partizans to get him off. As much as thirty thousand
dollars were offered as a ransom, but all his friends
could do was unavailing, and the execution of both
men took place in the space outside the new Plaza of Vittoria,
before thousands of Spaniards, and the assembled
Legion.

They were executed after the Spanish custom by the
garotta. This appeared to me to be a much better mode
of fulfilling the last sentence of law, than hanging or the
guillotine, and not so disgusting. It was performed as
follows: a platform was erected, about three feet high, in
the centre of which two upright posts were fixed, with a
seat in each, sufficiently elevated for the culprits to sit
upon. To either post an iron collar was fitted, made so as
to be opened or compressed on one side of the post, by a
winch and screw on the opposite.

The fronts in which their necks were placed were so
formed, as, by the relaxing or tightening of the screws, to
cause a lingering or instantaneous death, I should say, as
the sentence might dictate. As soon, however, as the
executioner gave the first twist, he rather triumphantly
bellowed out, “Viva!” and then finished the principal,
who died in a more lingering manner than his second or assistant.
Despite the gravity of the melancholy spectacle,
I could not but listen with surprise to the attendant priests,
who doubtless were Carlists, exhorting the departing spirits
of the pair of prisoners, with the words: “Monta a el
.bn 256.png
.pn 242
<target id='cielo'>cielo! Monta a el cielo!” Go up to Heaven! Go up to
Heaven![28]

Shortly after this our brigade was occasionally sent out
to the adjoining villages, for the benefit of the air, and also
to prevent the enemy from laying close siege to the town.
Indeed, so daring were they, that they frequently at night
would come even to the gates of the city, and fire at the
first party they saw. This made our mode of warfare
different to that to which I had been accustomed to during
my former campaigns. Our present plan was to occupy
the villages and houses in front of the enemy, and fortify
them with loop-holes and barricades, to obviate the necessity
of exposing our men to the attacks of an enemy rather
more blood-thirsty than the gallant spirits under Soult and
his predecessors.

This was a prudent step in General Evans, as the Carlists
we found followed up their practice of stealing on us, under
cover of the darkness, and sometimes under the fogs,
which were very frequent, and so firing on our men.
While on this out-post duty desertions became very frequent,
which may be attributed to the offer of seven dollars
to every foot-soldier, and twelve dollars to every horseman,
who would go over, with arms and accoutrements, to Don
Carlos. Amongst the number induced to accept those
terms was a piper, well known as “Little Jemmy,” of the
6th Scotch, whose Highland costume and uncouth music
at all times attracted a crowd of children about him.
While on picquet we could hear Little Jemmy, on the
Carlist outpost, playing “Over the waters to Charlie;”
.bn 257.png
.pn 243
Jemmy’s music proved attractive, too, for numbers followed
him, and with them a bugler of the Rifles. This fellow,
for the same ends, also used regularly to sound the wine-call
three times a day, as a contrast to our own, which was
but once during the same period. Letters also were found
at our advanced posts, written in English, and promising a
return to England, through France, to those who would
leave the ranks of the “foreign invaders,” (as they termed
us). These persuasive offers were in too many instances
successful.

Soon after, our brigade was removed to a small village,
some short distance from Vittoria, near the main road,
where I remember the French had made a gallant stand
against the Light and third divisions. It was not unfrequent,
during the hours of drill, to notice, here and there, bleached
skulls scattered about, melancholy evidences of the sanguinary
rencontre. I have often unconsciously watched, lest some
clumsy fellow should disturb those weather-beaten relics;
and turned to the olden scenes when, perhaps, their very
owners fought beside me in many a bloody field, or helped
to while away the moments by a camp fire with some
humorous recital.

On one of these occasions our Bugle-Major, named
M’Kay, and formerly a corporal in my own battalion, in
which he had served during the whole of the Peninsular
war, picked up one of the skulls and holding it in his hand
whilst he closely and anxiously examined it, coolly turned
to me, saying: “About this spot, Sir, we had several of our
company killed, and amongst them my own comrade—poor
Allan Cummings! He fell somewhere hereabout—who
knows but what this may be his head.”[29] The old soldier’s
countenance spoke volumes, and he paused for several
minutes, as if in earnest converse with the relic; at last he
muttered out again, “Well, well! it matters little with
the dead; but what remains of you, if this be yours, Allan,
shall be made a foot-ball no longer!” saying which he
nodded to one of the buglers, and both, with their swords
.bn 258.png
.pn 244
commenced digging a hole, in which they deposited the
supposed remains of his old comrade.

M’Kay little dreamt how soon his own and a similar fate
awaited him, for he himself was shot some short time after,
at Andoun; and singular to relate, one ball struck the
Waterloo medal on his breast, and was immediately
followed by a second, which finished his career altogether.
Poor fellow! it was through my persuasion that he joined
the Legion, he being at the time a Chelsea Pensioner.



.sp 4
.h2 id=ch30
CHAPTER XXX.

.in +2
.ti -2
Sudden and unjust dismissal of the officers—Copies from General Orders—Spanish
compliments to the French and British Legions—Cordova between
two fires—Some French officers resign—Difference betwixt the British and
French Legion—Parting moments between a French Colonel and his men—Legion
receive orders to proceed to San Sebastian—The sick left behind to
guard the sick—March through the country to Santander—Arrival at the
Convent of Carbon—New clothing—Recruits, &c.—My opinion of the
Legion.
.in

.sp 2
<sc>During</sc> our stay in and about Vittoria, a practice prevailed
of dismissing officers without granting them the
right of either a court-martial or a court of inquiry, and in
some instances on the mere assertion of the commanding
officer, and not unfrequently through the silent medium of
the Brigadiers. In the Rifles alone, during the above
period, there were not less than one captain (Lomax), two
lieutenants (O’Brien and Villars), and one assistant surgeon
(Greenwood), dismissed the service under these circumstances.
This, whoever it originated from, was excessively
cruel, and was particularly aggravated by the
General Orders of the time, notifying that all officers who
had resigned their commissions, or who had been dismissed
from their regiments, or departments, were not entitled to
receive rations after their resignations or removals had been
notified in General Orders. Passages to England in
vessels employed for the service of the British Auxiliary
Legion were not to be allowed to such officers, unless
directions had been received from head-quarters to that
effect. To crown the whole, Colonel Arbuthnot (brother-in-law
.bn 259.png
.pn 245
to General Evans), affixed a paper at the portals of
his own door, to the effect that officers anxious to return to
England might have a free passage, provided they signed a
document, prior to going on board, relinquishing all future
claims on the Spanish Government.

These tyrannical proceedings, as might be expected, had
a most lamentable effect on the officers of the Legion;
placed as it were between two extremes, the loss of pay and
rations, as well as the most cruel despotism of their superior
officers, the most daring schemes were consequently projected,
and officers as well as men went over to the Carlists.
This may not be unaptly illustrated by the following
relation, which I received within a few days of our quitting
Vittoria for San Sebastian.

Passing one day through the Plaza, accompanied by my
old friend the Spanish Colonel, we observed a number of
Carlist prisoners brought in by some of our English
Lancers; they had expected death in retaliation for their
cruelty on our men, and were profuse in expressions of
gratitude for the very different treatment they had experienced
at the hands of the British. One in particular my
old friend seemed to bear some recollection of, and entered
into a very interesting conversation on the accidents of the
contending parties. He was a cadet of the Guards of
Alava, one of the smartest regiments in the Carlist service,
and appeared to be an exceedingly intelligent young fellow,
and well versed in English and French. After some chat
with the Colonel, he addressed me, saying with what I
thought rather a satirical smirk on his countenance, “You
may remember an officer of yours deserting to us during
the stay of the Legion about Trevina.” I said I had some
recollection of a Lieutenant of the 1st regiment, named
Wilkinson, who did leave us at the period mentioned.
“Then,” continued he, “I was the first person whom he
met with after crossing our lines, and who caused his introduction
to Muralo, prime minister of Don Carlos, to whom
he related the cause of his desertion, the circumstance of
his having been dismissed <target id='from'>from the Legion, without a court-martial,
or any court of inquiry being allowed him to justify
himself; and there and then proposed a scheme to seize on
.bn 260.png
.pn 246
the person of General Evans, on the road between Trevina
and Vittoria, which he was in the habit of passing with a
very small escort. ‘I will,’ said he, ‘if allowed twenty
dragoons, at the hazard of my own life, bring in my late
General dead or alive.’ The simple and earnest manner of
your officer took great effect on Muralo, who seemed
inclined to the proposed scheme, and the English officer
was dismissed, with orders to attend the next day; the
Minister observing, as we left the room, he must not take
the life of the General, but bring him alive if possible.

“The day following, at the time appointed, your officer,
who never seemed to lose sight of his object, again attended
on the Minister, and pressed his plan of revenge. He was
questioned on the number and state of the Legion, and the
character of its chief. ‘Pray, Sir,’ asked Muralo, ‘what
opinion is General Evans held in, in England?’ ‘Why, Sir,’
he replied, ‘as to that, he bears the character of most
British officers—great courage and personal daring; but
as he never commanded a company in action, he is thought
incapable of conducting any great enterprise.’ ‘They tell
me,’ continued the Minister, ‘that your Legion is dying
by companies, through negligence and cruel treatment;’
and with this your officer was dismissed to attend the next
day for instructions. The following morning, however, was
designed to crush all the deserter’s hopes, as the affair
changed altogether. ‘We have considered the affair over
again,’ said Muralo, ‘and have resolved not to act in it.
The Queen Regent of Spain can afford to lose five men to
our one, and from the accounts of the proceedings of this
General of yours, they will be of more service to us than a
victory; and I fear were he supplanted, some more efficient
officer might be put in his stead. Besides, if the English
press accounts be correct, his Excellency appears to be
a man too honest to be suspected, and too incapable to act
conclusively. ‘This,’ said the cadet, as I thought smilingly,
‘was related the next day to the King, who laughed
heartily at the sagacity of his minister.’”

