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The Project Gutenberg eBook of Random Shots from a Rifleman, by John Kincaid.
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<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 44965 ***</div>
<div class="transnote covernote">
<p class="center">Cover created by Transcriber and placed into the Public Domain.</p>
</div>
<div class="p2 ad">
<p class="large center vspace">ADVENTURES IN THE RIFLE BRIGADE<br />
<span class="smaller">IN THE</span><br />
<span class="larger gesperrt">PENINSULA, FRANCE</span>,<br />
<span class="smaller">AND THE</span><br />
<span class="larger">NETHERLANDS,</span><br />
<span class="smaller">From the Year 1809 to 1815;</span></p>
<p class="p1 center larger"><span class="smcap">By CAPTAIN JOHN KINCAID, First Battalion</span>.</p>
<p class="p1 center">One vol. post 8vo. price 10<i>s.</i> 6<i>d.</i> boards.</p>
<p class="p2">"To those who are unacquainted with John Kincaid of the
Rifles,—and few, we trow, of the old Peninsula bands are in
this ignorant predicament, and to those who know him, we
equally recommend the perusal of his book: it is a fac simile
of the man,—a perfect reflection of his image, <i>veluti in
speculo</i>. A capital Soldier, a pithy and graphic narrator, and a
fellow of infinite jest. Captain Kincaid has given us, in this
modest volume, the impress of his qualities, the <i>beau ideal</i> of a
thorough-going Soldier of Service, and the faithful and witty
history of some six years' honest and triumphant fighting.</p>
<p>"There is nothing extant in a Soldier's Journal, which, with
so little pretension, paints with such truth and raciness the
"domestic economy" of campaigning, and the downright business
of handling the enemy.</p>
<p>"But we cannot follow further;—recommending every one
of our readers to pursue the Author himself to his crowning
scene of Waterloo, where they will find him as quaint and
original as at his <i>debut</i>. We assure them, it is not possible, by
isolated extracts, to give a suitable impression of the spirit and
originality which never flag from beginning to end of Captain
Kincaid's volume; in every page of which he throws out
flashes of native humour, a tithe of which would make the fortune
of a Grub-street Bookmaker."—<i>United Service Journal.</i></p>
<p class="p1">"We do not recollect one, among the scores of personal narratives,
where the reader will find more of the realities of a
Soldier's Life, or of the horrors that mark it; all is told gaily,
but not unfeelingly."—<i>New Monthly Magazine, July.</i></p>
<p class="p1">"His book has one fault, the rarest fault in books, it is too
short."—<i>Monthly Magazine, April.</i></p>
<p class="p1">"His book is one of the most lively histories of Soldiers'
Adventures which have yet appeared; their entire freedom
from affectation will sufficiently recommend them to a numerous
class of readers."—<i>Athenæum.</i></p>
<p class="p1">"<i>Kincaid's Adventures in the Rifle Brigade</i> is written with all
the frankness and freedom from study which bespeaks the gallant
soldier, one to whom the sword is more adapted than the
pen, but who, as now <i>cedunt arma togæ</i>, has, in these 'piping
times' of peace, determined to 'fight all his battles over again,'
and he fights them in a style interesting and graphic. The
remarks on the decisive termination of the Battle of Waterloo
are striking and convincing; and to them and the whole
book we refer our readers for much amusement and information."—<i>The
Age.</i></p>
<p class="p1">"This is an excellent and amusing book; and although it neither
gives, nor pretends to give, lessons in strategy, or a true history
of the great operations of our armies, we hold it to be a very
instructive work. Napier, it is true, continues to be our textbook
in the art of war; but, even in his work, there is something
awanting, something which a due attention to historical
etiquette prevents his conveying to us. He shows most satisfactorily
the talents of our generals, and the <i>morale</i> of our
army; but there is an insight into its composition which he
cannot give us, and which, indeed, nothing can give but a wide
personal acquaintance with military men, and lots of volumes
like the present."—<i>Edinburgh Literary Journal.</i></p>
<p class="p1" xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">"Il est rare que les aventures arrivées à un seul personnage
et racontées par lui intéressent le public au point de faire
obtenir à ses mémoires un véritable succès; mais il en est
autrement quand l'auteur a su habilement accompagner son
histoire du récit de faits et d'événemens qui ont déjá fixé
l'attention publique. L'ouvrage du Capitaine Kincaid est
intéressant sous ces deux points de vue et sera favorablement
accueilli. En même tems qu'on suit avec plaisir la marche de
ses aventures, on recueille une foule de détails ignorés sur les
campagnes de 1809 à 1815."—<i>Furet de Londres.</i></p>
</div>
<h1 class="p4 vspace">
<span class="gesperrt vspace">RANDOM SHOTS</span><br />
<span class="small">FROM A</span><br />
RIFLEMAN.</h1>
<p class="p2 center vspace"><span class="large">BY J. KINCAID,</span><br />
<i>Late Captain in, and Author of "Adventures in the Rifle Brigade."</i></p>
<p class="p2 center">SECOND EDITION.</p>
<p class="p2 center vspace"><span class="gesperrt">LONDON:</span><br />
<span class="larger">T. AND W. BOONE, 29, NEW BOND STREET.</span><br />
M DCCC XLVII.
</p>
<p class="p4 center vspace">
TO<br />
MAJOR-GENERAL<br />
<span class="larger">LORD FITZROY SOMERSET, K.C.B.</span><br />
&c. &c. &c.<br />
THIS VOLUME IS RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED<br />
BY HIS VERY OBEDIENT<br />
AND VERY OBLIGED HUMBLE SERVANT,</p>
<p class="p2 sigright larger">J. KINCAID.</p>
<hr />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_vii" id="Page_vii">vii</a></span></p>
<h2><a name="NOTICE" id="NOTICE">NOTICE.</a></h2>
<p>When I sent my volume of "Adventures
in the Rifle Brigade" into the world, some
one of its many kind and indulgent critics
was imprudent enough to say that "it
had one fault, the rarest fault in books—it
was too short;" and while I have therefore
endeavoured to acquit myself of such
an unlooked-for charge by sending this
additional one, I need only observe that
if it also fails to satisfy, they may have
"yet another."</p>
<p>Like its predecessor, this volume is
drawn solely from memory, and of course
open to error; but of this my readers may<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_viii" id="Page_viii">viii</a></span>
feel assured, that it is free from romance;
for even in the few soldiers' <i>yarns</i> which
I have thought fit to introduce, the leading
features are facts.</p>
<p>Lastly, in making my second editorial
bow to the public, let me assure them
that it is with no greater literary pretensions.
I sent forth my first volume contrary
to my own judgement; but rough and
unpolished as it was, it pleased a numerous
class of readers, and I therefore trust
to be forgiven for marching past again to
the same tune, in the hope that my <i>reviewing
generals</i> may make the same favourable
report of me in their orderly books.</p>
<hr class="narrow" />
<p class="p2 center">ERRATUM.</p>
<p class="center"><a href="#Page_11">Page 11</a>, line 2, <i>for</i> remarkable, <i>read</i> remarkably.</p>
<hr />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_ix" id="Page_ix">ix</a></span></p>
<h2><a name="CONTENTS" id="CONTENTS">CONTENTS.</a></h2>
<div class="nobreak center">
<table summary="Contents">
<tr>
<td class="tdc chap" colspan="2"><a href="#CHAPTER_I">CHAPTER I.</a></td></tr>
<tr class="smaller">
<td> </td>
<td align="right">PAGE</td></tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdl hang">Family Pictures, with select Views of the Estate, fenced with distant Prospects</td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_1">1</a></td></tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdc chap" colspan="2"><a href="#CHAP_II">CHAP. II.</a></td></tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdl in4">"No man can tether time or tide,<br />The hour approaches Tam maun ride."</td></tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdl hang">And he takes one side step and two front ones on the road to glory</td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_11">11</a></td></tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdc chap" colspan="2"><a href="#CHAP_III">CHAP. III.</a></td></tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdl hang">An old one takes to his heels, leaving a young one in arms.—The dessert does not always follow the last coarse of—a goose.—Goes to the war, and ends in love <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_x" id="Page_x">x</a></span></td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_30">30</a></td></tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdc chap" colspan="2"><a href="#CHAP_IV">CHAP. IV.</a></td></tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdl hang">Shewing how generals may descend upon particulars with a cat-o'-nine tails. Some extra Tales added, Historical, Comical, and Warlike all</td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_44">44</a></td></tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdc chap" colspan="2"><a href="#CHAP_V">CHAP. V.</a></td></tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdl hang">The paying of a French compliment, which will be repaid in a future chapter. A fierce attack upon hairs. A niece compliment, and lessons gratis to untaught sword-bearers</td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_79">79</a></td></tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdc chap" colspan="2"><a href="#CHAP_VI">CHAP. VI.</a></td></tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdl hang">Reaping a Horse with a halter. Reaping golden Opinions out of a Dung-Hill, and reaping a good Story or two out of the next Room. A Dog-Hunt and Sheep's Heads prepared at the Expense of a Dollar each, and a Scotchman's Nose</td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_94">94</a></td></tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdc chap" colspan="2"><a href="#CHAP_VII">CHAP. VII.</a></td></tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdl in2">"Blood and destruction shall be so in use,<br />And dreadful objects so familiar,<br />That mothers shall but smile when they behold<br />Their infants quartered with the hands of war."</td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_130">130</a></td></tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdc chap" colspan="2"><a href="#CHAP_VIIB">CHAP. VII.</a></td></tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdl hang">The persecution of the guardian of two angels. A Caçadore and his mounted followers. A chief of hussars in his trousers. A chief of rifles in his glory, and a sub of ditto with two screws in the neck</td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_155">155</a><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xi" id="Page_xi">xi</a></span></td></tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdc chap" colspan="2"><a href="#CHAP_VIII">CHAP. VIII.</a></td></tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdl hang">National Characters. Adventures of a pair of leather Breeches. Ditto of a pound of Beef. Shewing what the French General did not do, and a Prayer which he did not pray; with a few random Shots.</td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_176">176</a></td></tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdc chap" colspan="2"><a href="#CHAP_IX">CHAP. IX.</a></td></tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdl hang">A bishop's gathering.—Volunteers for a soldier's love, with a portrait of the lover.—Burning a bivouac. Old invented thrashing machines and baking concerns.—A flying Padre taking a shot flying</td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_219">219</a></td></tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdc chap" colspan="2"><a href="#CHAP_X">CHAP. X.</a></td></tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdl hang">Shewing how a volunteer may not be what Doctor Johnson made him.—A mayor's nest.—Cupping.—The Author's reasons for punishing the world with a book.—And some volunteers of the right sort</td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_236">236</a><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xii" id="Page_xii">xii</a></span></td></tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdc chap" colspan="2"><a href="#CHAP_XI">CHAP. XI.</a></td></tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdl hang">Very short, with a few anecdotes still shorter; but the principal actors thought the scene long enough</td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_265">265</a></td></tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdc chap" colspan="2"><a href="#CHAP_XII">CHAP. XII.</a></td></tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdl hang">Shewing rough visitors receiving a rough reception. Some living and moving specimens thereof. Tailors not such fractions of humanity as is generally believed. Gentle visitors receiving a gentle reception, which ends by shewing that two shakes joined together sound more melodiously on the heart-strings than two hands which shake of their own accord</td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_277">277</a></td></tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdc chap" colspan="2"><a href="#CHAP_XIII">CHAP. XIII.</a></td></tr>
<tr>
<td class="tdl hang">Specimens of target-practice, in which markers may become marked men.—A grave anecdote, shewing "how some men have honours thrust upon them." A line drawn between man and beast.—Lines drawn between regiments, and shewing how credit may not be gained by losing what they are made of.—Aristocratic.—Dedicatic.—Dissertation on advanced guards, and desertion of knapsacks, shewing that "the greater haste the worse speed"</td>
<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_299">299</a></td></tr>
</table></div>
<hr />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">1</a></span></p>
<h2 class="vspace"><span class="larger gesperrt">RANDOM SHOTS</span><br />
<span class="small">FROM</span><br />
<span class="larger">A RIFLEMAN.</span></h2>
<hr class="narrow" />
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_I" id="CHAPTER_I">CHAPTER I.</a><br />
<span class="subhead">Family Pictures, with select Views of the Estate, fenced
with distant Prospects.</span></h2>
<p class="in0">Every book has a beginning, and the beginning
of every book is the undoubted spot on which
the historian is bound to parade his hero. The
novelist may therefore continue to envelope his
man in a fog as long as he likes, but for myself I
shall at once unfold to the world that I am my
own hero; and though that same world hold my
countrymen to be rich in wants, with the article
of modesty among them, yet do I hope to maintain<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">2</a></span>
the character I have assumed, with as much
propriety as can reasonably be expected of one
labouring under such a national infirmity, for</p>
<div class="poem-container">
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="iq">"I am a native of that land, which<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Some poets' lips and painters' hands"<br /></span>
</div></div>
</div>
<p class="in0">have pictured barren and treeless. But to shew
that these are mere fancy sketches, I need only
mention that as long as I remember anything,
there grew a bonny brier and sundry gooseberry
bushes in our kail-yard, and it was surrounded by
a stately row of pines, rearing their long spinster
waists and umbrella heads over the cabbages, as
carefully as a hen does her wings over her
brood of chickens, so that neither the sun nor
moon, and but a very few favoured stars had
the slightest chance of getting a peep therein,
nor had anything therein a chance of getting a
peep out, unless in the cabbages returning the
sheep's eyes of their star-gazers; for, while the
front was protected by a long range of house
and offices, with no ingress or egress but through
the hall-door, the same duty was performed on<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">3</a></span>
the other three sides by a thick quick-set hedge
which was impervious to all but the sparrows,
so that the wondrous wise man of Islington
might there have scratched his eyes out and in
again a dozen times without being much the
wiser.</p>
<p>My father was the laird and farmed the small
property I speak of, in the lowlands of Stirlingshire,
but he was unfortunately cut off in early
life, and long before his young family were
capable of appreciating the extent of their loss,
and I may add, to the universal regret of the
community to which he belonged; and in no
country have I met, in the same walks of life,
a body of men to equal in intelligence, prudence,
and respectability, the small lowland
Scotch laird.</p>
<p>Marrying and dying are ceremonies which
almost every one has to go through at some
period of his life, and from being so common,
one would expect that they might cease to be
uncommon; but people, nevertheless, still continue
to look upon them as important events in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">4</a></span>
their individual histories. And while, with the
class I speak of, the joys of the one and the
grief at the other was as sensibly and unaffectedly
shewn as amongst any, yet with them the loss
of the head of the house produces no very
material change in the family arrangements; for
while in some places the proprietary of a sheep
confers a sort of patent of gentility upon the
whole flock, leaving as a bequest a scramble
for supremacy, yet the lowland laird is another
manner of man; one in fact who is not afraid
to reckon his chickens before they are hatched,
and who suffers no son of his to be born out of
his proper place. The eldest therefore steps
into his father's shoes as naturally as his father
steps out of them. The second is destined to
be a gentleman, that is, he receives a superior
education, and as soon as he is deemed qualified,
he is started off with a tolerable outfit and
some ha'pence in his pocket to fulfil his destiny
in one of the armed or learned professions, while
the junior members of the family are put in such
other way of shifting for themselves as taste<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">5</a></span>
and prudence may point out. And having thus,
gentle reader, expounded as much of my family
history as it behoveth thee to know, it only
remains for me, with all becoming modesty, to
introduce myself to you as, by birthright, the
gentleman of the family, and without further
ceremony to take you by the hand and conduct
you along the path which I found chalked out
for myself.</p>
<p>In my native country, as elsewhere, Dame
Fortune is to be seen cutting her usual capers,
and often sends a man starving for a life-time as
a parson looking for a pulpit, a doctor dining on
his own pills, or as a lawyer who has nothing
to insert in his last earthly testament, who
would otherwise have flourished on the top of a
hay-stack, or as a cooper round a tar-barrel.