On our return to Vittoria, and when on the point of
leaving, the inhabitants gave a grand ball to the officers of
the Legion; and a piece, entitled “Des Circonstances,”
.bn 261.png
.pn 247
was got up at the theatre; at the same time, in honour
of the English, another, entitled “Charles the First,” in
which that monarch was made a second Don Carlos, and
the English who dethroned and beheaded him, were compared
to the noble Spaniards then fighting against the
tyranny of the Spanish Charles.

While the French Legion were at Vittoria, they also
were honoured with a <i><lang='fr'>fête</lang></i>; the piece selected to flatter
their national pride was a spectacle representing the life of
Napoleon, from his first campaign in Italy to his death.
But the part he acted in Spain was entirely omitted. Yet
Sir Hudson Lowe was not forgotten, nor were allusions
wanting to the cruel conduct of the British Government
towards the Man of the Rock.

I could not help contrasting the healthy and spirited
appearance of the French soldiers to that of the unfortunate
English. But the privations the latter had endured, and
still were suffering, through neglect, and the continued
lash of those in command of them, actually had pinched
out that noble spirit which I ever found the British soldier
to possess. Indeed, I have wondered since that the slightest
subordination was kept, under the system of cruelty pursued
towards them. Any, or the least dereliction of duty,
even the forgetting to touch the hat to a passing officer,
was commonly followed by the <em>cats</em>; while the distant
bearing of most of the commanding officers prevented the
soldiers’ complaints being heard: the total disregard also
of the latter to the billets and personal comforts of their
men—and in many cases, tyrannical ejections from quarters,
where they interfered in the least with those petty despots,
had totally alienated the man from the officer.

But with the “Foreign Legion,” composed, as it was, of
men of all nations, everything went pleasantly, and officers
and men were so alive to each other’s welfare, that it
extended its secret services even to the unfortunate British
Auxiliaries. Many and many were the instances in which
the miserable Legionite, stretched in liquor on the street,
has been dragged by them to concealment, to screen him
from the lash of the Provost. In truth, this sympathy was
.bn 262.png
.pn 248
found among the Spaniards, also, who constantly witnessing
the cruelty, had become quite alive to the risk the delinquents
daily incurred.

A day or two following that on which Cordova withdrew
from the positions about Arlaban, and from between the
British and Foreign Legion, who were posted to the right
and left of the Spaniards, an occurrence took place which
will illustrate the sympathy that existed between the
officers of the French Legion and their soldiers. It will be
remembered, that in consequence of the above movement,
many officers of the French resigned, and Cordova, for the
first time, was stigmatised as a traitor. The two Legions
withdrew from their advance posts, and a recrimination
followed between the Foreign and Spanish Generals.

At about twelve o’clock in the day, a crowd of French
soldiers had collected around the doorway of the house
next to that in which I was billeted. Being able to speak
French, I inquired the cause of the assemblage, when I was
informed that some French Colonel had resigned, and was
going back to France, and the men had come to bid him
farewell. In a short time the Colonel, who seemed to be
an elderly man, made his appearance, and the air resounded
with acclamations. The old soldiers flocked around him,
and a thousand eyes watched his every look; many strove
to get forward to shake hands with him, and several did;
the veteran seemed much affected. After a little desultory
conversation with one and the other, he, at length, made a
move to depart, saying, as he waved his hand, “Adieu,
mes enfants—soyez heureux,” &c., which latter words I
almost lost in the farewells that followed from the soldiers:
“Adieu, mon Colonel!” said some, “Adieu, notre père!”
exclaimed others, and indeed, every one seemed to have
some expression of regret suited to the kindness received by
them.

The old man could scarcely suppress his emotion, but
turning aside, passed his fore-finger and thumb across his
eyes to check the anguish that visibly filled them; suddenly
he turned his horse’s head up the road, and after clearing
the crowd, galloped off towards the gates. In a moment all
.bn 263.png
.pn 249
was gloom, and the soldiers stood watching his retiring
form as it swiftly disappeared in the length and turning of
the streets, and then in gentle murmurings retired to their
quarters.

How different were ours! Few of those in command
deserved so much, and none I believe, ever experienced
such a parting expression of true soldierly sentiment.

In the beginning of April, 1836, the British Legion
received orders to leave Vittoria, and proceed towards San
Sebastian. As it was rumoured that the Carlists were
laying close siege to that fortress, the whole marched
with the exception of the 2nd Lancers. Our invalids, however,
formed what is called a provisional battalion, and
the unfortunates in hospital were left behind under their
protection, who, actually were incapable of taking care of
themselves.

At length we reached our destination (Santander), and
finally occupied the convent of Corbon, distant about four
miles from that town. This place having been a kind
of depôt for the Legion during our stay in the interior, we
were joined here by a second batch of recruits from
England, and the chief part of the Rifles received new great-coats,
shirts, shoes, and other necessaries, which they
stood much in need of. It was astonishing to behold the
change made in the exterior of the battalion by this addition
to their comforts. The men, for the first time, exhibited
a military appearance, which, to a soldier’s eye was very
prepossessing. They were a fine set of fellows, and were
now ripe and ready for any duty, and only wanted efficient
men at their head.
.bn 264.png
.pn 250



.sp 4
.h2 id=ch31
CHAPTER XXXI.

.in +2
.ti -2
Embark for San Sebastian—A thirty-two-pounder, and no mistake—A bloody
force—Brains where they were wanted, unfortunately—A prize—Arrival at San
Sebastian—Anticipated attack—Colonel de Rottenberg taken ill—Major Fortescue—Opinions—His
maiden speech—Two companies broke up the others of
the regiment—5th of May—Attack on the lines of San Sebastian—A hullabaloo—6th
Scotch taken for enemies—Helter-skelter—I receive a severe wound—Am
carried into San Sebastian—My letter to my wife.
.in

.sp 2
<sc>On</sc> the 21st of April, about six in the evening, four
companies of the Rifles were shipped on board an English
steamer, under the command of Commodore Henry, with
orders to convey us to San Sebastian. I was enjoying
a comfortable sleep about six o’clock the following morning,
when I was awoke by the thundering rattle of a thirty-two-pounder.
This rather electrified me; and, on jumping
on deck, I found the vessel had laid-to about half a mile
from the shore—the jolly-boat lowered and manned with
soldiers and sailors, and in full pull after two of the
enemy’s fishing-boats, which, with a few soldiers on board
of them, were smartly exchanging shots with ours. The
report of the firing, however, attracted the attention of a
picquet of theirs, stationed near the water’s edge, who
immediately threw themselves amongst the rocks, and
covered the landing of their comrades, while the Commodore
kept blazing away at them with his thirty-two’s. The
Carlists, jumping on land, and deserting their boats, made
up the rocks to join their comrades; our fellows, in the
meanwhile, rowing after them till within point-blank reach
of the picquet, who instantly began a most spirited retaliation.

In the midst of this a Captain N——, of the Rifles,
formerly a Pedroite, who had volunteered for the enterprise,
suddenly disappeared under the seats of the boat in
search of shelter, whilst the men, of their own accord,
gallantly returned the fire. They succeeded in bringing
away the two boats, but not before we had lost two men;
one sailor, and a soldier, a man of my own company,
named Macnamara, who was shot through the head, and
.bn 265.png
.pn 251
fell at full length on the prostrate body of the terrified
Captain, and literally drenched him with blood and brains.
Thus ended the silly adventure, at the sacrifice of two lives.
The boats not being worth twenty shillings, were instantly
scuttled, and the two men being dropped overboard, the
steamer continued its way. About four in the afternoon
we entered the Bay of San Sebastian, amidst the whistling
shots of the enemy, who were firing upon us from the hills
surrounding the harbour; but their distance from us precluded
the possibility of much danger.

In San Sebastian, for the first time, our men were comfortably
quartered. But our besiegers, who from appearances,
were very numerous, gave us every reason to expect
a regular brush. They were very strongly entrenched on
the opposite hills, and held complete command of the bay.

At this period, I am sorry to state, our Colonel, Baron de
Rottenberg, fell sick, and obtained leave of absence; the
command of the battalion devolved of course, on the Major,
the next in seniority, named Fortescue.

This was rather an unfortunate promotion, both for the
gentleman and the regiment, as it placed the former in no
enviable situation, a few days after; indeed, it was a mad
idea to expect that a young man, who had been but a short
period a Lieutenant in the 4th British Foot, could be properly
intrusted with the lives of four or five hundred men
at his discretion; when in action, from what I myself had
observed, he was not capable of telling off a company.
Baron de Rottenberg, however, who is now serving on the
British Staff in America, formerly commanded the Light
Company of the 81st regiment, and was one of the most
efficient and best disciplined officers I ever witnessed. In
fact, as the Colonel informed me, his father General de
Rottenberg, was the originator of the rifle exercise.

On the 4th May, at evening parade, the Rifles were
assembled on the Plaza, and the regiment being formed
into square, facing inwards, our new Commander, Major
Fortescue thus addressed us:

“Rifles! to-morrow, we are to be engaged with the
enemy: they show no quarter—neither shall we—skewer
every man of them—take no prisoners—skewer every
.bn 266.png
.pn 252
b—— you meet!” Meanwhile the Major imitated a
charge with a stick he held in his hand, the men staring
with surprise both at him and the order. “Now,” said he,
taking off his cap, “let us have three cheers, my lads,”
and commencing the uproar, the men joined, and the whole
Plaza rung again.

This was his maiden speech, and I leave it to the reader
to judge of its effects, both on officer and man; indeed, on
marching to the private parade ground, I inquired of the
Major if he had received the order from the General.
“No!” he replied, rather sharply, “I have not; but you
know, Costello, it will be only tit for tat.”

Being satisfied of this, I took the opportunity when
halting the men, to undo what he had so earnestly wished
to impress, by telling them, that the order they had just
received to butcher every enemy we met, was not issued by
General Evans, and that they came to Spain to be soldiers,
not butchers. However blood-thirsty the enemy, we as
British soldiers were bound to set a very different example,
and to treat with less rigour those who might fall into our
hands. I then requested my two lieutenants to use their
exertions, and see that the men gave quarter.

About twelve o’clock the next night, the Legion prepared
themselves for the test, and the inhabitants of the town
were all alive for the forthcoming effort. Prior to our
marching, General Reid who commanded our brigade,
broke up two of our companies, as he thought the officers
in command of them incompetent, and distributed the men
amongst the battalion, thus forming the regiment into four
companies, each from eighty to ninety strong.

About three in the morning we slowly moved through
the gates towards the enemy’s lines, which were not more
than three-quarters of a mile distant. The Rifles were
on the extreme left of the Legion, and our battalion
marched left in front, so that my company brought up
the rear.

The morning was very dull and heavy, being ushered in
by a kind of Scotch mist. The men, however, were in
great spirits, and seemed determined to prove themselves
worthy of their British name: my confidence in them was
.bn 267.png
.pn 253
such, that I almost imagined myself in the midst of
my old comrades, and panted like an old hunter for the
course.

In a few minutes we commenced ascending the hills,
when the enemy opened a brisk fire on us, thus showing
they were not to be caught napping; and now the well-known
sound—the whistling balls passed over my head—that
music at one time so familiar to my ears, that I have
often been obliged to breakfast, dine, and sup upon its
harmony; this brought my younger days to recollection,
as if I had recoiled twenty years; the Rifles, however,
took possession of their first lines, without firing a shot or
losing a man.

Meanwhile, we could hear a very smart firing on our
right, where the 7th, 9th, and 10th regiments were hotly
engaged; however, as the morning cleared, and the
Carlists discovered where we were, they began to play very
warmly amongst us. The more the shots flew, the greater
confusion among the officers, for each imagining his tactics
better than his neighbour, assumed the command (especially
the Pedroites). This was further encouraged by
“certain drops” which the rawness of the morning, and
the “business in hand,” had influenced them to sip rather
plentifully, while waiting in the Plaza.

In this hullabaloo, Lieutenant Macintosh of our regiment,
then aide-de-camp to General Reid coming up
restored some little order, and actually took command
of the regiment, ordering us to march down a lane, a little
to our right, where he placed the battalion behind a bank,
opposite a Carlist breast-work; here we formed right in
front—the enemy at this time appearing not more than
four or five hundred yards off. We had scarcely formed
and got into order, when our commanding officer, Major
Fortescue, cried out, “No. 1 Company, quick march!”

The men instantly scrambled forward over the bank,
that partially covered them; seeing this, I requested he
would allow me to take command of my company, tell me
what to do, and it should be complied with. But the Major
was too brave a soldier himself, to allow me that honour,
and replied only with the word, “Make ready, present
.bn 268.png
.pn 254
fire!” and fire they did, and did some mischief too, for by
the Major bringing up their left shoulders more than he
should have done, they fired a volley into the 6th Scotch,
who were some distance on our right front, and badly
wounded fifteen or sixteen of their men;[30] this done he
instantly ordered the men to fall back behind the bank and
reload, (no doubt to give a second dose) when I again
requested to be allowed to take the command of my company,
remarking that riflemen never fired by companies, but
independently and in extended order. I also pointed out
to him, his error in firing on the 6th, on which he answered,
“You may take them where you like.”

This was all I required, and when the men had finished
loading, I gave the word “right face,” and bringing them
into the lane before-mentioned, we moved in the direction
of the 6th who were busily at work. As we approached
nearer to the scene of action, one or two of my men being
wounded, I took one of their rifles and ten rounds of
ammunition, and placing the men under cover, I inquired
if they would follow me and undertake to storm a redoubt
opposite? all quickly answered, “We will, Sir.” I begged
them to be cool, and not to fire until they closed upon the
breast-work, and then get under cover as soon as possible,
extending from the centre; off we started, at double time,
towards their second line of entrenchments.

I had to pass close to the 6th. Hearing a cheer in my
rear, I turned and beheld the remainder of the Rifles in
close column. The indefatigable Fortescue in front,
twirling a large stick over his head, cheering and charging.
At this moment, noticing a deep ravine on the left, I
cried out to the men to bring up their left shoulders, and
close to the right, so as to avoid it; but before this could
be accomplished, the Major and his men got intermixed
with the 6th. Here the confusion increased, helter-skelter,
pell-mell, as the balls began to tell fearfully among us,
while the enemy seeing our confusion, plied them to advantage,
and to mend the matter, part of my company also
became intermixed with the remainder of the battalion;
.bn 269.png
.pn 255
endeavouring to get them into something like order, two
balls struck me at the same moment, one grazing the skin
of my left thigh, and the other entering under the right
knee joint, passing downward through the ham, and out at
the calf of the leg.

The brave fellows of my company stuck to me gallantly,
and the instant I fell flew to my assistance and bore me to
the rear. I was carried back to the lane, whence we
started, and on my leg being dressed, I discovered that the
ball had entered an old wound made by a French bullet at
the action of Almeida, July 24th, 1810. But it had come
out in a different direction. I was next placed on a
stretcher and conveyed to my old quarters at San Sebastian.
As the men were carrying me down the hill towards
the town, I observed two steamers in full play, throwing
shells into the Carlist redoubts. These mainly contributed
to the success of the morning, by the skilful manner in
which they directed their shells into the enemy’s works.
When a little recovered from the loss of blood, after my
arrival at my quarters, I wrote the following letter to my
wife, which in some degree may serve to show my feelings
and opinions at the time the action was fought:

.sp 2
.rj
“San Sebastian, May 5, 1836.

.ti +2
“My dear Charlotte,

“I dare say by the time you receive this letter, the
streets of London will be crowded with fellows bellowing
out, ‘The unfortunate Legion is killed to a man, and poor
Costello is no <em>more</em>.’ But if you have not purchased the
widow’s weeds, I request you will not do so, as I am not
yet half killed; certainly I have an extra ball through my
old trunk: and this I should have escaped had I not exposed
myself, perhaps rather unnecessarily, in endeavouring
to keep the brave fellows of my company in something like
military order.

“All were commanders, from the Second Lieutenant to
the Major. It appeared to me, in truth, the Legion is not
a school for the young soldier to acquire knowledge, nor
the old to get credit. How different, indeed, were things
carried on in the British Army: there, in the very height
.bn 270.png
.pn 256
of the most desperate conflict, all was cool and collected,
and every officer’s word could be distinctly heard, at the
slightest cessation of firing.

“The officer who commanded our regiment to-day is a
smart young fellow, and might be of some service in a
country fair in Ireland, with a good shilelah; but to command
four or five hundred men in action with fire-arms,
against a hardy race of mountaineers well disciplined, is
quite a different thing. I cannot say how many of our
regiment were killed, as I was reluctantly compelled to leave
them, by a ball passing through my right knee, yet I hope
I shall not lose my limb. My kindest love to our dear
children; but do not think the worst, my dear Charlotte,—you
shall soon again hear from me.

.nf r
“Affectionately yours,
      “<sc>E. Costello</sc>.
.nf-

.nf l
  “Mrs. Costello, 29, Hinden Street,
      Vauxhall Road, London.”
.nf-



.sp 4
.h2 id=ch32
CHAPTER XXXII.

.in +2
.ti -2
The loss of my company in the late action—Apprehensions about my leg—Medal
and pewter—A candidate for Knighthood—Captain Plunkett—His death, &c.—A
Rifleman assassinated—Fire eaters—Sketch of San Sebastian—Lord John
Hay’s battery—Ramble towards Passages—Something serious—Awkward
squads—Singular decline of Spanish Bigotry—A Sectarian alarmed.
.in

.sp 2
<sc>I had</sc> scarcely finished writing my letter, when word
came that the Legion had taken possession of the enemy’s
works, and compelled the Carlists to retire. The loss sustained
by my company in the action, was one sergeant, one
corporal, and six privates wounded. As soon as the news
was made known, the bells were set ringing, and the guns
fired from the castle and walls in honour of the victory; at
night the town was illuminated, with other demonstrations
of joy by the inhabitants.

For several days I felt great apprehension about my leg,
as it had swollen to almost double its natural size, and had
changed to a livid colour, while the nails of the toes fell off.
I was now on the eve of fifty, and although in excellent
.bn 271.png
.pn 257
spirits, doubted my constitution being strong enough to
undergo amputation. But from evil we sometimes derive
good; it proved so in my case. This being my sixth confinement
through gun-shot wounds, I had acquired some
skill in the art of healing. My doctor, I found, knew but
little in such cases: his theory was obliged to give way to
my experience; and as the knowledge of a disease is half
its cure, I practised on myself. By this means, and strict
attention to diet, &c., I was enabled, in the short space of
two months, not only to leave my bed, but move about
on crutches.

The doctor, while dressing me one morning, told me to
keep as quiet as possible, as the nature of my wound
required care, the ball passing near the main artery; that
if anything like a hemorrhage took place, I was instantly
to send to him. Some few nights after this, when turning
to reach a glass of water from the table near the bedside,
I felt a gush from the wound in that part where the ball
had passed. At first I took no notice, but feeling something
warmer than usual in my bed, I gently raised my
head, and throwing the clothes aside, I saw by the lamp
that I was saturated with blood.