How far she was indulgent in my case is a matter
of moonshine. Suffice it that I commenced
the usual process at the usual place, the parish
school, under that most active of all teachers—Whipping,</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">6</a></span></p>
<div class="poem-container">
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i14">"That's Virtue's governess,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Tutress of arts and sciences;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">That mends the gross mistakes of nature,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And puts new life into dull matter."<br /></span>
</div></div>
</div>
<p class="in0">And from the first letter in the alphabet I was
successively flogged up through a tolerable
quantity of English, some ten or a dozen books
of Latin, into three or four of French, and
there is no saying whether the cat-o'-nine tails,
wielded by such a masterly hand, might not
eventually have stirred me up as high as the
woolsack, had not one of those tides in the
affairs of school-boys brought a Leith merchant
to a worthy old uncle of mine (who was one of
my guardians) in search of a quill-driver, and
turned the current of my thoughts into another
channel. To be or not to be, that was the
question; whether 'twere better to abide more
stings and scourges from the outrageous cat, or
to take the offer which was made, and end
them.</p>
<p>It may readily be believed that I felt a suitable<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">7</a></span>
horror at the sight of the leathern instrument
which had been so long and so ably administered
for my edification, nor had I much
greater affection for the learned professions as
they loomed in perspective, for I feared the
minister, hated the doctor, and had no respect
for the lawyer, and in short it required but little
persuasion to induce me to bind my prospects
for the ensuing three years to the desk of a
counting-house. I therefore took leave of my
indefatigable preceptor, not forgetting to insert
on the tablets of my memory, a promissory note
to repay him stripe for stripe with legal interest,
as soon as I should find myself qualified to perform
the operation; but I need not add that
the note (as all such notes usually are) was duly
dishonoured; for, when I became capable of
appreciating his virtues, I found him a worthy
excellent man, and one who meant for the best;
but I have lived to see that the schoolmaster of
that day was all abroad.</p>
<p>The reminiscences of my three years' mercantile
life leave me nothing worth recording,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">8</a></span>
except that it was then I first caught a glimpse
of my natal star.</p>
<p>I had left school as a school-boy, unconscious
of a feeling beyond the passing moment. But
the period at length arrived when Buonaparte's
threatened invasion fired every loyal pair of
shoulders with a scarlet coat. Mine were yet
too slender to fill up a gap in the ranks, and
my arm too weak to wield any thing more
formidable than a drum-stick, but in devotion
to the cause I would not have yielded to Don
Quixote himself. The pride, pomp, and circumstance
of glorious war had in fact set my
soul in an unquenchable blaze, and I could think
of nothing else. In reckoning up a column of
pounds, shillings, and pence, I counted them
but as so many soldiers, the rumbling of empty
puncheons in the wine cellar sounded in my
ears as the thunder of artillery, and the croaking
voice of a weasand old watchman at "half-past
twelve o'clock," as the hoarse challenge of
the sentry from the ramparts.</p>
<p>My prospect of succeeding to the object on<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">9</a></span>
which I had placed my affections were at the
time but slender, but having somewhere read
that if one did but set his eye on any thing
in reason, and pursued it steadily, he would
finally attain it, I resolved to adhere to such an
animating maxim, and fixing my heart on a
captain's commission, I pursued it steadily, and
for the encouragement of youth in all times to
come, I am proud to record that I finally did
attain it.</p>
<p>I returned to the country on the expiration of
my apprenticeship, which (considering the object
I had in view) happened at a most auspicious
moment; for the ensign of our parochial company
of local militia had just received a commission
in the line, and I was fortunate enough
to step into his vacated commission as well as
into his clothing and appointments.</p>
<p>I had by that time grown into a tall ramrod
of a fellow, as fat as a whipping-post—my predecessor
had been a head and shoulders shorter,
so that in marching into his trousers I was
obliged to put my legs so far through them that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">10</a></span>
it required the eye of a <i>connoisseur</i> to distinguish
whether they were not intended as a pair of
breeches. The other end of my arms, too, were
exposed to equal animadversion, protruding
through the coat-sleeves to an extent which
would have required a pair of gauntlets of the
horse-guards blue to fill up the vacancy. Nevertheless,
no peacock ever strutted more proudly in
his plumage than I did in mine—and when I
found myself on a Sunday in the front seat of
the gallery of our parish church, exposed to
the admiration of a congregation of milk-maids,
my delight was without alloy.</p>
<hr />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">11</a></span></p>
<h2><a name="CHAP_II" id="CHAP_II">CHAP. II.</a></h2>
<div class="poem-container">
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="iq">"No man can tether time or tide,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The hour approaches Tam maun ride."<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p>And he takes one side step and two front ones on the road
to glory.</p>
</div>
<p class="p2 in0">It was a very fine thing, no doubt, to be an
ensign in the local militia, and a remarkably
pretty thing to be the admiration of all the
milk-maids of a parish, but while time was
jogging, I found myself standing with nothing
but the precarious footing of those pleasures to
stand upon, and it therefore behoved me to
think of sinking the ornamental for the sake of
the useful; and a neighbouring worthy, who
was an importer and vender of foreign timber,
happening at this time to make a proposition to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">12</a></span>
unite our fortunes, and that I should take the
charge of a branch establishment in the city of
Glasgow, it was arranged accordingly, and my
next position therefore was behind my own
desk in that Wapping of Glasgow, called the
Gorbals.</p>
<p>Mars, however, was still in the ascendant,
for my first transaction in the way of business
was to get myself appointed to a lieutenancy in
one of the volunteer regiments, and, as far as
I remember, I think that all my other transactions
while I remained there redounded more to
my credit as a soldier than as a citizen, and
when, at the end of the year, the offer of an
ensigncy in the militia enabled me to ascend a
step higher on the ladder of my ambition,
leaving my partner to sell or burn his sticks
(whichever he might find the most profitable), I
cut mine, and joined that finest of all militia
regiments, the North York, when I began to
hold up my head and to fancy myself something
like a soldier in reality.</p>
<p>Our movements during the short period that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">13</a></span>
I remained with them, were confined to casual
changes among the different stations on the
coasts of Kent and Sussex, where I got gradually
initiated into all the mysteries of home
service,—learnt to make love to the smugglers'
very pretty daughters, and became a dead hand
at wrenching the knocker from a door.</p>
<p>The idleness and the mischievous propensities
of the officers of that district (of the line as
well as the militia) were proverbial at the period
I speak of; but, while as usual the report greatly
exceeded the reality, there was this to be
said in their behalf, that they were almost entirely
excluded from respectable society; owing
partly, perhaps, to their not being quite so select
as at the present time, (those heroes who
had a choice of pleasures preferring Almack's
to Napoleon's balls,) but chiefly to the numbers
of the troops with which those districts were inundated
during the war, and which put it out
of the power of individual residents to notice
such a succession of military interlopers, unless
they happened to be especially recommended to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">14</a></span>
them; so that, as the Irishman expresses it—he
was a lucky cove indeed who in those days
succeeded in getting his legs under a gentleman's
mahogany.</p>
<p>It is not therefore much to be wondered at,
if a parcel of wild young fellows thrown on
their own resources, when that warlike age required
a larking spirit to be encouraged rather
than repressed amongst them,—I say, it is not to
be wondered at if they did occasionally amuse
themselves with a class of persons which,
under other circumstances, they would have
avoided, and if the consequences were sometimes
what they had better not have been—but
the accounts between the man and woman of
that day having been long since closed, it is
not for me to re-open them, yet I remember
that even that manner of life was not without
its charms.</p>
<p>The only variety in my year's militia life was
an encampment on the lines at Chatham, where
we did duty on board the hulks, in the Medway.
My post was for the greater period with a guard<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">15</a></span>
on board the old Irresistible, which was laden
with about eight hundred heavy Danes who had
been found guilty of defending their property
against their invaders, and I can answer for it
that they were made as miserable as any body
of men detected in such a heinous crime had a
right to be, for of all diabolical constructions in
the shape of prisons the hulks claim by right a
pre-eminence. However, we were then acting
under the broad acknowledged principle, that
those who are not for, are against us, and upon
that same principle, the worthy Danes with
their ships were respectfully invited to repose
themselves for a while within our hospitable
harbours.</p>
<p>On the breaking up of our encampment at
Chatham we marched to Deal, where one of the
periodical volunteerings from the militia, (to fill
up the ranks of the line,) took place, and I need
not add that I greedily snatched at the opportunity
it offered to place myself in the position
for which I had so long sighed.</p>
<p>On those occasions any subaltern who could<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">16</a></span>
persuade a given number of men to follow him,
received a commission in whatever regiment of
the line he wished, provided there was a vacancy
for himself and followers. I therefore chose that
which had long been the object of my secret
adoration, as well for its dress as the nature of
its services and its achievements, the old ninety-fifth,
now the Rifle Brigade.—"Hurrah for the
first in the field and the last out of it, the bloody
fighting ninety-fifth," was the cry of my followers
while beating up for more recruits—and as
glory was their object, a fighting and a bloody
corps the gallant fellows found it, for out of the
many who followed Captain Strode and me to
it, there were but two serjeants and myself,
after the sixth campaign, alive to tell the tale.</p>
<p>I cannot part from the good old North York
without a parting tribute to their remembrance,
for as a militia regiment they were not to be
surpassed.—Their officers <i>were officers</i> as well
as gentlemen, and there were few among them
who would not have filled the same rank in the
line with credit to themselves and to the service,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">17</a></span>
and several wanted but the opportunity to turn
up trumps of the first order.</p>
<p>I no sooner found myself gazetted than I took
a run up to London to get rid of my loose cash,
which being very speedily accomplished, I joined
the regiment at Hythe barracks.</p>
<p>They had just returned from sharing in the
glories and disasters of Sir John Moore's retreat,
and were busily employed in organizing again for
active service. I have never seen a regiment
of more gallant bearing than the first battalion
there shewed itself, from their brilliant chief,
(the late Sir Sidney Beckwith), downwards;
they were all that a soldier could love to look
on; and, splendid as was their appearance, it
was the least admirable part about them, for
the beauty of their system of discipline consisted
in their doing every thing that was necessary,
and nothing that was not, so that every
man's duty was a pleasure to him, and the <i>esprit
de corps</i> was unrivalled.</p>
<p>There was an abundance of Johny Newcome's,
like myself, tumbling in hourly, for it<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">18</a></span>
was then such a favourite corps with the militia
men, that they received a thousand men
over their complement within the first three days
of the volunteering, (and before a stop could be
put to it,) which compelled the horse-guards to
give an additional battalion to the corps.</p>
<p>On my first arrival my whole soul was so
absorbed in the interest excited by the service-officers
that, for a time, I could attend to nothing
else—I could have worshipped the different
relics that adorned their barrack-rooms—the
pistol or the dagger of some gaunt
Spanish robber—a string of beads from the
Virgin Mary of some village chapel—or the
brazen helmet of some French dragoon, taken
from his head after it had parted company with
his shoulders, and with what a greedy ear did
I swallow the stories of their hair-breadth 'scapes
and imminent perils, and long for the time when
I should be able to make such relics and such
tales mine own. Fate has since been propitious,
and enabled me to spin as long a yarn as most
folks, but as some of their original stories still<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">19</a></span>
dwell with much interest on my memory, I shall
quote one or two of them, in the hope that they
may not prove less so to my readers, for I am
not aware that they have yet been published.</p>
<h3>ANECDOTE THE FIRST.</h3>
<p>Of all the vicissitudes of the late disastrous
campaign, I found that nothing dwelt so interestingly
on the remembrance of our officers
as their affair at Calcabellos—partly because it
was chiefly a regimental fight, and partly because
they were taken at a disadvantage, and
acquitted themselves becomingly.</p>
<p>The regiment was formed in front of Calcabellos
covering the rear of the infantry, and on
the first appearance of the enemy they had
been ordered to withdraw behind the town.
Three parts of them had already passed the
bridge, and the remainder were upon it, or in
the act of filing through the street with the
careless confidence which might be expected<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">20</a></span>
from their knowledge that the British cavalry
still stood between them and the enemy; but in
an instant our own cavalry, without the slightest
notice, galloped through and over them, and
the same instant saw a French sabre flourishing
over the head of every man who remained beyond
the bridge—many were cut down in the
streets, and a great portion of the rear company
were taken prisoners.</p>
<p>The remainder of the regiment, seeing the
unexpected attack, quickly drew off among the
vineyards to the right and left of the road,
where they coolly awaited the approaching assault.
The dismounted voltigeurs first swarmed
over the river, assailing the riflemen on all sides,
but they were met by a galling fire, which effectually
stopped them. General Colbert next advanced
to dislodge them, and passing the river
at the head of his dragoons, he charged furiously
up the road; but, when within a few yards
of our men, he was received with such a deadly
fire, that scarcely a Frenchman remained in the
saddle, and the general himself was among the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">21</a></span>
slain. The voltigeurs persevered in their unsuccessful
endeavours to force the post, and a
furious fight continued to be waged, until
darkness put an end to it, both sides having
suffered severely.</p>
<p>Although the principal combat had ceased
with the day-light, the riflemen found that the
troubles and the fatigues of twenty-four hours
were yet in their infancy, for they had to
remain in the position until ten at night, to give
the rest of the army time to fall back, during
which they had to sustain several fierce assaults,
which the enemy made, with the view of ascertaining
whether our army were on the move;
but in every attempt they were gallantly repulsed,
and remained in ignorance on the subject until
day-light next morning. Our people had, in
the meantime, been on the move the greater
part of the night, and those only who have done
a mile or two of vineyard walking in the dark,
can form an adequate notion of their twenty-four
hours work.</p>
<p>General Colbert (the enemy's hero of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">22</a></span>
day) was, by all accounts, (if I may be permitted
the expression,) splendid as a man, and not less
so as a soldier. From the commencement of
the retreat of our army he had led the advance,
and been conspicuous for his daring: his gallant
bearing had, in fact, excited the admiration of
his enemies; but on this day, the last of his
brilliant earthly career, he was mounted on a
white charger, and had been a prominent figure
in the attack of our men in the street the instant
before, and it is not, therefore, to be wondered
at if the admiration for the soldier was for a
space drowned in the feeling for the fallen comrades
which his bravery had consigned to death;
a rifleman, therefore, of the name of Plunket,
exclaiming, "thou too shalt surely die!" took
up an advanced position, for the purpose of
singling him out, and by his hand he no doubt
fell.</p>
<p>Plunket was not less daring in his humble
capacity than the great man he had just brought
to the dust. He was a bold, active, athletic
Irishman, and a deadly shot; but the curse of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">23</a></span>
his country was upon him, and I believe he was
finally discharged, without receiving such a
recompense as his merits in the field would
otherwise have secured to him.</p>
<h3>ANECDOTE THE SECOND.</h3>
<p>In one of the actions in which our regiment
was engaged, in covering the retreat to Corunna,
a superior body of the enemy burst upon the
post of a young officer of the name of Uniacke,
compelling him to give way in disorder, and in
the short scramble which followed, he very narrowly
escaped being caught by the French
officer who had led the advance,—a short stout
fellow, with a cocked hat, and a pair of huge
jack-boots.</p>
<p>Uniacke was one of the most active men in
the army, and being speedily joined by his supporting
body, which turned the tables upon his
adversary, he resolved to give his <i>friend</i> a sweat
in return for the one he had got, and started<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">24</a></span>
after him, with little doubt, from his appearance
and equipment, that he would have him by the
neck before he had got many yards further;
but, to his no small mortification, the stout gentleman
plied his seven-league boots so cleverly
that Uniacke was unable to gain an inch upon
him.</p>
<h3>ANECDOTE THE THIRD.</h3>
<p>At Astorga, a ludicrous alarm was occasioned
by the frolic of an officer; though it might have
led to more serious results.</p>
<p>The regiment was quartered in a convent, and
the officers and the friars were promiscuously
bundled for the night on mattresses laid in one
of the galleries; when, about midnight, Captain —— awaking,
and seeing the back of one
of the Padres looking him full in the face, from
under the bed-clothes, as if inviting the slap of
a fist, he, acting on the impulse of the moment,
jumped up, and with a hand as broad as a coal-<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">25</a></span>shovel,
and quite as hard, made it descend on
the bottom of the astounded sleeper with the
force of a paviour, and then stole back to his
couch. The Padre roared a hundred murders,
and murder was roared by a hundred Padres,
while the other officers, starting up in astonishment,
drew their swords and began grappling
with whoever happened to be near them. The
uproar, fortunately, brought some of the attendants
with lights before any mischief happened,
when the cause of the disturbance was traced,
to the no small amusement of every one. The
offender tried hard to convince the afflicted
father that he had been under the influence of a
dream; but the four fingers and the thumb
remained too legibly written on the offended
spot to permit him to swallow it.</p>
<h3>ANECDOTE THE FOURTH.</h3>
<p>When the straggling and the disorders of the
army on the retreat to Corunna became so<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">26</a></span>
serious as to demand an example, Sir Edward
Paget, who commanded the reserve, caused two
of the plunderers to be tried by a court-martial,
and they were sentenced to suffer death. The
troops were ordered to parade in front of the
town, to witness the execution, but, while in
the act of assembling, a dragoon came galloping
in from the front to inform Sir Edward
by desire of his brother (Lord Paget), that the
enemy were on the move, and that it was time
for the infantry to retire. Sir Edward, however,
took no notice of the message. The troops
assembled, and the square was formed, when a
second dragoon arrived, to say that the enemy
were advancing so rapidly that if Sir Edward
did not immediately retire, his lordship could
not be answerable for the consequences. Sir
Edward, with his usual coolness and determination,
said he cared not, for he had a
duty to perform, and were the enemy firing into
the square, that he would persevere with it.
Dragoon after dragoon, in rapid succession,
galloped in with a repetition of the message;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">27</a></span>
still the preparations went on, and by the time
they were completed, (and it wanted but the
word of command to launch the culprits into
eternity,) the clang of the carabines of the retreating
dragoons was heard all around.</p>
<p>In the breast of Sir Edward, it is probable,
that the door of mercy never had been closed,
and that he had only waited until the last possible
moment to make it the more impressive;
and impressive truly it must have been; nor is it
easy to imagine such a moment; for, independently
of the solemn and desolate feeling with
which one at all times witnesses the execution of
a comrade, let his offence be what it may, they
had an additional intensity on this occasion, on
the score of their own safety; for, brief as the
span seemed to be that was allotted to the culprits,
the clang of the carabine, and the whistling ball,
told that it was possible to be even still more brief
on the parts of many of the spectators.</p>
<p>Sir Edward, however, now addressed the
troops, with a degree of coolness which would
argue that danger and he had been long<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">28</a></span>
familiar. He pointed out the enormity of the
offence of which the culprits had been guilty,
that they deserved not to be saved, and that
though the enemy were now upon them, and
might lay half their number dead while witnessing
the execution, that only one thing would
save them, and that was, "would the troops
now present pledge themselves that this should
be the last instance of insubordination that
would occur in the course of the retreat?" A
simultaneous "Yes," burst from the lips of the
assembled thousands, and the next instant saw
the necessary measures taken to check the advancing
foe, while the remainder resumed their
retreat, lightened of a load of care, which a few
minutes before had been almost intolerable.</p>
<p>The conduct of these regiments, as compared
with others, was very exemplary during the
retreat, although their duty, in protecting the
stragglers of the army till the last possible
moment, was of the most harassing kind.
They had no means of punishing those to whom
they were indebted for their extra trouble, but<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">29</a></span>
by depriving them of their ill-gotten gains, so
that whenever a fellow came in with a bag of
flour under his arm, (which was no uncommon
occurrence,) they made it a rule to empty the
bag over his head, to make him a marked man.
Napier says of them, that "for twelve days
these hardy soldiers covered the retreat, during
which time they had traversed eighty miles of
road in two marches, passed several nights under
arms in the snow of the mountains, were seven
times engaged with the enemy, and now assembled
at the outposts (before Corunna), having
fewer men missing from the ranks, including
those who had fallen in battle, than any other
division in the <span class="locked">army."<a name="FNanchor_A" id="FNanchor_A" href="#Footnote_A" class="fnanchor">A</a></span></p>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_A" id="Footnote_A" href="#FNanchor_A" class="fnanchor">A</a> The foregoing story, I find, has just made its appearance
in a volume published by Lieutenant-Colonel Cadell; but as
this narrative was publicly noticed, as being in preparation,
prior to the publication of his, I have not thought it necessary
to expunge it.</p></div>
<p>I shall now, with the reader's permission, resume
the thread of my narrative.</p>
<hr />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">30</a></span></p>
<h2><a name="CHAP_III" id="CHAP_III">CHAP. III.</a><br />
<span class="subhead">An old one takes to his heels, leaving a young one in arms.—The
dessert does not always follow the last course of—a
goose.—Goes to the war, and ends in love.</span></h2>
<p class="in0">In those days, the life of a soldier was a stirring
and an active one. I had not joined the regiment
above a fortnight when the 1st battalion
received orders for immediate active service, and
General Graham was to make his appearance on
the morrow, to inspect them prior to their embarkation.
Every man destined for service was
to appear in the ranks, and as my turn had not
yet come, I was ordered, the previous evening,
to commence my career as a rifleman, in charge
of the guard; and a most unhappy <i>debut</i> I made<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">31</a></span>
of it, and one that argued but little in behalf of
my chances of future fame in the profession.</p>
<p>My guard was composed of the Lord knows
who, for, excepting on the back of the sergeant,
I remember that there was not a rag of uniform
amongst them. I was too anxious to forget
all about them to think of informing myself
afterwards; but, from what I have since seen, I
am satisfied that they must either have been a
recent importation from "the first gem of the
sea," or they had been furnished for the occasion
by the governor of Newgate;—however,
be that as it may, I had some ten or a dozen
prisoners handed over to me; and as my eye
was not sufficiently practised to distinguish, in
such a group, which was the soldier and which
the prisoner, I very discreetly left the whole
affair to the sergeant, who seemed to be a man
of <i>nous</i>. But while I was dozing on the guard-bed,
about midnight, I was startled by a scramble
in the soldier's room, and the cry of "guard,
turn out;" and, on running out to ascertain the
cause, the sergeant told me that the light in the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">32</a></span>
guard-house had been purposely upset by some
one, and, suspecting that a trick was intended,
he had turned out the guard; and truly his suspicions
were well-grounded, although he took
an erroneous method of counteracting it; for,
the sentry over the door, not being a much
shrewder fellow than myself in distinguishing
characters in the dark, in suffering the guard to
turn out, had allowed some of the prisoners to
turn out too, and, amongst the rest, one who
had been reserved for an especial example of
some sort or other, and whose absence was
likely to make a noise in the neighbourhood.</p>
<p>This was certainly information enough to furnish
me with food for reflection for the remainder
of the night, and, as if to enhance its <i>agreeable</i>
nature, the sergeant-major paid me a visit at
daylight in the morning, and informed me that
such things did sometimes happen;—he enumerated
several cases of the kind in different regiments,
and left me with the consolatory piece of
information that the officer of the guard had on
each occasion been <i>allowed</i> to retire without a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">33</a></span>
court-martial!!! My readers, I am sure, will
rejoice with me that in this, as in other cases,
there is no rule without an exception, for otherwise
they would never have had the pleasure of
reading a book of mine.</p>
<p>How I had the good fortune to be excepted on
that occasion I never found out; probably, in the
hurry and bustle of preparation it was overlooked,—or,
probably, because they hoped better things
of me thereafter,—but my commanding officer
never noticed it, and his kindness in so doing
put me more on the alert for the future than
if he had written a volume of censure.</p>
<p>Among the other novelties of the aforesaid
guard-house on that memorable night, I got
acquainted with a very worthy goose, whose
services in the Rifle Brigade well merit a chapter
in its history. If any one imagines that a goose
is a goose he is very much mistaken: and I am
happy in having the power of undeceiving him,
for I am about to show that my (or rather our
regimental) goose was shrewd, active, and intelligent,
it was a faithful public servant, a social<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">34</a></span>
companion, and an attached friend, (I wish that
every biped could say but half so much). Its
death, or its manner of departure from this
world, is still clouded in mystery; but while
my book lives, the goose's memory shall not die.</p>
<p>It had attached itself to the guard-house
several years prior to my appearance there, and
all its doings had been as steady as a sentry-box:
its post was with the sentry over the guard; in
fine weather it accompanied him in his walk,
and in bad, it stood alongside of him in his box.
It marched with the officer of the guard in all
his visiting rounds, and it was the first on all
occasions to give notice of the approach of any
one in authority, keeping a particularly sharp
look-out for the captain and field-officer of the
day, whether by day or night. The guard might
sleep, the sentry might sleep, but the goose was
ever wide awake. It never considered itself
relieved from duty, except during the breakfast
and dinner-hours, when it invariably stepped
into the guard-house, and partook of the soldiers'
cheer, for they were so devotedly attached to it<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">35</a></span>
that it was at all times bountifully supplied, and
it was not a little amusing, on those occasions,
to see how the fellow cackled whenever the soldiers
laughed, as if it understood and enjoyed
the joke as much as they did.</p>
<p>I did not see Moore's Almanack for 1812, and,
therefore, know not whether he predicted that
Michaelmas would be fatal to many of the tribe
that year; but I never saw a comrade more
universally lamented than the poor goose was
when the news of its mysterious disappearance
reached us in Spain.</p>
<p>Our comrades at home, as a last proof of their
affection, very magnanimously offered a reward
of ten pounds for the recovery of the body, dead
or alive; but whether it filled a respectable position
in a banquet of that year, or still lives to
bother the decayed tooth of some elderly maiden,
at Michaelmas next, remains to be solved.</p>
<p>On the 24th of March, 1809, our first battalion
received orders to march at midnight for
Dover, there to be united with the 43d and 52d
regiments, as a light brigade, under Major-<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">36</a></span>General
Robert Crawfurd, and to embark next
morning to join the army which was then
assembling in the Peninsula.</p>
<p>In marching for embarkation in those stirring
times, the feeling of the troops partook more of
the nature of a ship's crew about to sail on a
roving commission, than a land-crab expedition
which was likely to prove eternal; for although
one did occasionally see some blubber-headed
fellow mourning over his severed affections for a
day or two, yet a thorough-going one just gave
a kiss to his wife, if he had one, and two to his
sweetheart, if he had not, and away he went
with a song in his mouth.</p>
<p>I now joined the 2d battalion, where we were
not permitted to rest long on our oars, for,
within a month, we were called upon to join the
expedition with which</p>
<div class="poem-container">
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="iq">"The Great Earl of Chatham, and a hundred thousand men,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Sailed over to Holland, and then sailed back again."<br /></span>
</div></div>
</div>
<p>As the military operations of that expedition<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">37</a></span>
do not entitle them to a place in such an important
history as mine is, I shall pass them over,
simply remarking that some of our companies
fired a few professional shots, and some of our
people got professionally shot, while a great
many more visited Death by the doctor's road,
and almost all who visited him not, got uncommonly
well shaken.</p>
<p>South Beeveland ultimately became our head-quarters.
It is a fine island, and very fertile,
yielding about forty bushels of frogs an acre,
and tadpoles enough to fence it with. We were
there under the command of General W. Stewart,
whose active mind, continually in search of improvement,
led him to try (in imitation of some
foreign customs) to saddle the backs of the
officers with knapsacks, by way of adding to
their comfort; for he proved to demonstration
that if an officer had a clean shirt in his knapsack
on his back, that he might have it to put
on at the end of his day's march; whereas, if
he had it not on his own back, it might be left
too far back to be of use to him when wanted.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">38</a></span>
This was a fact not to be disputed, but so
wedded were we to ancient prejudices that we
remained convinced that the shirt actually in
wear, with all its additions at the end of an
extra day or two, must still weigh less than the
knapsack with a shirt in it; and upon those
grounds we made a successful kick, and threw
them off, not, however, until an experimental field-day
had been ordered to establish them. The
order required that each officer should parade in a
knapsack, or something answering the same purpose,
and it was amusing enough to see the expedients
resorted to, to evade, without committing
a direct breach of it. I remember that my apology
for one on that occasion was slinging an empty
black oil-skin haversack knapsack-ways, which
looked so much like a newly-lanced blister on
my back that it made both the vraws and the
frogs stare. The attempt was never repeated.</p>
<p>What a singular change did a short residence
in that pestiferous place work in the appearance
of our army! It was with our regiment as with
others; one month saw us embark a thousand<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">39</a></span>
men at Deal, in the highest health and spirits,
and the next month saw us land, at the same
place, with about seven hundred men, carrying
to hospital, or staggering under disease.</p>
<p>I cannot shake off that celebrated Walcheren
fever without mentioning what may or may not
be a peculiarity in it;—that a brother-officer and
I experienced a return of it within a day of each
other, after a lapse of five years, and again,
within a week, after the lapse of the following
three years.</p>
<p>As my heart had embarked for the Peninsula
with the 1st battalion, although my body (for
the reasons given) remained behind for a year,
I shall, with the reader's permission, follow the
first, as being in the more interesting position of
the two; and although, under these circumstances,
I am not permitted to speak in the first
person singular until the two shall be again
united, yet whatever I do speak of I have heard
so often and so well authenticated, that I am
enabled to give it with the same confidence as if
I had been an eye-witness.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">40</a></span></p>
<h3>"A LAY OF LOVE FOR LADY BRIGHT."</h3>
<p>Lisbon was doubtless as rich in abominations
now as it was a year after, without any other
redeeming virtue, which is a very ugly commencement
to a tale of love; but having landed
my reader a second time at the same place, I
am anxious to relieve him from the fear of being
treated to a second edition of the same story,
and to assure him that my head-piece has been
some time charged with fresh ammunition and I
mean to discharge it now, to prevent its getting
rusty. I intend to fight those battles only that
I never fought before, galloping over the ground
lightly, and merely halting to give a little of
my conversation, such as it is, whenever I have
anything new to tell; and as I have no idea of
enduring the fatigues of the march to Talavera,
nor the pleasures of fattening on the dinners of
chopped straw which followed it, I shall leave
my regiment to its fate until its return to the
north of Portugal, and take advantage of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">41</a></span>
repose it affords to make my editorial bow with
all due deference to my fair and lovely readers,
to express my joy that I have been once more
enabled to put myself in communion with them,
and to assure them of my continued unbounded
love and admiration, for I feel and have ever
felt that the man who gave frailty the name of
woman was a blockhead, and must have been
smarting under some unsuccessful bit of the
tender, for I have met her in the bower and in
the battle, and have ever found her alike admirable
in both! That old fool Shakspeare, too,
having only a man's courage to meet a sprite
with! Had he but told Macbeth to dare as
woman dared, he would have seen the ghost of
Banquo vanish into the witches' kettle in the
twinkling of a wheelbarrow; for although I have
never seen a woman kick the bucket, I have certainly
seen her kick every thing else, and in fact
there is nothing in the heroics that I have not
seen her do. See her again when she descends
into herself, and it is very odd if I have not seen<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">42</a></span>
her there too! for no man has ever been so
often or so deep in love as I have—my poor
heart has been lacerated, torn, and finally
scorched until it is withered up like a roasted
potato with scarcely the size of a kiss left.</p>
<p>How it was that I did not find myself dangling
at a door-post by the end of a silk handkerchief
some odd morning is to me astonishing, but
here I am, living and loving still as fondly as
ever. Prudence at this moment whispers that
I have said enough for the present, for if I go
on making love so fiercely thus early in the day,
I shall be forced to marry the whole sex and
bring my book to a premature conclusion, for
which posterity would never forgive me. I must
therefore for the present take a most reluctant
leave, with a promise of renewing my courtship
from time to time as opportunities offer, if they
will but good-naturedly follow me through the
various scenes into which I am about to conduct
them; and while I do my best to amuse them
by the way, should I unintentionally dive so<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">43</a></span>
deeply into the pathetic as to beguile them of a
tear, let me recommend them to wipe it away,
for it is only their smiles I court.</p>
<p>While on the way to join the light division
on the northern frontier, I shall take the opportunity
of introducing the reader to their celebrated
commander, the late Major-General
Robert Crawfurd, an officer who, for a length
of time, was better known than liked, but like
many a gem of purer ray his value was scarcely
known until lost.</p>
<hr />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">44</a></span></p>
<h2><a name="CHAP_IV" id="CHAP_IV">CHAP. IV.</a><br />
<span class="subhead">Shewing how generals may descend upon particulars with
a cat-o'-nine tails. Some extra Tales added. Historical,
Comical, and Warlike all.</span></h2>
<p class="in0">Crawfurd was no common character. He,
like a gallant cotemporary of his, was not born
to be a great general, but he certainly was a distinguished
one,—the history of his division and
the position which he held beyond the Coa in
1810, attest the fact. He had neither judgement,
temper, nor discretion to fit him for a
chief, and as a subordinate he required to be
held with a tight rein, but his talents as a
general of division were nevertheless of the first
order. He received the three British regiments<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">45</a></span>
under his command, finished by the hands of a
master in the art, Sir John Moore, and, as
regiments, they were faultless; but to Crawfurd
belonged the chief merit of making them the
war brigade which they became, alike the admiration
of their friends and foes. How he
made them so I am about to show, but how
such another is to be made now that his system
has fallen into disrepute, will be for futurity to
determine.</p>
<p>I think I see a regiment of those writers
who are just now taking the cat by the tail,
parading for a day's march under that immortal
chief—that he furnishes them with an ink-bottle
for a canteen, fills their knapsacks with foolscap,
their mouths with mouldy biscuit, and
starts them off with sloped pens. They go along
with the buoyancy of a corps of reporters reconnoitring
for a memorandum, and they very
quickly catch one and a Tartar to the bargain,
for the monotony of the road is relieved by the
crossing of a fine broad stream, and over the
stream is a very fine plank to preserve the polish<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">46</a></span>
of Warren's jet on the feet of the pedestrian—they
all jump gaily towards the plank, but they
are pulled up by a grim gentleman with a drawn
sword, who, with a voice of thunder, desires
them to keep their ranks and march through
the stream. Well! this is all mighty pleasant,
but now that they are up to their middles in
the water, there surely can be no harm in
stopping half a minute to lave a few handfuls
of it into their parched mouths. I think I
see the astonishment of their editorial nerves
when they find a dozen lashes well bestowed
<i>a posteriori</i> upon each, by way of their further
refreshment and clearing off scores for that
portion of the day's work (for the General
was a man who gave no credit on those occasions).