I knew from my former campaigns, as well as the hint
given by the doctor, that if the artery was not instantly tied,
I must bleed to death. It was now about two in the
morning, not a creature near me, my servant sleeping in
the lower part of the house; to attempt to rise and leave
my room to call assistance, such exertion would cause the
blood to flow more copiously; to remain still, I must expect
nothing but death in a few minutes. What was I to do?—placing
my thumb firmly on the hole to stop the blood,
while with the other hand I struck the table, and called
lustily for assistance, but to no purpose, as no one heard
me; my fate seemed inevitable if the hemorrhage continued.
In this state of suspense I remained for some
time; by degrees a film came over my sight; I felt the
vital part of my system so low, and nature became so
exhausted, that my head fell on the pillow, and all sense
left me. How long I remained in this state I know not,
but on coming round again, the morning dawn had just
.bn 272.png
.pn 258
appeared, that gave sufficient light to enable me to see my
situation. To my great joy the bleeding had ceased,
except by drops. Still afraid to use exertion I remained
quiet, the thumb still pressed on the wound; however, I
did not remain long in this misery: hearing some one
moving along the passage, I called out, when the old
patrone made her appearance, and on seeing me covered
with blood, rushed out screaming that the Captain had
cut his throat, which aroused the whole house, among the
rest my servant, whom I instantly sent for Dr. Greenwood.
This gentleman, on examining the wound, observed
a piece of cloth sticking out of the orifice, which he
instantly drew out, and found it to be a piece of my green
trowsers which the ball had left behind in passing through
my knee. He begged me not to be alarmed, as it was one
of the smaller arteries whence the quantity of blood had
flowed.

This trial gave me to understand that, although the
soldier can cheerfully meet death in the field beside his
comrades, he is a coward in the dark when alone.

For their conduct on the 5th of May the men were
honoured with pewter medals, in imitation of those of
Waterloo. A despatch was also sent from Madrid, conferring
the order of St. Ferdinand on those officers who
had most distinguished themselves, amongst whom I was
named as one. But the honour of the thing was almost
lost in the indiscriminate manner in which it was distributed.
Numbers procured the distinction without the
least claim to either skill or courage, and caused a deal of
dissatisfaction amongst the really deserving officers, as the
following humorous facts will sufficiently show.

There were three captains billeted in the same house as
myself, and amongst them a Captain ——, who, on the
morning of the fight, left the field and took to his bed.
The doctor, on visiting him, under the idea that he really
was wounded, could discover, however, neither the least
scratch, nor even bruise. This got wind, and naturally
enough caused a stir amongst his brother officers, and the
Captain was obliged to resign. But he had formerly been in
the service of Don Pedro, and found a friend and powerful
.bn 273.png
.pn 259
advocate in the person of his old chieftain, through whose
interest he regained his captaincy, and, to the surprise and
indignation of the chief part of the officers, actually in a
few days attained a majority, and had the order of San
Fernando conferred on him. Two officers of the Rifles
also bought the same honour, at the price of a dozen of
champagne. But this last was through the then acting
Commander of the regiment.

The Spanish Government, with their profusion of honours
and pewter, also paid the officers their arrears up to the
month of March, 1836, in bills on Colonel Carbonel, in
London, at the time payable on delivery; the last and only
payment ever made during the service—the officers having
been obliged to manage on their field-allowance.

About this time we were joined by a number of convalescents
from Vittoria, consisting of officers and men.
My old friend, Captain Plunkett, came with them. This
veteran soldier, who had formerly served in the 60th
Rifles, and was now on half-pay, by an apathy generally
evinced to those of the British service, found himself
spurned and deserted by the chief part of the officers of
our regiment, who were, as before stated, almost entirely
composed of Pedroites. He was, at this period, very poor,
and was constantly seen in the market-place, selling his
necessaries to procure the little requisites of an invalid.
But through want and neglect he at last got a relapse, and
took to his bed. In this extremity all he had was disposed
of. But for my accidentally noticing his servant selling
his first, and now the last, resource of a soldier, <em>his
sword!</em> he might have died unnoticed. I hobbled, however,
as well as I could, to his quarters, and was only in
time to witness his expiring agonies. Poor Plunkett,
strange to say, was the creditor of the Spanish Government
to the amount of one hundred and fifty pounds though he
died actually through want.

The gloom consequent on this, however, was not permitted
long to settle. Our leisure moments in San Sebastian
were ever pregnant with incident, and one scarcely
occurred ere some new event monopolised the attention.
I had proceeded but a short distance from my deceased
.bn 274.png
.pn 260
friend’s quarters, when my glance was directed to a crowd
of the Rifles clustered in confusion round a door-way.
Another victim! A poor fellow named Graham, through
mistake, had entered an apartment where a woman lay in
bed. On perceiving him she screamed out, and before the
man could retire, her husband, alarmed by her cry, met
him on the stairs, and without any parley, the Spaniard
plunged a knife into his body. The unfortunate Rifleman
lay weltering in his blood, and died a short time after.
The assassin was never sought after, nor any means, either
civil or military, taken to bring him to an account. He
walked at large in the sunlight, and plainly exhibited to us
how little was to be expected from the sympathies or
vigilance of our officers.

There is little interesting at this period of my career,
excepting the casual scenes that came under my observation
during my strolls. Full opportunity was now presented
me to remark on the changes that had worked
themselves on the manners, customs, and prejudices of the
inhabitants, and the ridiculous and extreme folly of the
<em>fire-eaters</em> of the Legion. I was now more a spectator than
an actor, and claim, of course, the proverbial superiority.

Sometimes at morn, or early towards the evening, I
amused myself in strolling about the walks of the neighbourhood.
San Sebastian is rather pleasantly situated.
To the left, as you approach this fort-crowned peninsula,
the Urumea winds its course over some of the prettiest
valley scenes I ever beheld. Its banks now exposed to the
view the different positions and batteries of the conflicting
parties. A little to the extreme in the same direction, and
separated by a rising ground, some four miles across, is
Passages, a town somewhat resembling Dartmouth, with
this difference, that its port is formed by an inlet of the
sea, and not by a river. To the right of the Urumea,
and divided from it by a natural and narrow neck of land,
the Bay of San Sebastian forms its oval basin, of navigable
depth, with a point of land studded with a light-house,
forming one boundary to the entrance, which is
protected and completed by the steep, and castle on the
other. A small island lies between them both, and on this
.bn 275.png
.pn 261
Lord John Hay had raised a battery of cannon. My
quarters were contiguous to the breech made by Wellington
in 1813—now distinguished only by the new appearance of
the rebuilt wall. It was curious to notice, as I limped
about, the little squads of duellists scattered here and
there, and particularly towards the evening. “Twelve
paces” were all the “go,” and they sometimes proved a
dangerous distance; for many of the combatants were
seriously wounded. These were lamentable proofs of the
heterogeneous character of the officers of the Legion; for
during the whole of my career in our own service, I never
knew of but one duel, which proved fatal to one of the
principals.

These singularities in the Legion were never much to
the taste or approbation of the Spaniards; they naturally,
however other changes might have influenced them, still
clung to their old dislike of fighting, and rather looked
upon us as so many powder-barrels, or rather monkeys,
than as partaking in their own peculiar imperfections.
But that spirit of bigotry which had formerly possessed
the prejudices of the Spanish people had almost entirely
vanished before the stride of improvement. This was
most probably owing to the introduction of the foreign
disputants during the last thirty-five years! Scarcely a
monk was to be found at this time, though the monasteries
held their old situation. Even the lovely dark-eyed nuns
had forsaken their cloisters, and seemed to breathe a new
life under the more enlightened state; as regarded religious
enthusiasm, I was astonished at its decrease. On one
occasion, among several others, I especially noticed it.
This was evident on the festival of Corpus Christi; the
streets through which the procession wound were certainly
hung with what a zealot might call the richest tapestry,
but in which I could acknowledge scarcely anything but
old carpets, women’s dresses, and old bed counterpanes,
&c. Triumphal arches were also erected, and the procession
was attended, as usual, by the civil and military
authorities, and by detachments from the different regiments
of the garrison with their bands preceding them:
the priests and canons also thickly followed after them. As
.bn 276.png
.pn 262
they passed where several British officers and myself stood
gazing amid a crowd of the inhabitants, I took off my hat,
but except two or three old women, who went on their
knees, not one of the natives followed the example, or
even showed the slightest respect. This dereliction at one
time, in Spain, would not have escaped severe penance. Indeed,
under the Duke of Wellington, the guards always
turned out, and British soldiers were compelled to salute
the Host as it passed.

But in my strictures on the old Spanish intolerance, let
me not forget a little circumstance reflecting a taint of the
same nature, even from our own toleration-loving countrymen.
“Let me alone, and I will let you alone,” is too
quiet a doctrine for even sectarians: and the two great
contending parties on such weighty matters can scarcely
allow themselves breathing time, ere the bone of contention
which they had laid aside, is again seized on by these little
ones. The truth of this was brought very forcibly to my
mind some few days after the festival, when on a visit to
the cathedral of San Sebastian. I was amusing myself
with staring at the paintings, &c., when my attention
was diverted to a tall, gaunt-looking British marine, (the
marines were doing duty with the Legion at this time),
who entered one of the portals, as I thought, on the same
errand as myself; turning himself about two or three
times, and casting sundry contemptuous glances at the
different images and embellishments, his eye chanced to
alight on the person of an old official in a kneeling posture
between two females, absorbed in prayer. The marine’s
eye brightened with indescribable expression. Taking off
his cap, which till then he had neglected to do, and
wiping down his long carroty wiry hair, over a low retiring
forehead, which reminded me of Mawworm’s in the play,
he suddenly darted to the back of the priest:

“Hypocrite,” he shouted, suddenly interrupting them,
while he pointed to the crucifix before which they knelt;
“What do you expect by praying to those bits of timber?
Hath not the Lord said, ‘Thou shalt not make to thyself
any graven image,’ &c.” He was continuing, when the
trio, as if electrified by the foreign accent, instantly started
.bn 277.png
.pn 263
up, screaming out, and crossing themselves, “Que, que
quiere usted?” (What do you want? what do you want?)