He had borrowed a leaf from the
history of the land-crabs, and suffered neither
mire nor water to disturb the order of his march
with impunity.</p>
<p>Now I daresay he would have had to flog an
editor a dozen times before he had satisfied him
that it was to his advantage; but a soldier is<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">47</a></span>
open to conviction, and such was the manner of
making one of the finest and most effective
divisions that that or any other army ever saw.</p>
<p>Where soldiers are to be ruled, there is
more logic in nine tails of a cat than in the
mouths of a hundred orators; it requires very
little argument to prove, and I'll defy the most
eloquent preacher, (with the unknown tongue
to boot,) to persuade a regiment to ford a river
where there is a bridge to conduct them over
dry-shod, or to prevent them drinking when
they are in that river if they happen to feel
thirsty, let him promise them what he will as a
reward for their obedience. It is like preaching
to his own flock on the subject of their eternal
welfare (and I make the comparison with all
due reverence); they would all gladly arrive at
the end he aims at, but at the same time how
few will take the necessary steps to do so, and
how many prefer their momentary present enjoyment?
So it was with the soldiers, but with
this difference, that Crawfurd's cat forced them
to take the right road whether they would or<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">48</a></span>
no, and the experiment once made carried conviction
with it, that the comfort of every individual
in the division materially depended on the
rigid exaction of his orders, for he shewed that
on every ordinary march he made it a rule to
halt for a few minutes every third or fourth mile,
(dependent on the vicinity of water,) that every
soldier carried a canteen capable of containing
two quarts, and that if he only took the trouble
to fill it before starting, and again, if necessary,
at every halt, it contained more than he would
or ought to drink in the interim; and that therefore
every pause he made in a river for the
purpose of drinking was disorderly, because a
man stopping to drink delayed the one behind
him proportionately longer, and so on progressively
to the rear of the column.</p>
<p>In like manner the filing past dirty or marshy
parts of the road in place of marching boldly
through them or filing over a plank or narrow
bridge in place of taking the river with the full
front of their column in march, he proved to
demonstration on true mathematical principles,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">49</a></span>
that with the numbers of those obstacles usually
encountered on a day's march, it made a difference
of several hours in their arrival at their
bivouac for the night. That in indulging by
the way, they were that much longer labouring
under their load of arms, ammunition, and necessaries,
besides bringing them to their bivouac
in darkness and discomfort; it very likely, too,
got them thoroughly drenched with rain, when
the sole cause of their delay had been to avoid
a partial wetting, which would have been long
since dried while seated at ease around their
camp-fires; and if this does not redeem Crawfurd
and his cat, I give it up.</p>
<p>The general and his divisional code, as already
hinted at, was at first much disliked; probably,
he enforced it, in the first instance, with unnecessary
severity, and it was long before those
under him could rid themselves of that feeling
of oppression which it had inculcated upon their
minds. It is due, however, to the memory of
the gallant general to say that punishment for
those disorders was rarely necessary after the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">50</a></span>
first campaign; for the system, once established,
went on like clock-work, and the soldiers latterly
became devotedly attached to him; for while he
exacted from them the most rigid obedience, he
was, on his own part, keenly alive to every thing
they had a right to expect from him in return,
and woe befel the commissary who failed to give
a satisfactory reason for any deficiencies in his
issues. It is stated that one of them went
to the commander-in-chief to complain that
he had been unable to procure bread for the
light division, and that General Crawfurd had
threatened that if they were not supplied within
a given time, he would put him in the guard-house.
"Did he?" said his lordship; "then
I would recommend you to find the bread, for if
he said so, by ——, he'll do it!"</p>
<p>Having in this chapter flogged every man
who had any shadow of claim to such a distinction,
I shall now proceed and place myself along
with my regiment to see that they prove themselves
worthy of the <i>pains</i> taken in their instruction.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">51</a></span></p>
<p>From the position which the light division
then held, their commander must have been
fully satisfied in his own mind that their military
education had not been neglected, for <i>certes</i> it
required every man to be furnished with a clear
head, a bold heart, and a clean pair of heels—all
three being liable to be put in requisition at
any hour by day or night. It was no place for
reefing topsails and making all snug, but one
which required the crew to be constantly at
quarters; for, unlike their nautical brethren,
the nearer a soldier's shoulders are to the rocks
the less liable he is to be wrecked—and there
they had more than enough of play in occupying
a front of twenty-five miles with that small
division and some cavalry. The chief of the
1st German hussars meeting our commandant
one morning, "Well, Colonel," says the gallant
German in broken English, "how you do?"
"O, tolerably well, thank you, considering that
I am obliged to sleep with one eye open." "By
Gott," says the other, "I never sleeps at all."</p>
<p>Colonel Beckwith at this time held the pass<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">52</a></span>
of Barba del Puerco with four companies of the
Rifles, and very soon experienced the advantage
of having an eye alive, for he had some active
neighbours on the opposite side of the river who
had determined to beat up his quarters by way
of ascertaining the fact.</p>
<p>The <i>Padrè</i> of the village, it appeared, was a
sort of vicar of Bray, who gave information to
both sides so long as accounts remained pretty
equally balanced between them, but when the
advance of the French army for the subjugation
of Portugal became a matter of certainty, he
immediately chose that which seemed to be the
strongest, and it was not ours.</p>
<p>The <i>Padrè</i> was a famous hand over a glass
of grog, and where amusements were so scarce,
it was good fun for our youngsters to make
a <i>Padrè</i> glorious, which they took every
opportunity of doing; and as is not unusual
with persons in that state, (laymen as well as
<i>Padrès</i>,) he invariably fancied himself the only
sober man of the party, so that the report was
conscientiously given when he went over to the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">53</a></span>
French General Ferey, who commanded the
division opposite, and staked his reputation as
a <i>Padrè</i>, that the English officers in his village
were in the habit of getting blind drunk every
night, and that he had only to march over at
midnight to secure them almost without resistance.</p>
<p>Ferey was a bold enterprising soldier, (I
saw his body in death after the battle of
Salamanca); he knew to a man the force of the
English in the village, and probably did not
look upon the attempt as very desperate
were they even at their posts ready to receive
him; but as the chances seemed to be in favour
of every enemy's head being "nailed to his
pillow," the opportunity was not to be resisted,
and accordingly, at midnight on the 19th of
March, he assembled his force silently at the
end of the bridge. The shadows of the rocks
which the rising moon had just cast over the
place prevented their being seen, and the continuous
roar of the mountain torrent, which
divided them, prevented their being heard even<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">54</a></span>
by our double sentry posted at the other end of
the bridge within a few yards of them. Leaving
a powerful support to cover his retreat in the
event of a reverse, Ferey at the head of six
hundred chosen grenadiers burst forth so silently
and suddenly, that, of our double sentry on the
bridge, the one was taken and the other bayonetted
without being able to fire off their pieces.
A sergeant's party higher up among the rocks
had just time to fire off as an alarm, and even
the remainder of the company on picquet under
O'Hare had barely time to jump up and snatch
their rifles when the enemy were among them.
O'Hare's men, however, though borne back
and unable to stop them for an instant, behaved
nobly, retiring in a continued hand-to-hand
personal encounter with their foes to the top
of the pass, when the remaining companies
under Sidney Beckwith having just started
from their sleep, rushed forward to their support,
and with a thundering discharge, tumbled
the attacking column into the ravine below,
where, passing the bridge under cover of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">55</a></span>
fire of their supporting body, they resumed
their former position, minus a considerable
number of their best and bravest. The colonel,
while urging the fight, observed a Frenchman
within a yard or two, taking deliberate aim
at his head. Stooping suddenly down and
picking up a stone, he immediately shyed it at
him, calling him at the same time a "scoundrel,
to get out of that." It so far distracted the
fellow's attention that while the gallant Beckwith's
cap was blown to atoms, the head remained
untouched.</p>
<p>The whole concern was but the affair of a few
minutes, but we nevertheless looked upon it as
no inconsiderable addition to our regimental
feather, for the appointed alarm post of one of
the companies had carried it to a place where it
happened that they were not wanted, so that
there were but three companies actually engaged;
and therefore with something less than
half their numbers they had beaten off six
hundred of the <i>élite</i> of the French army. But
our chief pride arose from its being the first and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">56</a></span>
last night-attempt which the enemy ever made
to surprise a British post in that army.</p>
<p>Of the worthy pastor I never heard more—I
know not whether the bold Ferey paid the price
of the information he had brought, in gold, or
with an ounce of lead; but certain it is that his
flock were without ghostly consolation during
the remainder of our sojourn—not that it was
much sought after at that particular time, for
the village damsels had already begun running
up a score of <i>peccadillos</i>, and it was of little use
attempting to wipe it out until the final departure
of their heretical visitors.</p>
<p>Among the wounded who were left on the
field by the enemy, there was a French sergeant
whom I have often heard our officers speak of
with much admiration—he was a fine handsome
young fellow, alike romantic in his bravery,
and in devotion to his emperor and his country—he
had come on with the determination to conquer
or to die, and having failed in the first, he
seemed resolved not to be balked in the other,
which a ball through a bad part of the thigh<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">57</a></span>
had placed him in the high road for, and he,
therefore, resisted every attempt to save him,
with the utmost indignation, claiming it as a
matter of right to be allowed to die on the field
where he had fallen. Our good, honest, rough
diamonds, however, who were employed in collecting
the wounded, were equally determined that
the point in dispute should only be settled between
him and the doctor in the proper place, and
accordingly they shouldered him off to the
hospital whether he would or no. But even
there he continued as untameable as a hyena—his
limb was in such a state that nothing but
amputation could save his life—yet nothing
would induce him to consent to it—he had courage
to endure any thing, but nothing could
reconcile him to receive any thing but blows
from his enemies. I forget how, or in what
way, the amputation of the limb was at length
accomplished. To the best of my recollection
death had already laid a hand upon him,
and it was done while he was in a state of insensibility.
But be that as it may, it was done,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">58</a></span>
and the danger and the fit of heroics having
travelled with the departed limb, he lived to
thank his preservers for the brotherly kindness
he had experienced at their hands, and took a
grateful and affectionate farewell of them when
his health was sufficiently restored to permit his
being removed to the care of his countrymen.</p>
<p>Shortly after this affair at Barba del Puerco
the French army under Massena came down
upon Ciudad Rodrigo, preparatory to the invasion
of Portugal, and obliged the light division
to take up a more concentrated position.</p>
<p>It is not my intention to take notice of the
movements of the army further than is necessary
to illustrate the anecdotes I relate; but I cannot,
on this occasion, resist borrowing a leaf out of
Napier's admirable work, to shew the remarkable
state of discipline which those troops had
been brought to—for while I have no small portion
of personal vanity to gratify in recording
the fact of my having been for many years after
an associate in all the enterprises of that gallant
band, I consider it more particularly a duty<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">59</a></span>
which every military writer owes to posterity,
(be his pretensions great or humble,) to shew
what may be effected in that profession by diligence
and perseverance.</p>
<p>The light division, and the cavalry attached
to it, was at this period so far in advance of
every other part of the army that their safety
depended on themselves alone, for they were
altogether beyond the reach of human aid—their
force consisted of about four thousand
infantry, twelve hundred cavalry, and a brigade
of horse artillery—and yet with this small force
did Crawfurd, trusting to his own admirable
arrangements, and the surprising discipline of
his troops, maintain a position which was no
position, for three months, within an hour's
march of six thousand horsemen, and two hours'
march from sixty thousand infantry, of a brave,
experienced, and enterprising enemy, who was
advancing in the confidence of certain victory.</p>
<p>Napier says, "His situation demanded a
quickness and intelligence in the troops, the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">60</a></span>
like of which has seldom been known. Seven
minutes sufficed for the division to get under
arms in the middle of the night, and a quarter
of an hour, night or day, to bring it in
order of battle to the alarm posts, with the
baggage loaded and assembled at a convenient
distance in the rear. And this not upon a
concerted signal, or as a trial, but at all
times, and certain!"</p>
<div class="poem-container">
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="iq">"In peace love tunes the shepherd's reed;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">In war he mounts the warrior's steed."<br /></span>
</div></div>
</div>
<p>And thus, in humble imitation of her master-man,
did Mother Coleman, one fine morning,
mount her donkey, and join her French lover to
war against her lord.</p>
<p>While the troops of the light division, as
already noticed, were strutting about with the
consciousness of surpassing excellence, menacing
and insulting a foe for which their persons'
knapsacks and all would barely have sufficed
for a luncheon—a dish of mortification was
served up for those of our corps, by the hands<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">61</a></span>
of their better half, which was not easy of digestion.