“Eh!” said he again, motioning them to the crucifix.
“Don’t you know the second commandment, ‘Thou shalt
not bow down to them.’” The old man, terrified, immediately
appealed to me for protection. I ordered the
marine instantly to leave, and would have given him in
charge of the guard, had I not discovered it was his over
zeal and not drunkenness, as I at first imagined, agitated
him so; luckily for the methodist, there were only a few
in the chapel, as had it been in the time of service, the
congregation would certainly have made a martyr of him.



.sp 4
.h2 id=ch33
CHAPTER XXXIII.

.in +2
.ti -2
Disorganised state of the Legion—Three months’ pay—A holiday—The 6th and
8th Scotch lay down their arms—Reasons—My wishes to retire from the
Legion—I give up the command of the company—A reflection—I embark for
Santander—Report myself to Colonel Arbuthnot—My new command—The
convent of Carbon—Short description—Inhabitants of—First sample—A
speculation—A Quarter-master’s conscience—I place him under arrest—A
horse! A horse!
.in

.sp 2
<sc>About</sc> this period nothing could exceed the disorganised
state of the Legion (the men being now full six
months in arrears of pay). Disgusted with the privations
they had endured through the Spaniards and their
own officers, and clamorous for their money, they at last
broke out into open mutiny, and carried it to such a pitch,
that they even refused to mount guard, much less meet the
enemy, unless their demands were satisfied. Three
months’ pay, at length, by a general levy on the inhabitants,
was with difficulty procured, and given to them.
But the confusion, nevertheless, grew even more terrible.
The whole neighbourhood instantly became one scene of
uproar and beastly intoxication: the guard-houses were
nightly filled with men, and every hedge and ditch was
strewed with drunken soldiers. Had the Carlists attempted
to surprise the Legion quartered in the villages and farm-houses
in advance of San Sebastian, I have no doubt that
.bn 278.png
.pn 264
not ten of a company would have been found able to stand
to their arms, and the whole must have been cut to pieces.
Many of the unfortunates who had so abused their hard
earnings, found themselves <target id='woe'>woefully deficient the next
morning, the more sober or wide awake ones having picked
their pockets during their insensibility. These, however,
on discovering their deficiency, in turn took to robbing
their comrades even of great-coats, shirts, shoes, and even
their rations. This became so universal, that complaints
to the officers became altogether useless, for scarcely one
could “cast the first stone.”

I must here remark, that a great number of the men had
enlisted only for a twelvemonth, and held documents to
that effect, signed by the officers who enlisted them.
Their time of service was now up, and whole companies of
the 6th and 8th Scotch gave notice to their officers, and
the next day followed it up. I was present when they
piled arms, and hung their accoutrements upon them.
The whole Legion, however, was in such a state of insubordination,
that it was with much ado they could
muster enough men to march the delinquents to the castle
(which was effected after all only by stratagem), from
whence they were shipped on board a steamer to Santander
and Santona.

I now began to feel tired of an inactive life; and as my
wounds were of a nature to disable me for future service,
I expressed a wish to the General then commanding the
brigade, that a medical board should examine me. He
spoke to the Adjutant-General on the subject, who
suggested that a month or two at Santander might recover
and enable me to rejoin. To this, I of course consented,
and got in readiness for starting. I made up my books,
and settled with my company, up to the last day of April,
1836, giving credit to the Spanish Government for one
sergeant-major, five sergeants, three corporals, and sixteen
rank and file, who died in hospital at Vittoria. I gave up
the command to my first lieutenant, de Burgh.

I was not a little delighted at the anticipated change of
scene, and looked anxiously for the time of my departure.
San Sebastian, at one time so welcome to me, from pride
.bn 279.png
.pn 265
and military reminiscences, had now sunk into the medley
of strange and indescribable events I had so lately partook
in. I was on the point of leaving—perhaps for ever—a
Legion from which I had expected so much, but now, alas!
nothing. Truly, with Hamlet, I might have exclaimed—

.nf b
Take it for all in all,
I ne’er shall look upon its like again.
.nf-

.ti 0
Nor did I ever wish it—so much abused, badly used, and
worse officered.

After getting my little necessaries packed, and on board,
accompanied by my servant, I embarked for Santander.
I must leave it to the reader to imagine my feelings when
on the deck of the ‘James Watt’ steamer, as it weighed
anchor, and carefully made head out of the harbour.
Little did I anticipate how great a change was to be presented
before me: the horrors of Vittoria sank into insignificance
before those of the convent to which I was on
my way.

In the course of thirty-six hours we reached our destination,
over a distance of about one hundred miles. I
landed immediately, and proceeded to report myself to the
Commandant, Colonel Arbuthnot’s quarters, from whom I
received orders to go instantly and take charge of the
convent of Carbon.

The convent of Carbon is situated at the extremity of a
bleak morass, about four miles from Santander, and presents
one of the most gloomy aspects imaginable. It is a
large square building, enclosing an extensive court and
colonnade, and has much the appearance of what it really
now was—a great gaol. The ground around it is almost
impassable for a dry foot, particularly in damp weather.
Napoleon, during his stay in the neighbourhood, made it
once his resting-place for a night, and reviewed his army
on some of the adjacent grounds. The monks who had
then, and up till very lately occupied it, were scattered
about in the neighbouring hamlets, and were depending on
small pensions granted them for their losses by the
Spanish Government, and on the charity of the peasantry.
The convent had long been a depôt for the auxiliaries, and
.bn 280.png
.pn 266
a sort of magazine for stores, ammunition, &c. The Commandant
was generally some field-officer, whose power was
almost despotic, and particularly secure from complaint, as
Colonel Arbuthnot seldom if ever visited it.

On my arrival, the first thing that caught my attention
was a number of Spanish sentries posted round the different
entrances and inside. On entering I beheld a miserable-looking
group, seemingly belonging to the Legion. Anxious
to see the Commandant whom I was to relieve, I found
him in bed, in almost the last stage of fever; his name
was Deacon, Captain of the 1st regiment; he had formerly
been a Lieutenant in the British Marines. There were
also, besides, several officers convalescent, and a number of
men disabled through wounds, &c. But the major part of
the inmates were composed of the 6th and 8th Scotch, to
the number of two hundred and fifty—being the men who
had laid down their arms at San Sebastian. The officer
appointed to officiate during the Commandant’s illness, was
the Quarter-master of the depôt, and one who might be
well compared to a land-shark.

I had scarcely left the sick Captain’s quarters, when
one of the Rifles placed in my hand a small bit of paper
written on with a pencil, and begging me to call at the
guard-house and see their condition. I followed him
immediately, and was proceeding to open the door, when
an effluvium of the most fetid description obliged me to
retire outside the building. I gave instant orders for the
prisoners to come out, and fall in before me; and out came
thirty-six of the most cadaverous-looking objects man ever
beheld. The room from which they thronged, and their
misery-stricken haggard forms and countenances, would
have well typified the horrors of the Hole of Calcutta. It
had been formerly used as a stable by the monks: the
only window was now blocked up by the miserable beings
to keep out the northern blast.

Here, upon inquiry, I was informed they had been
placed on nothing more or less than a speculation of the
Quarter-master’s, who taking advantage of an order issued
by Colonel Arbuthnot “to deprive all prisoners of their
meat and wine,” had confined these invalids (for that they
.bn 281.png
.pn 267
really were), and was in the habit of occasionally sending
the proceeds and selling them at Santander: of this I
afterwards found every proof. I, of course, immediately
released the whole, ordering them to their rooms; and the
next morning gave directions for every one to fall in,
prisoners as well as invalids. It would be impossible to
portray a faithful picture of the miserable creatures before
me. They stood like beings just come out of the grave:
their eyes sunk in their heads, and their countenances, with
want, filth, and the confinement, hardly recognizable.
Scarcely a dozen of them had even jackets or shirts, and
not one either shoes or stockings, and many were covered
only with a ragged rug. Their daily allowance had been
a pound and a half of black bread, and water <i><lang='la'>ad libitum</lang></i>;
and if they strayed beyond the boundaries to get a little
maize or Indian corn to eke out their miserable pittance,
they had, perhaps, a leaden bullet from the Spanish sentry,
to digest, for their temerity.

But in this there was but little difference between the
prisoners and the invalids, excepting in the rations, the
latter having meat and wine; but even thus they were but
little better off—the meat being most unfairly dealt out to
them, and the wine measured in a tin, out of which it
escaped as through a cullender. This utensil, from its
antique appearance, seemed to have been one of those used
by the fifty daughters of Danaus, who could not have
been better provided.

After a few days, and as soon as I got a little settled, I
determined on searching into the cause; and, as a first
step, on an opportunity offering, ordered the Quarter-master
under an arrest, which he refused to answer, but
taking horse, rode off to Santander. I had been influenced
to this by perceiving one day a quarter of beef and other
things, waiting in a cart at the gate to be sent to town.
On my asking him about them, I was answered that they
were surplus provisions, sent by the Depôt Commissary,
and he was sending them back; but guessing the true
cause, I did as above.

I, however, as quickly procured one of the Lancers’
horses and set off after him, and succeeded in bringing
.bn 282.png
.pn 268
him to a court of inquiry some short time after. I had
innumerable witnesses, and amongst them his own sergeant
and the sergeant-major. But the court was either inefficient
or something worse; so that the affair was bolstered
up, and he escaped to resume his old tricks—which, however
I counteracted as much as lay in my power. But he
was a cunning fellow; and if bribery could have gained
me, he certainly tried it on, for never was a table better
provided than mine and the officers who messed with me.

But I had my eye on him, like an old soldier’s on a
fugleman, and watched his every movement.



.sp 4
.h2 id=ch34
CHAPTER XXXIV.