To speak of the wife of a regiment is
so very unusual as to imply that she must have
been some very great personage—and without
depriving her of the advantage of such a magnificent
idea, I shall only say that she was the
only wife they had got—for they landed at Lisbon
with eleven hundred men and only one
woman.</p>
<p>By what particular virtues she had attained
such a dignified position among them, I never
clearly made out, further than that she had arrived
at years of discretion, was what is commonly
called a useful woman, and had seen
some service. She was the wife of a sturdy
German, who plyed in the art of shoemaking,
whenever his duties in the field permitted him to
resort to that species of amusement, so that it
appeared that she had beauty enough to captivate
a cobbler, she had money enough to command
the services of a jackass, and finally she
proved she had wit enough to sell us all, which
she did the first favourable opportunity—for,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">62</a></span>
after plying for some months at the tail of her
donkey at the tail of the regiment, and fishing
in all the loose dollars which were floating about
in gentlemen's pockets, (by those winning ways
which ladies know so well how to use when
such favourable opportunities offer,) she finally
bolted off to the enemy, bag and baggage, carrying
away old Coleman's all and awl.</p>
<p>It was one of those French leave-takings
which man is heir to, but we eventually got
over it, under the deepest obligation all the time
for the sympathy manifested by our friends of
the 43d and 52d.</p>
<p>The movements of the enemy were at length
unshackled by the fall of Ciudad Rodrigo,
after a desperate defence, which gave immortal
glory to its old governor Herrasti, and his brave
Spanish garrison—and although it may appear
that I am saying one word in honour of the
Spaniards for the purpose of giving two to the
British, yet my feelings are too national to permit
me to pass over a fact which redounds so much
to the glory of our military history—namely,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">63</a></span>
that in this, the year 1810, the French were six
weeks in wresting from the Spaniards the same
fortress which we, in the year 1812, carried,
with fire and sword, out of the hands of the
French in eleven days!</p>
<p>Now that the enemy's movements were unshackled,
the cloud, which for months had been
gathering over Portugal, began to burst—and,
sharp as Crawfurd and his division looked before,
it now behoved them to look somewhat
sharper. Had he acted in conformity with his
instructions, he had long ere this been behind
the Coa, but deeply enamoured of his separate
command as ever youth was of his mistress, he
seemed resolved that nothing but force should
part them; and having gradually given ground,
as necessity compelled, the 23d of July found
him with his back on the river, and his left
resting on the fortress of Almeida, determined
to abide a battle, with about five thousand men
of all arms to oppose the whole French army.</p>
<p>I shall leave to abler pens the description of the
action that followed, and which (as might have<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">64</a></span>
been foreseen, while it was highly honourable
to the officers and troops engaged) ended in
their being driven across the Coa with a severe
loss. My business is with a youth who had the
day before joined the division. The history of
his next day's adventure has beguiled me of
many a hearty laugh, and although I despair of
being able to communicate it to my readers with
any thing like the humour with which I received
it from an amiable and gallant friend, yet I
cannot resist giving it such as it rests on my
remembrance.</p>
<p>Mr. Rogers, as already stated, had, the day
before, arrived from England, as an officer of
one of the civil departments attached to the
light division, and as might be expected on finding
himself all at once up with the outposts of
the army, he was full of curiosity and excitement.
Equipped in a huge cocked hat, and a
hermaphrodite sort of scarlet coat, half military
and half civil, he was dancing about with his
budget of inquiries, when chance threw him in
the way of the gallant and lamented Jock<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">65</a></span>
Mac Culloch, at the time a lieutenant in the
Rifles, and who was in the act of marching off
a company to relieve one of the picquets for the
night.</p>
<p>Mac Culloch, full of humour, seeing the curiosity
of the fresh arrival, said, "Come, Rogers,
my boy, come along with me, you shall share
my beefsteak, you shall share my boat-cloak,
and it will go hard with me but you shall
see a Frenchman, too, before we part in the
morning."</p>
<p>The invitation was not to be resisted, and
away went Rogers on the spur of the moment.</p>
<p>The night turned out a regular Tam o'Shanter's
night, or, if the reader pleases, a Wellington
night, for it is a singular fact that
almost every one of his battles was preceded by
such a night;—the thunder rolled, the lightning
flashed, and all the fire-engines in the
world seemed playing upon the lightning, and
the devoted heads of those exposed to it. It
was a sort of night that was well calculated to
be a damper to a bolder spirit than the one<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">66</a></span>
whose story I am relating; but he, nevertheless,
sheltered himself as he best could, under the
veteran's cloak, and put as good a face upon it
as circumstances would permit.</p>
<p>As usual, an hour before day-break, Mac
Culloch, resigning the boat-cloak to his dosing
companion, stood to his arms, to be ready for
whatever changes daylight might have in store
for him: nor had he to wait long, for day had just
begun to dawn when the sharp crack from the
rifle of one of the advanced sentries announced
the approach of the enemy, and he had just time
to counsel his terrified bedfellow to make the
best of his way back to the division, while he
himself awaited to do battle. Nor had he much
time for preparation, for, as Napier says, "Ney,
seeing Crawfurd's false dispositions, came down
upon them with the stoop of an eagle. Four
thousand horsemen, and a powerful artillery,
swept the plain, and Loison's division coming
up at a charging pace, made towards the centre
and left of the position." Mac Culloch, almost
instantly, received several bad sabre wounds,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">67</a></span>
and, with five-and-twenty of his men, was taken
prisoner.</p>
<p>Rogers, it may be believed, lost no time in
following the salutary counsel he had received
with as clever a pair of heels as he could muster.
The enemy's artillery had by this time
opened, and, as the devil would have it, the
cannon-balls were travelling the same road,
and tearing up the ground on each side of
him almost as regularly as if it had been a
ploughing match. Poor Rogers was thus
placed in a situation which fully justified him
in thinking, as most young soldiers do, that
every ball was aimed at himself. He was
half distracted; it was certain death to stop
where he was, neither flank offered him the
smallest shelter, and he had not wind enough
left in his bellows to clear the tenth part of the
space between him and comparative safety; but,
where life is at stake, the imagination is fertile,
and it immediately occurred to him that by
dowsing the cocked hat he would make himself
a less conspicuous object; clapping it, accordingly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">68</a></span>
under his arm, he continued his frightful
career, with the feelings of a maniac and the
politeness of a courtier, for to every missile that
passed he bowed as low as his racing attitude
would permit, in ignorance that the danger had
passed along with it, performing, to all appearance,
a continued rotatory sort of evolution, as
if the sails of a windmill had parted from the
building, and continued their course across the
plain, to the utter astonishment of all who saw
him. At length, when exhausted nature could
not have carried him twenty yards further, he
found himself among some skirmishers of the
3d Caçadores, and within a few yards of a rocky
ridge, rising out of the ground, the rear of
which seemed to offer him the long-hoped-for
opportunity of recovering his wind, and he sheltered
himself accordingly.</p>
<p>This happened to be the first occasion in which
the Caçadores had been under fire; they had the
highest respect for the bravery of their British
officers, and had willingly followed where their
colonel had led; but having followed him into<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">69</a></span>
the field, they did not see why they should not
follow another out of it, and when they saw a
red coat take post behind a rock, they all immediately
rushed to take advantage of the same
cover. Poor Rogers had not, therefore, drawn
his first breath when he found himself surrounded
by these Portuguese warriors, nor had
he drawn a second before their colonel (Sir
George Elder) rode furiously at him with his
drawn sword, exclaiming "who are you, you
scoundrel, in the uniform of a British officer,
setting an example of cowardice to my
men? get out of that instantly, or I'll cut you
down!"</p>
<p>Rogers's case was desperate—he had no breath
left to explain that he had no pretensions to the
honour of being an officer, for he would have
been cut down in the act of attempting it: he
was, therefore, once more forced to start for
another heat with the round shot, and, like a
hunted devil, got across the bridge, he knew
not how; but he was helm up for England the
same day, and the army never saw him more.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">70</a></span></p>
<p>General Crawfurd's conduct in the affair alluded
to, would argue that his usual soldier-like
wits had gone a wool-gathering for the time
being—he had, in fact, like a moth, been fluttering
so long with impunity around a consuming
power that he had at length lost all sense of the
danger. But even then it is impossible to conceive
upon what principle he took up the position
he did—for, in the first place, it was in
direct defiance of Lord Wellington's orders; and
had the river behind him been flowing with milk
and honey, or had the rugged bank on which
he was posted been built of loaves and fishes, it
would scarcely have justified him in running the
risk he did to preserve the sweets; but as the
one was flooded with muddy water, and the
other only bearing a crop of common stones,
and when we consider, too, that the simple
passing of the river would have made a hundred
of his troops equal to a thousand of the invaders,
we must continue lost in wonder.</p>
<p>It is difficult to imagine, however, that he
ever contemplated the possibility of stopping the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">71</a></span>
French army but for the moment. Confiding,
probably, in the superiority of his troops, he
had calculated on successfully repelling their
first attack, and that having thus taught them
the respect that was due to him, he might then
have made a triumphant retreat to the opposite
bank, where, for a time, he could safely have
offered them further defiance.</p>
<p>If such was his object, (and it is the only
plausible one I can find,) he had altogether
overlooked that for a man with one pair of arms
to grapple with another who had ten, it must
rest with the ten-pair man to say when the play
is over, for although the one-pair man may disable
an equal number in his front, there are still
nine pair left to poke him in the sides and all
round about; and thus the general found it;
for having once exposed himself to such overwhelming
numbers, there was no getting out of it
but at a large sacrifice—and but for the experience,
the confidence, and the devotion of the
different individual battalion officers, seconded
by the gallantry of the soldiers, the division<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">72</a></span>
had been utterly annihilated. Napier, as an eye-witness,
states, (what I have often heard repeated
by other officers who were there,) that "there
was no room to array the line, no time for
any thing but battle, every captain carried off
his company as an independent body, and
joining as he could with the ninety-fifth or
fifty-second, the whole presented a mass of
skirmishers acting in small parties, and under
no regular command, yet each confident in
the courage and discipline of those on his
right and left, and all regulating their movements
by a common discretion, and keeping
together with surprising vigour."</p>
<p>The result of the action was a loss on the
British portion of the division of two hundred
and seventy-two, including twenty-eight officers,
killed, wounded, and taken.</p>
<p>It is curious to observe by what singular
interpositions of Providence the lives of individuals
are spared. One of our officers happening
to have a pocket-volume of Gil Blas, was in
the middle of one of his interesting stories<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">73</a></span>
when the action commenced. Not choosing to
throw it away, he thrust it into the breast of
his jacket for want of a better place, and in the
course of the day it received a musket-ball
which had been meant for a more tender subject.
The volume was afterwards, of course,
treated as a tried friend.</p>
<p>Having, in one of the foregoing pages, introduced
the name of Mac Culloch in a prominent
part of the action, I must be forgiven for taking
this opportunity of following him to the end of
his highly honourable earthly career.</p>
<p>John Mac Culloch was from Scotland, (a native,
I believe, of Kirkudbright;) he was young,
handsome, athletic, and active; with the meekness
of a lamb, he had the heart of a lion, and
was the delight of every one. At the time I first
became acquainted with him he had been several
years in the regiment, and had shared in all
the vicissitudes of the restless life they then led.
I brought him under the notice of the reader in
marching off to relieve the advanced picquet on
the night prior to the action of the Coa.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">74</a></span></p>
<p>For the information of those who are unacquainted
with military matters, I may as well
mention that the command of an outline picquet
is never an enviable one—it is a situation at all
times dangerous and open to disgrace, but seldom
to honour—for come what may, in the event
of an attack spiritedly made, the picquet is
almost sure to go to the wall. From the manner
in which the French approached on the occasion
referred to, it may readily be imagined that my
gallant friend had but little chance of escape—it
was, therefore, only left to him to do his duty
as an officer under the circumstances in which
he was placed. He gave the alarm, and he
gave his visitors as warm a reception as his fifty
rifles could provide for them, while he gallantly
endeavoured to fight his way back to his battalion,
but the attempt was hopeless; the cavalry
alone of the enemy ought to have been more
than enough to sweep the whole of the division
off the face of the earth—and Mac Culloch's small
party had no chance; they were galloped into,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">75</a></span>
and he, himself, after being lanced and sabred
in many places, was obliged to surrender.</p>
<p>Mac Culloch refused to give his parole, in
the hope of being able to effect his escape before
he reached the French frontier; he was,
therefore, marched along with the men a close
prisoner as far as Valladolid, where fortune,
which ever favours the brave, did not fail him.
The escort had found it necessary to halt there
for some days, and Mac Culloch having gained
the goodwill of his conductor, was placed
in a private house under proper security, as
they thought; but in this said house there happened
to be a young lady, and of what avail are
walls of brass, bolts, bars, or iron doors, when
a lady is concerned? She quickly put herself in
communion with the handsome prisoner—made
herself acquainted with his history, name, and
country, and as quickly communicated it, as well
as her plans for his escape, to a very worthy
countryman of his, at that time a professor in
one of the universities there. Need I say more
than that before many hours had passed over<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">76</a></span>
his head, he found himself equipped in the costume
of a Spanish peasant, the necessary quantity
of dollars in his pocket, and a kiss on each
cheek burning hot from the lips of his preserver,
on the high road to rejoin his battalion, where
he arrived in due course of time, to the great
joy of every body—Lord Wellington himself
was not the least delighted of the party, and
kindly invited him to dine with him that day, in
the <i>costume</i> in which he had arrived.</p>
<p>Mac Culloch continued to serve with us until
Massena's retreat from Portugal, when, in a
skirmish which took place on the evening of the
15th of March, 1811, I, myself, got a crack
on the head which laid me under a tree, with
my understanding considerably bothered for the
night, and I was sorry to find, as my next
neighbour, poor Mac Culloch, with an excruciatingly
painful and bad wound in the shoulder
joint, which deprived him of the use of one arm
for life, and obliged him to return to England
for the recovery of health.</p>
<p>In the meantime, by the regular course of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">77</a></span>
promotion, he received his company, which
transferred him to the 2d battalion, and, serving
with it at the battle of Waterloo, he lost his
sound arm by one of the last shots that was
fired in that bloody field.</p>
<p>As soon as he had recovered from this last
wound he rejoined us in Paris, and, presenting
himself before the Duke of Wellington in his
usual straightforward manly way, said, "Here I
am, my Lord; I have no longer an arm left
to wield for my country, but I still wish to
be allowed to serve it as I best can!" The
Duke duly appreciated the diamond before him,
and as there were several captains in the regiment
senior to Mac Culloch, his Grace, with due
regard to their feelings, desired the commanding
officer to ascertain whether they would not consider
it a cause of complaint if Mac Culloch
were recommended for a brevet majority, as it
was out of his power to do it for every one, and,
to the honour of all concerned, there was not a
dissentient voice. He, therefore, succeeded to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">78</a></span>
the brevet, and was afterwards promoted to a
majority, I think, in a veteran battalion.</p>
<p>He was soon after on a visit in London, living
at a hotel, when one afternoon he was taken
suddenly ill; the feeling to him was an unusual
one, and he immediately sent for a physician,
and told him that he cared not for the consequences,
but insisted on having his candid opinion
on his case.</p>
<p>The medical man accordingly told him at once
that his case was an extraordinary one—that he
might within an hour or two recover from it, or
within an hour or two he might be no more.</p>
<p>Mac Culloch, with his usual coolness, gave a
few directions as to the future, and calmly
awaited the result, which terminated fatally
within the time predicted—and thus perished,
in the prime of life, the gallant Mac Culloch,
who was alike an honour to his country and his
profession.</p>
<hr />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">79</a></span></p>
<h2><a name="CHAP_V" id="CHAP_V">CHAP. V.</a><br />
<span class="subhead">The paying of a French compliment, which will be repaid
in a future chapter. A fierce attack upon hairs. A niece
compliment, and lessons gratis to untaught sword-bearers.</span></h2>
<p class="in0">After the action of the Coa the enemy quickly
possessed themselves of the fortress of Almeida,
when there remained nothing between Massena
and his kingdom but the simple article of Lord
Wellington's army, of which he calculated he
would be able to superintend the embarkation
within the time requisite for his infantry to
march to Lisbon. He therefore put his legions
in motion to pay his distinguished adversary
that last mark of respect.</p>
<p>The Wellingtonians retired slowly before them
shewing their teeth as often as favourable opportunities<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">80</a></span>
offered, and several bitter bites they
gave before they turned at bay—first on the
heights of Busaco, and finally and effectually
on those of Torres Vedras.</p>
<p>The troops of all arms composing the rear
guard conducted themselves admirably throughout
the whole of that retreat, for although the
enemy did not press them so much as they
might have done, yet they were at all times in
close contact, and many times in actual combat,
and it was impossible to say which was the most
distinguished—the splendid service of the horse
artillery, the dashing conduct of the dragoons,
or the unconquerable steadiness and bravery of
the infantry.</p>
<p>It was a sort of military academy which is
not open for instruction every day in the year,
nor was it one which every fond mamma would
choose to send her darling boy to, calculated
although it was to lead to <i>immortal</i> honours.