.in +2
.ti -2
An orderly dragoon puts us all in confusion—A stir—Retreat upon Santander—The
dangers of forgetfulness—Cure for a fever—We return to our old quarters—Captain
Shields and Major Clark’s visit—An appeal—A new mode of raising
“Volunteers”—Glory or death by famine—One hundred and twenty men are
starved into the service again—Scene in Santander—British soldiers and subjects—More
assassinations—A cold-blooded Spaniard—A peace-loving Commandant—Captain
Oakley and his “cats”—Continued horrors of the convent—Assassination—A
relief from purgatory—A conclusion.
.in

.sp 2
<sc>In</sc> consequence of the weakened state of the garrison
and the convent, the inhabitants and Commandant of
Santander were in constant fear of incursions from the
enemy, who seemed to be beating about the neighbourhood.
Indeed, at one time they crossed a river, some
three leagues distant from the town, on the Madrid road,
by means of pontoons, obliging the Spanish troops doing
duty thereabouts to retire upon Santander.

One evening an orderly dragoon came post haste from
Colonel Arbuthnot, to inform me that the Carlists were
beating about our quarters, with orders to hold myself, and
the whole of the prisoners and convalescents, in readiness
to leave the convent at a moment’s notice; but not to
stir until the Spanish guard doing duty over the convent
had retired, in which case our retreat was to be covered
by them.—Covered by them indeed! Here was a pretty predicament!
upwards of three hundred British soldiers, without
arms, under the auspices of a parcel of Spaniards! We
.bn 283.png
.pn 269
had not a single stand of fire-arms, excepting my servant’s
rifle; for even the Lancers, that were performing orderly
duty, had been deprived of all but their swords. I instantly
sent for the sergeant-major, and acquainted him with the
orders received, directing him to get the men in readiness.
I then ordered a couple of the Lancers to ride round and
reconnoitre, and being assured by the Captain of the
Spanish guard of his duly warning me before he marched,
I laid myself full dressed on my bed.

I had just dozed off, when in drove two of the dragoons,
informing me that our Spanish guard had retired, and that
there was every reason to believe that the Carlists were
in the wood behind the convent, indeed that we were
surrounded; here was a blessing, not even shaving time
allowed us by the Carlists. However, I instantly ordered
the men to fall in as quietly as possible, and putting them
under the command of Lieutenant de Becker of the 6th,
and placing Captain Deacon (who at the time had blisters
applied to his head and breast) on an old door, borne
on the shoulders of men, off they started. Having thus
cleared the convent, the sergeant-major, a few dragoons,
and some Irishmen armed with sticks, covered their retreat.
As we were about to follow the rest, two Spanish soldiers
made their appearance, nearly out of breath, with their
muskets and bayonets fixed. It appeared that, in their
hurried flight, they had forgotten the Captain’s cloak.
Here was a lucky chance!—Up went their heels and down
they went on their backs, and, in a twinkling, their muskets
and pouches were wrenched from them and shouldered
for our own protection. The reader is, I expect, with his
hair on end, anticipating some dreadful encounter; but
this, after all, turned out, like most of our air-castles to be
nothing but a bottle of smoke—though contrary to expectation,
it certainly saved the life of Captain Deacon, whose
illness took a turn through the confusion, and he recovered
rapidly.

Fortunately the night was of a fine starlight, and we
reached Santander at about three in the morning, and discovered
that the whole blunder was occasioned by the
.bn 284.png
.pn 270
Spanish troops moving without orders; we of course
returned to our old quarters.

Shortly after this, two officers—Captain Shields of the
8th, and Major Clark of the 6th, were sent from head-quarters
to persuade, if possible, the men to rejoin their
regiments. They requested me to order them to fall in;
which I did,—and the whole formed in a field opposite the
convent.

The two officers, as their eyes first glanced on the
gloomy ranks before them, stared in silent astonishment.
“Good God!” at length ejaculated Shields, with deep
emphasis, “can it be possible that these men once formed
my old company, the grenadiers!” It was too true.

Clark, stepping forward, appealed to them as their old
officer, and pathetically begged of them to listen. Shields
did the same. But they would not, they said, say or do
anything until Captain Costello had given his opinion, on
whom, as an old soldier, they relied for just and practical
advice.

At this, I of course came forward, and addressed them
somewhat to this effect:

That the winter was fast approaching, and it was the
intention of the General to keep them there during that
season: the privations consequently, which they would
have to undergo would be even worse than those they had
already experienced. Under these circumstances, therefore,
and the prospect of better food, and the chances that
might, more than probably, offer themselves for their
escaping through the Pyrenees into France, which closely
bordered on San Sebastian, I would strongly urge them to
return to their regiments. I spoke to them as a man who
had once borne a musket. Their claims I acknowledged as
just.[31]

Here they all produced their agreements, duly signed by
the officer with whom they first engaged, to serve for one
or two years, as might be preferred by the individual
.bn 285.png
.pn 271
so entering the service of her Catholic Majesty the Queen
of Spain.

Being empowered to grant full rations to those who volunteered,
I also promised them immediate relief to their hunger.

They requested a quarter of an hour’s consideration,
and in that time decided, on condition of further certificates
being given them, so that they should be obliged to serve
only for the two years from the time they first engaged.
These, signed by Colonel Arbuthnot and myself, were
afterwards given them; and a number, to the amount
of fifty non-commissioned officers and privates, who that
night volunteered, sat down, for the first time for many
months, to a bellyful; but these only were allowed it,
which in this case was a wise though a cruel expedient, for
that meal bought their birthright, and, for the sake of a
similar supply to the cravings of nature, then almost
extinct, eighty more signed their names, making in all one
hundred and twenty.[32]

The next morning it was my duty to march them to
Santander, and embark them on board a steamer for San
Sebastian. But to get them ready for this was a difficult
task, for many of them had not even—as I before stated—clothing
to cover their nakedness. The convent was ransacked
everywhere; all the old rugs were soon monopolized,
and divided amongst them; and even the old parchment
records which had been left by the monks, were converted
into covers for decency.

I never shall forget the sight, as these poor fellows
.bn 286.png
.pn 272
slowly emerged from the convent. Numbers alone kept
them going, when, perhaps, singly, each man would have
died rather than have undergone such an exposure; that
blush which should have for ever dyed the cheeks of their
oppressors, now mantled up those of the unfortunate
victims, and they bent their heads in agony as they
hurried through the streets of Santander. The inhabitants,
struck at the melancholy procession, murmured, as they
crowded after them, “Povres Ingleses! povres Ingleses!”
(poor English! poor English!) So much for the
generous English, “defenders of the liberty of nations.”
It was a great relief to me to see them on board. I
returned to Carbon the same evening, and found those
whom I had left in a state of mutiny; for two of their
number had been wounded, during my absence, by the
Spanish guard. One, belonging to the Lancers, had been
shot through the arm; the other, one of the 6th, had
received a bayonet stab in the breast. This, I was informed,
was occasioned by their having strayed beyond the boundaries.
I spoke to the Captain of the Spanish guard, on
the cowardice of his men firing on the unarmed English.
He answered me only with a shrug of the shoulder. My
blood rose at his apathy—old times, when I myself had
been, as it were, one of themselves, flashed across my
memory, and lighted up the indignation that now stifled all
thoughts of my rank and present distance. I felt as a
man; and could not forbear telling him, that, had his
British victims been armed, I would have made him pay
dearly for his cold-blooded villainy. But the phlegmatic
scoundrel had neither courage nor sympathy, and so far
from granting me the satisfaction I required of him,
shrunk from me with the hangman’s plea, that he had
merely fulfilled orders.

What most surprised me was, that the men, naked as
they were, had not rushed on the Spaniards, and taken their
arms from them. But on second reflection, I attributed
this want of spirit to their half-starved, weakened condition—surrounded,
too, as they were, by officers on whom
even their claims of compatriotism seemed lost amid the
general apathy to every manly feeling.
.bn 287.png
.pn 273

I had the poor men conveyed to the general hospital,
and put myself immediately in communication with Colonel
Arbuthnot. But the gallant Commandant of Santander
had become so completely Spanish, that no reply even was
sent; and I was obliged, at last, to press the matter personally.

“We must not quarrel with the Spaniards,” was all I
could get out of him. On my return I used every means
in my power to alleviate their forlorn condition. But my
authority, as Commandant, was a mere mockery, for we
were entirely at the disposal of the Spanish guard. It was
truly painful, despite the frequency of the scene, to witness
the daily return of misery. Midnight, that hour when
wretchedness generally forgets itself in sleep, seemed to
have lost the influence here, its silence being broken by
the passing footsteps of those unhappy men, as many
passed the time telling me the oft repeated list of grievances,
while they promenaded the gloomy avenues and colonnades
of the old convent. At times, and when the moon
shone, the whole building had the appearance of a splendid
mausoleum, and the sufferers as they passed from cell to
cell, looked unearthly, and put me in mind almost of the
fabled and ghastly inhabitants of the other world.

By custom, however, we got so familiarized to everything
revolting, that, at length, these horrors became as
ordinary matters of course. A journalist would have
thrown his pen aside, in the monotony of daily cruelty;
and I myself, by the lapse of a few years, am only now, as
it were, aroused from the lethargy it had thrown me into.
I look back with a thrill. I see them still, as it were,
before me,—the fierce look!—the quick order!—the lash!—and
the gaunt, misery-stricken countenances of one hundred
and fifty men, and all the changes their tyrants had
rung amongst them!

Finding my complaints so unavailing, I made up my
mind to quit the service; and, intimating my wishes to
head-quarters, that a medical board might examine my
wounds, I handed over my commandantship to a Captain
Oakley, of the 2nd Lancers. I met this gentleman on his
.bn 288.png
.pn 274
way to the convent, with a couple of sets of cats, which
he had procured from the British frigate—I believe the
‘Castor’—then lying in the harbour of Santander. He
pulled them out of his pocket, and, with an air well suited
to his meaning, gave me to understand that he would have
no “nonsense!”