A youngster (if he did not stop a bullet by the
way) might commence his studies in such a
place with nothing but "the soft down peeping<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">81</a></span>
through the white skin," and be entitled to the
respect due to a beard or a bald head before he
saw the end of it.</p>
<p>It is curious to remark how fashions change
and how the change affects the valour of the
man too. The dragoon since the close of the
war has worn all his hair below the head and
none on the top it, and how fiercely he fought
in defence of his whiskers the other day when
some of the regiments were ordered to be
shaved, as if the debility of Samson was likely
to be the result of the operation. My stars!
but I should be glad to know what the old royal
<i>heavies</i> or fourteenth and sixteenth <i>lights</i> cared
about hairs at the period I speak of, when with
their bare faces they went boldly in and bearded
muzzles that seemed fenced with furze bushes;
and while it was "damned be he who first cries
hold—enough!" they did hold enough too,
sometimes bringing in every man his bird, mustachoes
and all. In those days they seemed to
put more faith in their good right hand than in
a cart-load of whiskers, for with it and their<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">82</a></span>
open English countenances they carved for themselves
a name as British dragoons, which they
were too proud to barter for any other.</p>
<p>Every attempt at rearing a <i>moustache</i> among
the British in those days was treated with
sovereign contempt, no matter how aristocratic
the soil on which it was sown. But, to do justice
to <i>every body</i>, I must say that, to the best of my
recollection, a crop was seldom seen but on the
lips of <i>nobodies</i>.</p>
<p>It was in the course of this retreat, as I mentioned
in a former work, that I first joined Lord
Wellington's army, and I remember being remarkably
struck with the order, the confidence,
and the daring spirit which seemed to animate
all ranks of those among whom it was my good
fortune to be cast. Their confidence in their
illustrious chief was unbounded, and they seemed
to feel satisfied that it only rested with him any
day to say to his opponent, "thus far shalt
thou come but no farther;" and if a doubt on
the subject had rested with any one before, the
battle of Busaco removed it, for the Portuguese<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">83</a></span>
troops having succeeded in beating their man,
it confirmed them in their own good opinion,
and gave increased confidence to the whole
allied army.</p>
<p>I am now treading on the heels of my former
narrative, and although it did not include the
field of Busaco, yet, as I have already stated,
it is foreign to my present purpose to enter into
any details of the actions in which we were engaged,
further than they may serve to illustrate
such anecdotes as appear to me to be likely to
amuse the reader. I shall therefore pass over
the present one, merely remarking that to a
military man, one of the most interesting spectacles
which took place there, was the light
division taking up their ground the day before
in the face of the enemy. They had remained
too long in their advanced position on the morning
of the 25th of September while the enemy's
masses were gathering around them; but Lord
Wellington fortunately came up before they were
too far committed and put them in immediate
retreat under his own personal direction. Nor,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">84</a></span>
as Napier says, "Was there a moment to lose,
for the enemy with incredible rapidity brought
up both infantry and guns, and fell on so
briskly that all the skill of the general and
the readiness of the excellent troops composing
the rear guard, could scarcely prevent
the division from being dangerously engaged.
Howbeit, a series of rapid and beautiful
movements, a sharp cannonade, and an hour's
march, brought every thing back in good
order to the great position."</p>
<p>On the day of the battle (the 27th) the
French General Simon, who led the attack upon
our division, was wounded and taken prisoner,
and as they were bringing him in he raved
furiously for General Crawfurd, daring him to
single combat, but as he was already a prisoner
there would have been but little wit in indulging
him in his humour.</p>
<p>In the course of the afternoon his baggage
was brought in under a flag of truce, accompanied
by a charm to soothe the savage breast,
in the shape of a very beautiful little Spanish<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">85</a></span>
girl, who I have no doubt succeeded in tranquillizing
his pugnacious disposition. I know
not what rank she held on his establishment, but
conclude that she was his niece, for I have
observed that in Spain the prettiest girl in every
gentleman's house is the niece. The Padrès
particularly are the luckiest fellows in the
world in having the handsomest brothers and
sisters of any men living,—not that I have seen
the brother or the sister of any one of them,
but then I have seen nine hundred and ninety-nine
Padrès, and each had his niece at the head
of his establishment, and I know not how it
happened but she was always the prettiest girl in
the parish.</p>
<p>It was generally the fate of troops arriving
from England, to join the army at an unhappy
period—at a time when easy stages and refreshment
after the voyage was particularly wanted
and never to be had. The marches at this
period were harassing and severe, and the company
with which I had just arrived were much distressed
to keep pace with the old campaigners—<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">86</a></span>they
made a tolerable scramble for a day or two,
but by the time they arrived at the lines the
greater part had been obliged to be mounted.
Nevertheless, when it became Massena's turn
to tramp out of Portugal a few months after,
we found them up to their work and with as
few stragglers as the best. Marching is an art
to be acquired only by habit, and one in which
the strength or agility of the animal, man, has
but little to do. I have seen Irishmen (and all
sorts of countrymen) in their own country, taken
from the plough-tail—huge, athletic, active fellows,
who would think nothing of doing forty
or fifty miles in the course of the day as countrymen—see
these men placed in the rank as
recruits with knapsacks on their backs and a
musket over their shoulders, and in the first
march they are dead beat before they get ten
miles.</p>
<p>I have heard many disputes on the comparative
campaigning powers of tall and short men,
but as far as my own experience goes I have
never seen any difference. If a tall man happens<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">87</a></span>
to break down it is immediately noticed to
the disadvantage of his class, but if the same
misfortune befals a short one, it is not looked
upon as being anything remarkable. The effective
powers of both in fact depend upon the
nature of the building.</p>
<p>The most difficult and at the same time the
most important duty to teach a young soldier on
first coming into active service, is how to take
care of himself. It is one which, in the first
instance, requires the unwearied attention of the
officer, but he is amply repaid in the long run,
for when the principle is once instilled into him,
it is duly appreciated, and he requires no further
trouble. In our battalion, during the latter years
of the war, it was a mere matter of form inspecting
the men on parade, for they knew too
well the advantages of having their arms and
ammunition at all times in proper order to neglect
them, so that after several weeks marching
and fighting, I have never seen them on their
first ordinary parade after their arrival in quarters,
but they were fit for the most rigid examination<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">88</a></span>
of the greatest Martinet that ever looked through
the ranks. The only thing that required the
officers' attention was their necessaries, for as
money was scarce, they were liable to be bartered
for strong waters.</p>
<p>On service as every where else, there is a
time for all things, but the time there being
limited and very uncertain, the difficulty is to
learn how to make the most of it.</p>
<p>The first and most important part lies with
the officer, and he cannot do better than borrow
a leaf out of General Crawfurd's book, to learn
how to prevent straggling, and to get his men
to the end of their day's work with the least
possible delay.</p>
<p>The young soldier when he first arrives in
camp or bivouac will (unless forced to do otherwise)
always give in to the languor and fatigue
which oppresses him, and fall asleep. He
awakens most probably after dark, cold and
comfortless. He would gladly eat some of the
undressed meat in his haversack, but he has no
fire on which to cook it. He would gladly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">89</a></span>
shelter himself in one of the numerous huts
which have arisen around him since he fell
asleep, but as he lent no hand in the building
he is thrust out. He attempts at the eleventh
hour to do as others have done, but the time
has gone by, for all the materials that were
originally within reach, have already been appropriated
by his more active neighbours, and
there is nothing left for him but to pass the
remainder of the night as he best can, in hunger,
in cold, and in discomfort, and he marches
before day-light in the morning without having
enjoyed either rest or refreshment. Such is
often the fate of young regiments for a longer
period than would be believed, filling the hospitals
and leading to all manner of evils.</p>
<p>On the other hand, see the old soldiers come
to their ground. Let their feelings of fatigue be
great or small, they are no sooner suffered to
leave the ranks than every man rushes to secure
whatever the neighbourhood affords as likely to
contribute towards his comfort for the night.
Swords, hatchets, and bill-kooks are to be seen<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">90</a></span>
hewing and hacking at every tree and bush
within reach,—huts are quickly reared, fires are
quickly blazing, and while the camp kettle is
boiling, or the pound of beef frying, the tired,
but happy souls, are found toasting their toes
around the cheerful blaze, recounting their
various adventures until the fire has done the
needful, when they fall on like men, taking
especial care however that whatever their inclinations
may be, they consume no part of the
provision which properly belongs to the morrow.
The meal finished, they arrange their accoutrements
in readiness for any emergency, (caring
little for the worst that can befal them for the
next twenty-four hours,) when they dispose
themselves for rest, and be their allowance of
sleep long or short they enjoy it, for it does
one's heart good to see "the rapture of repose
that's there."</p>
<p>In actual battle, young soldiers are apt to
have a feeling, (from which many old ones are
not exempt,) namely, that they are but insignificant
characters—only a humble individual out<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">91</a></span>
of many thousands, and that his conduct, be it
good or bad, can have little influence over the
fate of the day. This is a monstrous mistake,
which it ought to be the duty of every military
writer to endeavour to correct; for in battle, as
elsewhere, no man is insignificant unless he
chooses to make himself so. The greater part
of the victories on record, I believe, may be
traced to the individual gallantry of a very
small portion of the troops engaged; and if it
were possible to take a microscopic view of that
small portion, there is reason to think that the
whole of the glory might be found to rest with
a very few individuals.</p>
<p>Military men in battle may be classed under
three disproportionate heads,—a very small
class who consider themselves insignificant—a
very large class who content themselves with
doing their duty, without going beyond it—and
a tolerably large class who do their best, many
of which are great men without knowing it.
One example in the history of a private soldier<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">92</a></span>
will establish all that I have advanced on the
subject.</p>
<p>In one of the first smart actions that I ever
was in, I was a young officer in command of
experienced soldiers, and, therefore, found myself
compelled to be an observer rather than an
active leader in the scene. We were engaged in
a very hot skirmish, and had driven the enemy's
light troops for a considerable distance with
great rapidity, when we were at length stopped
by some of their regiments in line, which opened
such a terrific fire within a few yards that it
obliged every one to shelter himself as he best
could among the inequalities of the ground and
the sprinkling of trees which the place afforded.
We remained inactive for about ten minutes
amidst a shower of balls that seemed to be
almost like a hail-storm, and when at the very
worst, when it appeared to me to be certain
death to quit the cover, a young scampish fellow
of the name of Priestly, at the adjoining tree,
started out from behind it, saying, "Well! I'll<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">93</a></span>
be d——d if I'll be bothered any longer behind
a tree, so here's at you," and with that he
banged off his rifle in the face of his foes, reloading
very deliberately, while every one right
and left followed his example, and the enemy,
panic struck, took to their heels without firing
another shot. The action requires no comment,
the individual did not seem to be aware that he
had any merit in what he did, but it is nevertheless
a valuable example for those who are disposed
to study causes and effects in the art of war.</p>
<p>In that same action I saw an amusing instance
of the ruling passion for sport predominating
over a soldier; a rifleman near me was in the
act of taking aim at a Frenchman when a hare
crossed between them, the muzzle of the rifle
mechanically followed the hare in preference,
and, as she was doubling into our lines, I had
just time to strike up the piece with my sword
before he drew the trigger, or he most probably
would have shot one of our own people, for he
was so intent upon his game that he had lost
sight of every thing else.</p>
<hr />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">94</a></span></p>
<h2><a name="CHAP_VI" id="CHAP_VI">CHAP. VI.</a><br />
<span class="subhang">Reaping a Horse with a Halter. Reaping golden Opinions
out of a Dung-Hill, and reaping a good Story or two out
of the next Room. A Dog-Hunt and Sheep's Heads prepared
at the Expense of a Dollar each, and a Scotchman's
Nose.</span></h2>
<p class="in0">I have taken so many flights from our line of
retreat in search of the fanciful, that I can only
bring my readers back to our actual position,
by repeating the oft told tale that our army
pulled up in the lines of Torres Vedras to await
Massena's further pleasure; for, whether he was
to persevere in his intended compliment of seeing
us on board ship, or we were to return it by
seeing him out of Portugal again, was still somewhat
doubtful; and, until the point should be<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">95</a></span>
decided, we made ourselves as comfortable as
circumstances would permit, and that was
pretty well.</p>
<p>Every young officer on entering a new stage
in his profession, let him fancy himself ever so
acute, is sure to become for a time the <i>butt</i> of the
old hands. I was the latest arrival at the time
I speak of, and of course shared the fate of
others, but as the only hoax that I believe they
ever tried upon me, turned out a profitable one,
I had less cause for soreness than falls to the
lot of green-horns in general. It consisted in
an officer, famous for his waggery, coming up
to me one morning and mentioning that he had
just been taking a ride over a part of the
mountain, (which he pointed out,) where he had
seen a wild horse grazing, and that he had tried
hard to catch him, but lamented that he had
been unable to succeed, for that he was a very
handsome one!</p>
<p>As the country abounded in wolves and other
wild characters I did not see why there should
not also be wild horses, and, therefore, greedily<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">96</a></span>
swallowed the bait, for I happened not only to
be in especial want of a horse, but of dollars to
buy one, and arming myself accordingly with a
halter and the assistance of an active rifleman,
I proceeded to the place, and very quickly converted
the wild horse into a tame one! It was
not until a year after that I discovered the hoax
by which I had unwittingly become the stealer
of some unfortunate man's horse; but, in the
mean time, it was to the no small mortification
of my waggish friend, that he saw me mounted
upon him when we marched a few days after,
for he had anticipated a very different result.</p>
<p>The saddle which sat between me and the
horse on that occasion ought not to be overlooked,
for, take it all in all, I never expect to see
its like again. I found it in our deserted house
at Arruda; the seat was as soft as a pillow, and
covered with crimson silk velvet, beautifully
embroidered, and gilt round the edges. I knew
not for what description of rider it had been
intended, but I can answer for it that it was
exceedingly comfortable in dry weather, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">97</a></span>
that in wet it possessed all the good properties
of a sponge, keeping the rider cool and comfortable.</p>
<p>While we remained in the lines, there was a
small, thatched, mud-walled, deserted cottage
under the hill near our company's post, which
we occasionally used as a shelter from the sun
or the rain, and some of our men in prowling
about one day discovered two massive silver
salvers concealed in the thatch. The captain of
the company very properly ordered them to be
taken care of, in the hope that their owner would
come to claim them, while the soldiers in the
mean time continued very eager in their researches
in the neighbourhood, in expectation of
making further discoveries, in which however
they were unsuccessful. After we had altogether
abandoned the cottage, a Portuguese gentleman
arrived one day and told us that he was the
owner of the place, and that he had some plate
concealed there which he wished permission to
remove. Captain —— immediately desired
the salvers to be given to him, concluding that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">98</a></span>
they were what he had come in search of, but
on looking at them he said that they did not
belong to him, that what he wished to remove
was concealed under the dunghill, and he accordingly
proceeded there and dug out about a
cart load of gold and silver articles which he
carried off, while our unsuccessful searchers
stood by, cursing their mutual understandings
which had suffered such a prize to slip through
their fingers, and many an innocent heap of
manure was afterwards torn to pieces in consequence
of that morning's lesson.</p>
<p>Massena having abandoned his desolated position
in the early part of November, the fifteenth
of that month saw me seated on my cloth of
crimson and gold, taking a look at the French
rear guard, which, under Junot, was in position
between Cartaxo and El Valle. A cool November
breeze whistled through an empty stomach,
which the gilded outside was insufficient to
satisfy. Our chief of division was red hot to
send us over to warm ourselves with the French
fires, and had absolutely commenced the movement<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">99</a></span>
when the opportune arrival of Lord Wellington
put a stop to it; for, as it was afterwards
discovered, we should have burnt our
fingers.</p>
<p>While we therefore awaited further orders on
the road side, I was amused to see General
Slade, who commanded the brigade of cavalry
attached to us, order up his sumpter mule, and
borrowing our doctor's medical panniers, which
he placed in the middle of the road by way of a
table, he, with the assistance of his orderly
dragoon, undid several packages, and presently
displayed a set-out which was more than enough
to tempt the cupidity of the hungry beholders,
consisting of an honest-looking loaf of bread, a
thundering large tongue, and the fag end of a
ham—a bottle of porter, and half a one of
brandy. The bill of fare is still as legibly written
on my remembrance as on the day that I first
saw it—for such things cannot be, and overcome
us like the vision of a Christmas feast, without
especial longings for an invitation; but we might
have sighed and looked, and sighed again, for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">100</a></span>
our longings were useless—our doctor, with his
usual politeness, made sundry attempts to insinuate
himself upon the hospitable notice of
the general, by endeavouring to arrange the
panniers in a more classical shape for his better
accommodation, for which good service he received
bow for bow, with a considerable quantity
of thanks into the bargain, which, after he
had done his best, (and that was no joke,) still
left him the general's debtor on the score of
civility. When the doctor had failed, the attempt
of any other individual became a forlorn
hope, but nothing seems desperate to a British
soldier, and two thorough going ones, the commanders
of the twelfth and fourteenth light
dragoons, (Colonels Ponsonby and Harvey,)
whose olfactory nerves, at a distance of some
hundred yards, having snuffed up the tainted
air, eagerly followed the scent, and came to a
dead point before the general and his panniers.
But although they had flushed their game they
did not succeed in bagging it; for while the
general gave them plenty of his own tongue,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">101</a></span>
the deuce take the slice did he offer of the
bullock's—and as soon as he had satisfied his
appetite he very deliberately bundled up the
fragments, and shouted to horse, for the enemy
had by this time withdrawn from our front, and
joined the main body of the army on the heights
of Santarem. We closed up to them, and exchanged
a few civil shots—a ceremony which
cannot be dispensed with between contending
armies on first taking up their ground, for it
defines their territorial rights, and prevents
future litigation.</p>
<p>Day-light next morning showed that, though
they had passed a restless night, they were not
disposed to extend their walk unless compelled
to it, for their position, formidable by nature,
had, by their unwearied activity, become more
so by art—the whole crest of it being already
fenced with an abbatis of felled trees, and the
ground turned up in various directions.</p>
<p>One of our head-quarter staff-officers came to
take a look at them in the early part of the
morning, and, assuming a superior knowledge<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">102</a></span>
of all that was passing, said that they had nothing
there but a rear-guard, and that we should
shove them from it in the course of the day—upon
which, our brigadier, (Sir Sidney Beckwith,)
who had already scanned every thing
with his practised eye, dryly remarked, in his
usual homely but emphatic language, "It was
a gay strong rear guard that built that abbatis
last night!" And so it proved, for their whole
army had been employed in its construction,
and there they remained for the next four
months.</p>
<p>The company to which I belonged, (and another,)
had a deserted farming establishment
turned over for our comfort and convenience
during the period that it might suit the French
marshal to leave us in the enjoyment thereof. It
was situated on a slope of the hill overlooking
the bridge of Santarem, and within range of the
enemy's sentries, and near the end of it was one
of the finest aloes I have ever seen, certainly
not less than twelve or fourteen feet high. Our
mansion was a long range of common thatched<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">103</a></span>
building—one end was a kitchen—next to it a
parlour, which became also the drawing and
sleeping room of two captains, with their six
jolly subs—a door-way communicated from
thence to the barn, which constituted the greater
part of the range, and lodged our two hundred
men. A small apartment at the other extremity,
which was fitted up for a wine-press,
lodged our non-commissioned officers; while
in the back-ground we had accommodation for
our cattle, and for sundry others of the domestic
tribes, had we had the good fortune to be furnished
with them.</p>
<p>The door-way between the officers' apartment
and that of the soldiers showed, (what is so
very common on the seat of war,) when "a
door is not a door," but a shovel full of dust
and ashes—the hinges had resisted manfully by
clinging to the door-post, but a fiery end had
overtaken the timber, and we were obliged to
fill up the vacuum with what loose stones we
could collect in the neighbourhood; it was,
nevertheless, so open, that a hand might be<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">104</a></span>
thrust through it in every direction, and, of
course, the still small voices on either side of
the partition were alike audible to all. I know
not what degree of amusement the soldiers derived
from the proceedings on our side of the
wall, but I know that the jests, the tales, and
the songs, from their side, constituted our greatest
enjoyment during the many long winter nights
that it was our fate to remain there.</p>
<p>The early part of their evenings was generally
spent in witticisms and tales; and, in conclusion,
by way of a lullaby, some long-winded
fellow commenced one of those everlasting ditties
in which soldiers and sailors delight so much—they
are all to the same tune, and the subject,
(if one may judge by the tenor of the first
ninety-eight verses,) was battle, murder, or sudden
death; but I never yet survived until the
catastrophe, although I have often, to attain
that end, stretched my waking capacities to the
utmost. I have sometimes heard a fresh arrival
from England endeavour to astonish their unpolished
ears with "the white blossomed sloe," or<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">105</a></span>
some such refined melody, but it was invariably
coughed down as instantaneously as if it had
been the sole voice of a conservative amidst a
select meeting of radicals.</p>
<p>The wit and the humour of the rascals were
amusing beyond any thing—and to see them
next morning drawn up as mute as mice, and
as stiff as lamp-posts, it was a regular puzzler
to discover on which <i>post</i> the light had shone
during the bye-gone night, knowing, as we did,
that there were at least a hundred original pages
for Joe Miller, encased within the head-pieces
then before us.</p>
<p>Their stories, too, were quite unique—one,
(an Englishman,) began detailing the unfortunate
termination of his last matrimonial speculation.
He had got a pass one day to go from Shorncliffe
to Folkestone, and on the way he fell in
with one of the finest young women "as ever
he seed! my eye, as we say in Spain, if she
was not a <i>wapper</i>; with a pair of cheeks like
cherries, and shanks as clean as my ramrod, she
was bounding over the downs like a young colt,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">106</a></span>
and faith, if she would not have been with her
heels clean over my head if I had'n't caught
her up and demanded a parley. O, Jem, man,
but she was a nice creature! and all at once got
so fond of me too, that there was no use waiting;
and so we settled it all that self same
night, and on the next morning we were regularly
spliced, and I carries her home to a hut
which Corporal Smith and I hired behind the
barrack for eighteen pence a week. Well! I'll
be blessed if I was'n't as happy as a shilling a
day and my wife could make me for two whole
days; but the next morning, just before parade,
while Nancy was toasting a slice of <span class="locked">tommy<a name="FNanchor_B" id="FNanchor_B" href="#Footnote_B" class="fnanchor">B</a></span>
for our breakfast, who should darken our door
but the carcase of a great sea marine, who began
blinking his goggle eyes like an owl in a
gooseberry bush, as if he did'n't see nothing
outside on them; when all at once Nancy turned,
and, my eye, what a squall she set up as
she threw the toast in the fire, and upset my<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">107</a></span>
tinful of crowdy, while she twisted her arms
round his neck like a vice, and began kissing
him at no rate, he all the time blubbering, like a
bottle-nose in a shoal, about flesh of his flesh,
and bones of his bones, and all the like o' that.
Well! says I to myself, says I, this is very
queer any how—and then I eyes the chap a bit,
and then says I to him, (for I began to feel
somehow at seeing my wife kissed all round before
my face without saying by your leave,) an'
says I to him, (rather angrily,) look ye, Mr.
Marine, if you don't take your ugly mouth farther
off from my wife, I'll just punch it with the
butt end of my rifle! thunder and oons, you
great sea lobster that you are, don't you see that
I married her only two days ago just as she
stands, bones and all, and you to come at this
time o' day to claim a part on her!"</p>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_B" id="Footnote_B" href="#FNanchor_B" class="fnanchor">B</a> Brown loaf.</p></div>
<p>The marine, however, had come from the
wars as a man of peace—he had already been
at her father's, and learnt all that had befallen
her, and, in place of provoking the rifleman's<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">108</a></span>
further ire, he sought an amicable explanation,
which was immediately entered into.</p>
<p>It appeared that Nancy and he had been married
some three years before; that the sloop of
war to which he belonged was ordered to the
West Indies, and while cruising on that station
an unsuccessful night attempt was made
to cut out an enemy's craft from under a battery,
in the course of which the boat in which he was
embarked having been sent to the bottom with a
thirty-two pound shot, he was supposed to have
gone along with it, and to be snugly reposing in
Davy Jones's locker. His present turn up, however,
proved his going down to have been a mistake,
as he had succeeded in saving his life at
the expense of his liberty, for the time being; but
the vessel, on her voyage to France, was captured
by a British frigate bound for India, and
the royal marine became once more the servant
of his lawful sovereign.</p>
<p>In the meanwhile Nancy had been duly apprised
of his supposed fate by some of his West<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">109</a></span>
Indian shipmates—she was told that she might
still hope; but Nancy had no idea of holding
on by any thing so precarious—she was the
wife of a sailor, had been frequently on board
a ship, and had seen how arbitrarily every thing,
even time itself, is made subservient to their
purposes, and she determined to act upon the
same principle, so that, as the first lieutenant
authorizes it to be eight o'clock after the officer
of the watch has reported that it is so, in like
manner did Nancy, when her husband was reported
dead, order that he should be so; but it
would appear that her commands had about as
much influence over her husband's fate as the
first lieutenant's had over time, from his making
his untoward appearance so early in her second
honey-moon.</p>
<p>As brevity formed no part of the narrator's
creed, I have merely given an outline of the
marine's history, such as I understood it, and
shall hasten to the conclusion in the same
manner.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">110</a></span></p>
<p>The explanation over, a long silence ensued—each
afraid to pop the question, which must be
popp'd, of whose wife was Nancy? and when,
at last, it did come out, it was more easily asked
than answered, for, notwithstanding all that had
passed, they continued both to be deeply enamoured
of their mutual wife, and she of both,
nor could a voluntary resignation be extracted
from either of them, so that they were eventually
obliged to trust the winning or the losing
of that greatest of all earthly blessings, (a beloved
wife,) to the undignified decision of the
toss of a halfpenny. The marine won, and
carried off the prize—while the rifleman declared
that he had never yet forgiven himself for being
cheated out of his half, for he feels convinced
that the marine had come there prepared with
a ha'penny that had two tails.</p>
<p>The tail of the foregoing story was caught up
by a <i>Patlander</i> with—"Well! the devil fetch
me if I would have let her gone that way any
how, if the marine had brought twenty tails<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">111</a></span>
with his ha'penny!—but you see I was kicked
out of the only wife I never had without ere a
chance of being married at all.</p>
<p>"Kitty, you see, was an apprentice to Miss
Crump, who keeps that thundering big milliner's
shop in Sackville-street, and I was Mike Kinahan's
boy at the next door—so you see, whenever
it was Kitty's turn to carry out one of them
great blue boxes with thingumbobs for the ladies,
faith, I always contrived to steal away for
a bit, to give Kitty a lift, and the darling looked
so kind and so grateful for't that I was at last
quite kilt!"</p>
<p>I must here take up the thread of Paddy's
story for the same reasons given in the last, and
inform the reader that, though he himself had
received the finishing blow, he was far from
satisfied that Kitty's case was equally desperate,
for, notwithstanding her grateful looks, they
continued to be more like those of a mistress to
an obliging servant than of a sweetheart. As
for a kiss, he could not get any thing like one
even by coaxing, and the greatest bliss he experienced,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">112</a></span>
in the course of his love making, was
in the interchange among the fingers which the
frequent transfer of the band-box permitted,
and which Pat declared went quite through and
through him.</p>
<p>Matters, however, were far from keeping pace
with Paddy's inclinations, and feeling convinced
at last, that there must be a rival in the case,
he determined to watch her very closely, in
order to have his suspicions removed, or, if
confirmed, to give his rival such a pounding as
should prevent his ever crossing his path again.
Accordingly, seeing her one evening leave the
shop better dressed than usual, he followed at a
distance, until opposite the post-office, when he
saw her joined, (evidently by appointment,) by
a tall well-dressed spalpeen of a fellow, and
they then proceeded at a smart pace up the adjoining
street—Paddy followed close behind in
the utmost indignation, but before he had time
to make up his mind as to which of his rival's
bones he should begin by breaking, they all at
once turned into a doorway, which Paddy found<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">113</a></span>
belonged to one of those dancing shops so common
in Dublin.</p>
<p>Determined not to be foiled in that manner,
and ascertaining that a decent suit of <i>toggery</i>
and five <i>tin</i>-pennies in his pocket would ensure
him a <i>free</i> admission, he lost no time in equipping
in his Sunday's best, and having succeeded
in <i>borrowing</i> the needful for the occasion out of
his master's till, he sallied forth bent on conquest.</p>
<p>Paddy was ushered up stairs into the ball-room
with all due decorum, but that commodity
took leave of him at the door, for the first thing
he saw on entering, was his mistress and his
rival, within a yard of him, whirling in the
mazes of a country dance. Pat's philosophy
was unequal to the sight, and throwing one arm
round the young lady's waist, and giving her
partner a douse in the chops with the other, it
made as satisfactory a change in their relative
positions as he could have reasonably desired,
by sending his rival in a continuation of his
waltzing movement, to the extremity of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">114</a></span>
room to salute the wall at the end of
it.</p>
<p>Pat, however, was allowed but brief space
to congratulate himself on his successful <i>debut</i>
in a ball-room, for in the next instant he found
himself most ungracefully propelled through the
door-way, by sundry unseen hands, which had
grasped him tightly by the <i>scruff</i> of the neck,
and on reaching the top of the staircase, he felt
as if a hundred feet had given a simultaneous
kick which raised him like a balloon for a short
distance, and then away he went heels over
head towards the bottom. It so happened at
this particular moment, that three gentlemen
very sprucely dressed, had just paid their money
and were in the act of ascending, taking that
opportunity, as gentlemen generally do, of
arranging their hair and adjusting their frills to
make their <i>entré</i> the more bewitching, and it is
therefore unnecessary to say that the descent of
our aëronaut not only disturbed the economy of
their wigs but carried all three to the bottom
with the impetus of three sacks of potatoes.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">115</a></span></p>
<p>Paddy's temperament had somewhat exceeded
madman's heat before he commenced his aërial
flight, and, as may be imagined, it had not
much cooled in its course, so that when he
found himself safely landed, and, as luck
would have it, on the top of one of the unfortunates,
he very unceremoniously began taking
the change out of his head for all the disasters
of the night, and having quickly demolished
the nose and bunged up both eyes,
he (seeing nothing more to be done thereabouts)
next proceeded to pound the unfortunate fellow's
head against the floor, before they succeeded
in lugging him off to finish his love
adventure in the watch-house.</p>
<p>That night was the last of Paddy's love and
of his adventures in the City of Dublin. His
friends were respectable of their class, and on
the score of his former good conduct, succeeded
in appeasing the aggrieved parties and inducing
them to withdraw from the prosecution on condition
that he quitted the city for ever, and,
when he had time to reflect on the position in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">116</a></span>
which the reckless doings of the few hours had
placed him, he was but too happy to subscribe
to it, and passing over to Liverpool enlisted
with a recruiting party of ours, and became an
admirable soldier.</p>
<p>Having given two of the soldiers' stories, it
may probably be amusing to my readers to hear
one from our side of the wall. It was related
by one of our officers, a young Scotchman, who
was a native of the place, and while I state that
I give it to the best of my recollection, I could
have wished, as the tale is a true one, that it
had fallen into the hands of the late lamented
author of Waverly, who would have done greater
justice to its merits.</p>
<h3>THE OFFICER'S STORY.</h3>
<p>On the banks of the river Carron, near the
celebrated village of that name, which shows
its glowing fields of fiery furnaces, stirred by
ten thousand imps of darkness, as if all the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">117</a></span>
devils from the nether world there held perpetual
revels, toasting their red hot irons and twisting
them into all manner of fantastic shapes—tea-kettles,
ten-pounders, and ten-penny nails—I
say, that near that village—not in the upper
and romantic region of it, where old Norval of
yore fished up his basketful of young Norvals—but
about a mile below where the river
winds through the low country, in a bight of it
there stands a stately two-story house, dashed
with pale pink and having a tall chimney
at each end, sticking up like a pair of asses'
ears. The main building is supported by a brace
of wings not large enough to fly away with it,
but standing in about the same proportions that
the elbows of an easy chair do to its back.