While awaiting an answer from head-quarters, I was
obliged, much against my inclination, to remain at the convent.
This, however, gave me an opportunity of witnessing
his first essay at the command. The wants and privations
the men had hitherto endured he did not deem sufficient;
and, as a last resort, they were, to the number of one
hundred and fifty placed at the top of the building, in one
room, the windows of which having been totally demolished,
laid them open to the northern aspect, in the cold month
of November, without even the poor advantage of a fire-place.
Two Spanish soldiers were posted sentry, with
loaded muskets, to prevent ingress or egress. One of these
was employed to escort the men to the closet, one at a
time, by day; and, at night, a large tub, placed in the centre
of the room, served every purpose till morning.

I was one day on my return from Santander to this
gloomy prison-house, when I met a party, bearing on their
shoulders, the body of a man on a shutter, to the general
hospital. On inquiry, I found his name to be John
Bryant, of the 6th—an invalid, not a prisoner. This poor
fellow, it appeared, while by order of Captain Oakley, in
the act of cutting a few boughs, to make a broom to sweep
the cloisters with, was watched by one of the Spanish soldiers,
and, while in the tree, deliberately shot. Poor Bryant
fell instantly through the branches, mortally wounded, the
ball entering at the breast and passing out at the shoulder.
He died the same night; but, as usual, his murder was
not taken the slightest notice of.

An order at length arrived, and a medical board having
sat accordingly, I was pronounced, through wounds, unfit
for further service. I packed up my traps, and hastened
to leave the neighbourhood. I felt as few ever felt before:
and, even now, seated in my family circle, though years
.bn 289.png
.pn 275
have intervened, seem to breathe anew the freedom I experienced
at my deliverance from this worse than purgatory.

Thus ends my military career; which, little as it can
boast of leading incident, may yet prove interesting. I
shall, however, feel contented if it but assist to wile away a
dull hour, or keep alive the recollection of personal enterprise
among those of my veteran comrades whom war has
permitted to live and peruse it. It is but a plain, unvarnished
attempt to relate my individual adventures; and,
perhaps, like the works of most men, might have amused
its author, but for the fatigues and intricacies of compilation.
“The fame of a scholar,” an eminent writer has
observed, “is acquired only in solitude; and he connects
but a chain of silent and cool reflection.” With me it is
different: all my recollections are mixed up in extraordinary
broils and confusions, which make it no easy task, from
out so great a variety, to connect even the few incidents,
thus huddled together in the

.rj
<sc>Adventures of a Soldier</sc>.


.sp 2
.ce
THE END.


.sp 2
.nf c
LONDON:

Printed by Schulze and Co., 13, Poland Street.
.nf-
.bn 290.png
.pn 276



.sp 4
.h2
INTERESTING||MILITARY AND NAVAL WORKS.||Published by COLBURN and Co.

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<l>LIGHTS AND SHADES OF MILITARY LIFE.</l>

Edited by Lieut.-Gen. Sir CHARLES NAPIER, G.C.B.,
Commander-in-Chief in India, &c. 1 vol., 8vo, 10s. 6d. bound.

“A narrative of stirring interest, which should be in the hands of every officer
in her Majesty’s service.”—<cite>Globe.</cite>

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<l>CAPTAIN CRAWFORD’S REMINISCENCES</l>
OF ADMIRALS SIR E. OWEN, SIR B. HALLOWELL CAREW,
AND OTHER DISTINGUISHED COMMANDERS.

2 vols., post 8vo, with Portraits, 21s. bound.
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“A work which cannot fail of being popular in every portion of our sea-girt
isle, and of being read with delight by all who feel interested in the right hand
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<l>STORY OF THE PENINSULAR WAR.</l>
A COMPANION VOLUME TO MR. GLEIG’S
“STORY OF THE BATTLE OF WATERLOO.”

With six Portraits and Map, 5s. bound.
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“Every page of this work is fraught with undying interest. We needed such
a book as this; one that could give to the rising generation of soldiers a clear
notion of the events which led to the expulsion of the French from the Peninsula.”—<cite>United
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.hr 20%

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<l>THE NEMESIS IN CHINA;</l>
COMPRISING A COMPLETE
HISTORY OF THE WAR IN THAT COUNTRY.

From Notes of Captain W. H. HALL, R.N.
1 vol., Plates, 6s. bound.
.nf-

.hr 20%

.nf c
<l>HISTORY OF THE WAR</l>
<l>IN GERMANY AND FRANCE IN 1813 & 1814.</l>

By Lieut.-Gen. the MARQUIS OF LONDONDERRY,
G.C.B., &c. &c. 21s.
.nf-

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.nf c
<l>ADVENTURES OF A NAVY LIEUTENANT.</l>

2 vols. 10s.
.nf-

.sp 4
.h2
FOOTNOTES

.sp 2
.fn 1
A few months back, while on duty at the Tower, one of the warders informed
me a most extraordinary lady was anxious to see me, when, to my astonishment,
Mrs. Plunket stood before me, and while she held a handkerchief by one hand
close to that part where her nose formerly stood, with her other hand she
squeezed mine, and in the most plaintive tone told me of poor Tom’s death.
It appeared that herself and Plunket, who usually tramped through different
parts of the country, and procured a livelihood selling needles and tapes, while
passing through a street in Colchester, suddenly staggering a few paces fell
down and expired. The death of Tom and the sight of Mrs. Plunket, whose
extraordinary countenance excited disgust as well as pity, spread like wildfire
through the town, and it came to the ears of several retired officers living in
that city, who happened to read my description of him; the result was that a
handsome collection was set on foot, and the amount of twenty pounds was
collected for the widow. The lady of a colonel also, entirely out of her own
pocket, paid for the funeral of poor Tom, with a handsome tombstone to perpetuate
his memory. This she told me with many sobs. Thus ended the
career of the gallant but unfortunate Plunket.
.fn-

.fn 2
As the reader may not be aware of the weight each rifleman had to carry
during this long and harassing march, this too by men considered the lightest
troops in our service, they are as follows: Knapsack and straps, two shirts,
two pair of stockings, one pair of shoes, ditto soles and heels, three brushes,
box of blacking, razor, soap-box and strap, and also at the time an extra pair of
trowsers, a mess-tin, centre-tin and lid, haversack and canteen, great coat and
blanket, a powder-flask filled, a ball bag containing thirty loose balls, a small
wooden mallet used to hammer the ball into the muzzle of our rifles; belt and
pouch, the latter containing fifty rounds of ammunition, sword-belt and rifle,
besides other odds and ends, that at all times are required for a service-soldier.
Each squad had also to carry four bill-hooks, that weighed six pounds each, so
that every other day each man had to carry it; thus equipped, with from seventy
to eighty pounds weight, this too in the melting month of July. Not content
with the above, the General gave strict orders for each man to have his canteen
filled with water before commencing the day’s march every morning. Through
being thus overloaded, four hundred of the battalion died a few months after our
arrival, without a single shot being fired. But the survivors soon found out the
cause of this mortality, as I don’t think there was a man in the regiment five
years after, before we left the country, could show a single shirt or a pair of
shoes in his knapsack.
.fn-

.fn 3
The Honourable Captain Pakenham was a brother-in-law to the Duke of
Wellington. This gentleman, who belonged to my regiment, was much beloved
by us all. He was always so considerate! On every occasion when the fresh
arrival of necessaries, meat, wine, &c., brought the men in crowds about the
stores, he invariably would abide his turn, and, as though he were one of ourselves,
oblige every new comer, whatever his rank, to submit to the same. This,
though mere justice, for its rare occurrence with the other officers, was never
forgotten by the men. Since his return from the Peninsula I have been told he
was ordered to New Orleans, where he was killed.
.fn-

.fn 4
I must here remark, that these shells were thrown at us by mistake, as the
town was in the possession of our friends the Portuguese, under the command
of Colonel Cox, a British officer, who from our position being near the enemy, as
well as our green dress, must have mistaken us for the latter. Almeida was
afterwards taken by the French.
.fn-

.fn 5
Strange as it may appear, this ball may be this hour felt with as much ease
as the first day it entered, forty-two years back.
.fn-

.fn 6
Among the officers wounded was the present Sir H. Smith, his brother Tom
also. The former being on the staff had a <i>cedan</i> with two mules to carry him;
the latter was packed with the men in bullock-carts.
.fn-

.fn 7
With regard to knapsacks, of which so much has been spoken, I cannot see
why they could not be carried by the quarter-master or commissariat, and given
out with the same ease as the rations. This I apply only to the rifles and other
light troops, who, being always exposed and in advance, have need of all their
energies and activity to render them fully effective.
.fn-

.fn 8
Any of my readers passing through Knightsbridge, may chance to observe a
tall military figure, bent with years, a bag thrown over his shoulders, stooping to
pick up bones, &c., this person is no other than the once redoubtable Humphrey
Allen, at that time one of the smartest and finest-looking men in our
Rifles.
.fn-

.fn 9
I have often felt surprised that our officers have not generally adopted the
plan of carrying a rifle when in action; the defence it would afford to the individual
himself in its superiority over the sword or the pistol, which latter are
mere toys in the field, would, I imagine, bear its own argument. The additional
strength also it must give to the efficiency of the regiments generally,
from the number it would add to each volley (in the proportion of fifty to a
regiment), and the confidence it must inspire in the officers, would, one should
think, carry everything before it, nor can it prevent any officer in keeping his eye
on his men, as all riflemen, while in action, use their own judgment by getting
under cover, consequently out of sight.
.fn-

.fn 10
This veteran soldier, who was afterwards promoted to the rank of Sergeant-Major,
through the interest of his old commander Sir Hussey Vivian, now holds
a situation in the Tower, where we frequently meet.
.fn-

.fn 11
As some of my readers may not be acquainted with the duty and the character
of a “Forlorn-Hope,” I will proceed to explain it. On the eve of the
storming of a fortress, the breaches, &c., being all ready, Captains of companies,
on their private parade, give the men to understand that such and such a place
is to be taken by storm. Every man then, who wishes to volunteer to head the
stormers, steps forward to the front, and his name is immediately taken down
by the officer; if none offer themselves the first men for duty are selected.
With our regiment this latter alternative was never required, as a sufficient
number were always ready.

This service, or “Forlorn-Hope,” is designated by the French in the not less
appropriate term of “Les Enfants perdus,” or “Lost Children,” and has always
to lead or make the first attack.
.fn-

.fn 12
There is no doubt, but Wilkie, Major Napier, and indeed several others in
advance fell by the fire of the Portuguese; who being panic-struck by the first
volley they received from the town, instantly lay down on the glacis, and commenced
firing on the breach. A random shot through the embrasure deprived
my friend of life.
.fn-

.fn 13
Grass-bags are long sacks about six feet by three, filled with grass or hay,
and so stuffed as to enable a party, in case the ladders should not be fixed in
sufficient time, by pitching them into the trenches before them to descend with
comparative safety. With us, however, they answered a double purpose, being
carried by our men in front of their persons to prevent the effects of the enemy’s
fire.
.fn-

.fn 14
The gallantry of the Spaniards of our regiment make me believe, had those
countrymen during the war been properly commanded, they would have made
excellent soldiers.
.fn-

.fn 15
As before stated, the French carry no haversacks.
.fn-

.fn 16
As of late, much has been said concerning the use or non-use of the bayonet in
action, I shall here take the liberty, supported by the above fact, of intruding my
own opinions in the matter; an opinion, which falling from the mouth of an old
soldier only, might otherwise be thought worthless, if not presumptuous.

It is generally known of course that Riflemen, when in action, are at all times
extended, and have always better opportunities of watching the movements of
two armies, than those troops who are compelled to march in compact and
closely-wedged masses.

Both parties, it will be observed by the above, were with their fire-locks unloaded,
the British having fired and charged before the French could reload, and
both consequently had no resource left but their bayonets. Now I would ask
the no-bayonet gentlemen, if the French, who well knew their mutual position,
had seen the British advance with bare muzzles or with no bayonets, would they
have given way with their own bayonets fixed to oppose them. If they did, they
ought to be hanged, from the Colonel downwards. On the other hand, if the
English had attempted to charge with bare muzzles against fixed bayonets, each
man from the commanding officer down should be sent to a madhouse.

Upon this then I should say, if my opinion be acceptable, that the bayonets
had better remain in present use until such time as we can bargain with the
French or other enemies to disuse them.
.fn-

.fn 17
Query Countess of Gazan.
.fn-

.fn 18
Query Jourdain’s <i><lang='fr'>bâton</lang></i>.
.fn-

.fn 19
Strange to say, this very sergeant, whose name was Lee, and who had the
fame of being the best boxer in his regiment, after the battle of Waterloo, lay
wounded in the bed next to mine in the hospital at Antwerp. “Holloa, Rifleman!”
said he, when he first perceived me near him, “don’t you recollect me!”
At first I did not. “By God,” said he, again, “you frightened me more than a
bit at Vittoria, when guarding your money-bags.” This soon settled the recognition;
but, poor fellow! he died after the amputation of his arm.
.fn-

.fn 20
Tom served under General Whitelock in South America.
.fn-

.fn 21
The brass clasp or hook that fastens the belt.
.fn-

.fn 22
This being only a report amongst us wounded men, little reliance can be
placed on it.
.fn-

.fn 23

.rj
28, Berkeley Square, March 2nd, 1819.

I strongly recommend to your notice, and to the attention of the Board of
Chelsea, the bearer, Edward Costello, late sergeant in the first battalion Rifle
Brigade, for an increase of pension for his gallant services, he having been
discharged in consequence of wounds received in action.

.nf b
<sc>A. F. Barnard</sc>,
    Major-General Commanding,
        First Battalion Rifle Brigade.
.nf-

.nf l
To General Sir <sc>E. Dundas</sc>,
        &c., &c., &c.
  Colonel-in-Chief, Rifle Brigade,
.nf-

To this hour it remained unaltered.
.fn-

.fn 24
This Conner now resides at Chelsea, and I am happy to say, in good circumstances,
at his trade as a tailor.
.fn-

.fn 25
Now Sir Henry Bulwer.
.fn-

.fn 26
<i><lang='la'>Vide</lang></i>, General Order under Evans.


“G. O.,\ \ \ \ \ \ Head Quarters, San Sebastian,

.rj
“September 2, 1835.

* * * “All provosts and their assistants are empowered to inflict summary
punishment <em>on the breech</em> to the amount of twenty-four lashes, according to the
degree of the offence, on soldiers and <em>followers</em> of the army committing offences
against discipline, plundering, drunkenness, violence, and, in short, everything
tending to the subversion of good order in the army. The provost must either
witness the offence himself <em>or have it from the evidence of competent eye witnesses</em>;
the punishment in every case to be inflicted on the spot or near the
same.”
.fn-

.fn 27


“G. O.\ \ \ \ \ \ Head Quarters, Frenada,

.rj
“November 1, 1811.

“The office of Provost Marshal has existed in all British armies in the field
* * * his authority must be limited by the necessity of the case, and whatever
be the crime of which a soldier may be guilty, the Provost Marshal has not the
power of inflicting summary punishment for it unless <em>he</em> should see him in the
act of committing it. If he should not see him in the act of committing it, he
is directed to report the offence to the Commander-in-chief of the army, in order
that the soldier be <em>tried</em>, and <em>evidence</em> adduced against him. Further the Commander
of the Forces desires that it may be clearly understood that <em>no officer
whatever</em> has a right to order the Provost Marshal, or his assistants, to exercise
the authority intrusted to them; nor can the Provost Marshal, or his assistants,
inflict punishment on any man, except they should see him in the act of committing
a breach of orders and discipline. Their duty is, by <em>vigilance</em> and activity,
to <em>prevent</em> those breaches which the Commander of the Forces is sorry to observe
are too common, and to punish those they may catch in the <target id='act'>act.”
.fn-

.fn 28
I feel bound, before quitting the subject, to declare it as my opinion that
the bread was not actually poisoned; the materials of which it was made, no
doubt, were of the worst description, of which the colour, which was of the
most disheartening black, gave every proof; when two days old it would be as hard
almost as wood, and in another similar lapse of time, it would mildew, and become
green as old copper. The men, however, who were not taken ill, always fed upon
it, from necessity; while most of the officers, who were served with good white
bread (but at a less ration), were equally attacked by the sickness. The baker,
therefore, in this respect, did no more than what our own contractors would
have done, and which the abominable quality of almost everything sent us went
to testify. That he conspired to favour Don Carlos’s cause I have no doubt, and
the punishment was necessary, and a wholesome one.
.fn-

.fn 29
There were seven brothers of the Cummings in our first battalion Rifle
Brigade; the above Allan was sergeant in the band, and was killed at Vittoria
21st June, 1813.
.fn-

.fn 30
This I was informed by the surgeon who dressed them afterwards.
.fn-

.fn 31
Vide first article of conditions of service:

“I. The time of service to be for <em>one</em> or <em>two</em> years, as may be preferred by the
individual engaging to enter her Majesty’s service.”
.fn-

.fn 32
The whole of these two regiments were almost entirely Scotch, a people
whom I ever found justly submissive and brave. Each man of these signed his
name himself; and, by the ready manner, gave full proof of their being well informed
as well as intellectual. It will be recollected, also, that, up to the time
of their laying down arms, they had carried them only on a matter of good faith;
for not one of them had taken the oath of allegiance to either the British or the
Spanish Government. In the Rifles none laid down their arms or joined the
discontented. I had raised them myself; and they were the only regiment that
had not been buoyed up with false representations. The deficiency of allegiance
was universal, I believe, in the Legion; and, under these facts, I feel surprised
that any man was punished by court-martial. They virtually were not a
Spanish or a British force, and constituted mere camp followers, answerable
only—with certain exceptions—to civil authorities, and not to their officers,
who, I presume, are now accountable to British laws for the cruelties they
inflicted.
.fn-

.if t
.sp 4
.if-
.dv class='t-notes'
.ce
<B>Transcriber's Note</B>
.sp 2
.if t
Italics are represented by <i>underscores</i>.
.if-

Inconsistent hyphenation of words in the original book has been
retained. Punctuation errors were fixed. The name Josh was
followed by a period/full stop in the early parts of the book
and not in the later parts. This was left as printed. Some additional corrections
have been made, as detailed below:

.nf b
#p. xi:date-a# and #p. 144:date-b# Campaign of 1812 -> Campaign of 1813
#p. xiv:acbs# H cold-blooded Spaniard -> A cold-blooded Spaniard
#p. xiv:medal# Meda -> Medal
#p. 3:over# oyer -> over
#p. 29:or# two of three -> two or three
#p. 39:dread# dreafully -> dreadfully
#p. 59:through# we passed trough the town -> we passed through the town
#p. 63:and# skirmishing end endeavouring -> skirmishing and endeavouring
#p. 103:then# then then addressed -> then addressed
#p. 144:all# Alamada -> Allamada
#p. 171:gold# goold -> gold
#p. 216:regi# regi- -> regiment
#p. 221:act# catch in the fact -> catch in the act
#p. 235:chapel# Chapelgoris -> Chapelgorris
#p. 239:serg# segeant-major -> sergeant-major
#p. 242:cielo# Monte a el ciel -> Monte a el cielo
#p. 245:from# been dismissed the Legion -> been dismissed from the Legion
#p. 264:woe# wofully -> woefully
.nf-
.dv-