The hall door is flanked on each side by a pillar
of stone as thick as my leg, and over it there
is a niche in the wall which in the days of its
glory might have had the honour of lodging
Neptune or Nicodemus, but is now devoted
exclusively to the loves of the sparrows.</p>
<p>Viewed at a little distance the mansion still<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">118</a></span>
wears a certain air of imposing gentility—looking
like the substantial retreat of one who had
well feathered his nest upon the high seas, or
as an adventurer in foreign lands. But a nearer
approach shews that the day of its glory has
long departed, the winds are howling through
the glassless casements, the roof is plastered
by the pigeons, the pigs and the poultry are
galloping at large over the ruins of the garden-wall,
luxuriating in its once costly shrubbery,
and a turkey is most likely seen at the hall-door,
staring the visitor impertinently in the face, and
blustering as if he would say, "if you want me
you must down with the dust."</p>
<p>Had that same turkey, however, lived some
six score years before, in the life-time, or in
the death-time of the last of its lairds, he
would have found himself compelled to gabble
to another tune, for in place of being allowed
to insult his guests in his master's hall, he would
have been called upon to share his merry-thought
for their amusement at the festive
board.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">119</a></span></p>
<p>That the last laird of Abbots-Haugh had
lived like a right good country gentleman all of
the olden days, the manner of his death will
testify, for though his living history is lost in
the depth of time, his death is still alive in the
recollections of our existing great grandfathers.
He was, to the best of my belief, wifeless and
relationless, nevertheless, when the time approached
that "the old man he must die," he
did as all prudent men do, made his temporal
arrangements previous to the settling of that
last debt which he owed to nature.</p>
<p>The laird, it appeared, was not haunted by
the fears of most men, which forbid the inspection
of their last testaments, until the last
shovelful of earth has secured their remains
from the wrath of disappointed expectants, and
from a conscious dread too that the only tears
that would otherwise be shed at their obsequies,
would be by the undertaker and his assistants
with their six big black horses; but the laird,
as before said, was altogether another manner
of man, and his last request was, that certain<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">120</a></span>
persons should consider themselves his executors,
that they should open his will the moment
the breath was out of his body, and that they
should see his last injunctions faithfully executed
as they hoped that he should rest calmly in
his grave.</p>
<p>The laird quietly gave up the ghost, and his
last wish was complied with; when, to the no
small astonishment of the executors, the only
bequest which his will decreed was, that every
man within a given distance of his residence
was to be invited to the funeral, and that they
were all to be filled blind drunk before the commencement
of the procession!</p>
<p>This was certainly one of the most jovial wills
that was ever made by a dying man, and it was
acted upon to the letter.</p>
<p>The appointed day arrived, and so did the
guests too; and although the invitations had
only extended to the men, yet did their wives,
like considerate folks as they always are, reflect
that a dying man cannot have all his wits about
him, and had any one but taken the trouble to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">121</a></span>
remind him that there were such things as
angels even in this world, they would no
doubt have been included, and with that view
of the case they considered it their duty to
give their aid in the <i>mournful</i> ceremony.</p>
<p>The duties of the day at length began as was
usual on those days, <span class="locked">by—</span></p>
<div class="poem-container">
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"One-mile prayers and half-mile graces,"<br /></span>
</div></div>
</div>
<p class="in0">to which the assembled multitude impatiently
listened with their</p>
<div class="poem-container">
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"Toom wames and lang wry faces."<br /></span>
</div></div>
</div>
<p>That ceremony over, they proceeded with all
due diligence to honour the last request of the
departed laird.</p>
<p>The droves of bullocks, sheep, and turkeys,
which had been sacrificed for the occasion, were
served up at mid-day, and as every description
of foreign and British wines, spirits, and ales
flowed in pailfuls, the executors indulged in the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">122</a></span>
very reasonable expectation that the whole party
would be sufficiently glorious to authorize their
proceeding with their last duty so as to have it
over before dark: but they had grossly miscalculated
the capacities of their guests, for even
at dusk when they considered themselves compelled
to put the procession in motion at all
hazards, it was found that many of them were
not more than "half seas over."</p>
<p>The distance from Abbots-Haugh to the dormitory
of the parish-church is nearly two miles,
the first half of the road runs still between two
broad deep ditches which convey the drainings
of these lowlands into the river; the other half is
now changed by the intersection of the great
canal, but an avenue formed by two quick-set
hedge-rows still marks its former line.</p>
<p>Doctor Mac Adam had not in those days
begun to disturb the bowels of the harmless
earth, by digging for stones wherewith to deface
its surface, so that the roads were perfect
evergreens, (when nobody travelled upon them,)
but at the period I speak of, a series of wet<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">123</a></span>
weather and perpetual use had converted them
into a sort of hodge-podge, which contributed
nothing towards maintaining the gravity of
the unsteady multitude now in motion, so that
although the hearse started with some five or
six hundred followers, all faithful and honest in
their purpose to see the end of the ceremony,
there were not above as many dozens who succeeded
in following it into the church-yard,
which it reached about midnight. These few
however went on in the discharge of their
duty and proceeded to remove the coffin from
the hearse to its intended receptacle, but to
their utter consternation there was no longer
a coffin or a corpse there!</p>
<p>Tam O'Shanter lived a generation later than
the period of my history, and I believe that there
were few Scotchmen even in his days who were
altogether free from supernatural dread however
well primed with whiskey; but certain it is, that
on this occasion every bonnet that was not on a
bald head rose an inch or two higher, and many
of them were pitched off altogether, as they<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">124</a></span>
began to reason (where reason there was none)
as to the probable flight of the coffin; and though
they were unanimously of opinion that it had
gone the Lord knows where, yet they at last
agreed that it was nevertheless a duty they owed
the deceased to go back to Abbots-Haugh and
inquire whether the laird had not returned.
They accordingly provided themselves with
lanterns, and examined all parts of the road on
their way back, which was easily traced by the
sleeping and besotted persons of the funeral
party which formed a continuous link from the
one place to the other—some lying in the road—some
stuck fast in the hedges, but the
majority three parts drowned in the ditches.
When our return party arrived near the site of
the present distillery, which happened to be the
deepest part of the way, they heard something
floundering at a frightful rate at the edge of a
pool of water on the road side, and which, on
examination, proved to be a huge old woman
who was in the habit of supplying the farmers in
that part of the country with loaf bread for their<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">125</a></span>
Sunday's breakfasts; she was holding on fiercely
by what appeared to be the stump of a tree,
while her nether end was immersed in the water,
but when they went to pull her out, they found
to their delight and astonishment that she was
actually holding on by the end of the lost coffin,
which had fallen at the edge of the pool. Old
Nelly could give no information as to how it got
there, she had some recollection of having been
shoved into the hearse at first starting, but knew
nothing more until she found herself up to her
<i>oxters</i> in the water, holding fast by something—that
she had bawled until she was hoarse,
and had now nothing but a kick left to tell the
passers by that a poor creature was perishing.
She had most probably been reposing on the
coffin as a place of rest, and been jolted a step
beyond it when the two fell out.</p>
<p>A council was now called to determine the
proper mode of further proceeding, when it was
moved and carried that a vote of censure be
passed upon the executors for having failed to
fulfil the provisions of the laird's will, for in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">126</a></span>
place of being drunk, as they ought to have
been, they were all shamefully sober; secondly,
that it was in vain to repeat the attempt to bury
him until the conditions upon which he died
were complied with, for he had pledged himself
not to rest quiet in his grave if it was neglected,
and it was evident from what he had already
done that he was not to be humbugged, but
would again slip through their fingers unless
justice was done to his memory, and it was
therefore finally resolved that the laird be carried
back to his own hall, there to lie in state until
the terms of his testament were confirmed and
ratified beyond dispute.</p>
<p>Back, therefore, they went to Abbots-Haugh,
and set themselves again right honestly to work,
as good and loyal vassals to obey their master's
last behests, and that they at length succeeded
in laying the restless spirit may be inferred from
the fact that it was the afternoon of the third
day from that time before the party felt themselves
in a condition to renew the attempt to
complete the ceremony; however it was then<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">127</a></span>
done effectually, as for fear of accidents, and
not to lose sight of the coffin a second time,
as many as there was room for took post on the
top of it, provided with the means of finishing,
at their destination, what the defunct might
have considered underdone on their departure.
And accordingly when they had at last succeeded
in depositing the coffin within the family
vault, and had set the bricklayers to work, they
renewed their revels in the church-yard, until
they finally saw the tomb closed over one of
the most eccentric characters that ever went
into it.</p>
<p>I shall now take leave of tales, and recommence
the narration of passing events by mentioning
that while we remained at Valle, one of
our officers made an amusing attempt to get up
a pack of hounds. He offered a dollar a head
for anything in the shape of a dog that might
be brought to him, which in a very short time
furnished his kennel with about fifteen couple,
composed of poodles, sheep-dogs, curs, and
every species but the one that was wanted.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">128</a></span>
When their numbers became sufficiently formidable
to justify the hope that there might
be a few noses in the crowd gifted with the
sense of smelling something more game than
their porridge-pots; the essay was made, but
they proved a most ungrateful pack, for they
were no sooner at liberty than every one went
howling away to his own home as if a tin kettle
had been tied to his tail. (A prophetic sort of
feeling of what would inevitably have befallen
him had he remained a short time longer.)</p>
<p>Scotchmen are generally famed for the size of
their noses, and I know not whether it is that
on service they get too much crammed with
snuff and gunpowder, or from what other cause,
but certain it is that they do not prove themselves
such useful appendages to the countenance
there as they do in their own country, in
scenting out whatever seemeth good unto the
wearer, for I remember one day, while waging
war against the snipes on the flooded banks of
the Rio Maior, in passing by the rear of a large
country house which was occupied by the commander-in-chief<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">129</a></span>
of the cavalry, (Sir Stapleton
Cotton,) I was quite horrified to find myself all
at once amidst the ruins of at least twenty
dozen of sheep's heads, unskinned and unsinged,
to the utter disgrace of about two thousand
highland noses belonging to the forty-second
and seventy-ninth regiments, which had, all the
while of their accumulation, been lodged within
a mile, and not over and above well provided
with that national standing dish.</p>
<p>I will venture to say, that had such a deposit
been made any evening on the North Inch of
Perth in the days of their great grandfathers,
there would have been an instinctive gathering
of all the clans between the Tay and Cairngorum
before day-light next morning.</p>
<hr />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">130</a></span></p>
<h2><a name="CHAP_VII" id="CHAP_VII">CHAP. VII.</a></h2>
<div class="poem-container">
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="iq">"Blood and destruction shall be so in use,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And dreadful objects so familiar,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">That mothers shall but smile when they behold<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Their infants quartered with the hands of war."<br /></span>
</div></div>
</div>
<p class="p2 in0">The month of March, eighteen hundred and
eleven, showed the successful workings of Lord
Wellington's admirable arrangements. The
hitherto victorious French army, which, under
their "spoilt child of fortune," had advanced to
certain conquest, were now obliged to bundle
up their traps and march back again, leaving
nearly half their numbers to fatten the land
which they had beggared. They had fallen,
too, on nameless ground, in sickness and in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">131</a></span>
want, and without a shot, by which their friends
and relatives might otherwise have proudly
pointed to the graves they filled.</p>
<p>Portugal, at that period, presented a picture
of sadness and desolation which it is sickening
to think of—its churches spoliated, its villages
fired, and its towns depopulated.</p>
<p>It was no uncommon sight, on entering a cottage,
to see in one apartment some individuals
of the same family dying of want, some perishing
under the brutal treatment of their oppressors,
and some (preferring death to dishonour)
lying butchered upon their own hearths.</p>
<p>These were scenes which no Briton could behold
without raising his voice in thanksgiving to
the Author of all good, that the home of his
childhood had been preserved from such fearful
visitations; and yet how melancholy it is to reflect
that even in that cherished home there
should be many self-styled patriots, who not
only grumble at, but would deny their country's
pittance to those who devoted the best part of
their lives, sacrificed their health, and cheerfully<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">132</a></span>
scattered their limbs in rolling the tide of
battle from its door.</p>
<p>I lament it feelingly but not selfishly, for as
far as I am individually concerned, my country
and I are quits. I passed through the fiery
ordeal of these bloody times and came out
scatheless. While I parted from its service on
the score of expediency, it is to me a source of
pride to reflect (may I be pardoned the expression)
that we parted with mutual regret. That
she may never again require a re-union with
such an humble individual as myself may heaven
in its infinite mercy forfend; but if she does, I
am happy in the feeling that I have still health
and strength, and a heart and soul devoted to
her cause.</p>
<p>Massena's retreat having again called the
sword from its scabbard, where it had slumbered
for months, it was long ere it had another
opportunity of running to rust through idleness,
seeing that it was not only in daily communication
with the <i>heads</i> of the enemy's corps in the
course of their return through Portugal, but<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">133</a></span>
wherever else these same heads were visible, and
for a year and a half from that date they were
rarely out of sight.</p>
<p>On the 9th, we came up with their rear-guard
on a table land near Pombal. We had no force
with which to make any serious attack upon it,
so that it was a day's dragooning, "all cry and
little wool." We had one company mixed
among them from day-light until dark, but they
came back to us without a scratch.</p>
<p>On the morning of the 11th, finding that the
enemy had withdrawn from the scene of the
former day's skirmish, we moved in pursuit towards
the town, which they still occupied as an
advanced post. Two of our companies, with
some Caçadores and a squadron of the royal
dragoons, made a dash into it, driving the enemy
out, and along with a number of prisoners captured
the baggage of young Soult.</p>
<p>I know not whether young Soult was the son
of old Soult or only the son of his father; all I
know is, that by the letters found in his portmanteau,
he was the colonel of that name.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">134</a></span></p>
<p>His baggage, I remember, was mounted on a
stately white horse with a Roman nose and a
rat tail, which last I believe is rather an unusual
appendage to a horse of that colour, but he was
a waggish looking fellow, and probably had
shaken all the hairs out of his tail in laughing
at the contents of the portmanteau of which he
was the bearer.</p>
<p>He and his load were brought to the hammer
the same day by his captors, and excited much
merriment among us. I wish that I felt myself
at liberty to publish an inventory of the contents
of a French officer's portmanteau, but as they
excited such excess of laughter in a horse I fear
it would prove fatal to my readers—not to mention
(as I see written on some of the snug corners
of our thoroughfares) that "decency forbids."
Suffice it that it abounded in luxuries which we
dreamt not of.</p>
<p>Next day, the 12th, in following the retiring
foe we came to the field of Redinha. I have
never in the course of my subsequent military
career seen a more splendid picture of war than<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">135</a></span>
was there shewn. Ney commanded the opposing
force, which was formed on the table land in
front of the town in the most imposing shape.
We light folks were employed in the early part
of the action in clearing the opposing <i>lights</i> from
the woods which flanked his position, and in
the course of an hour about thirty thousand
British, as if by magic, were seen advancing on
the plain in three lines, with the order and precision
of a field day: the French disappeared
before them like snow under the influence of a
summer's sun. The forces on both sides were
handled by masters in the art.</p>
<p>A late lady writer (Miss Pardoe) I see has
now peopled Redinha with banditti, and as far
as my remembrance goes, they could not have
selected a more favourable position, with this
single but important professional drawback, that
there can be but few folks thereabout worth
robbing.</p>
<p>I know not what class of beings were its
former tenants, but at the time I speak of, the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">136</a></span>
curse of the Mac Gregors was upon them, for
the retiring enemy had given</p>
<div class="poem-container">
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"Their roofs to the flames and their flesh to the eagles,"<br /></span>
</div></div>
</div>
<p class="in0">and there seemed to be no one left to record its
history.</p>
<p>After the peace, in 1814, I met, at a ball in
Castel Sarrazin, the colonel who commanded the
regiment opposed to us in the wood on that
occasion. He confessed that he had never been
so roughly handled, and had lost four hundred
of his men. He was rather a rough sort of a
diamond himself, and seemed anxious to keep
his professional hand in practice, for he quarreled
that same night with one of his countrymen
and was bled next morning with a small sword.</p>
<p>From Redinha we proceeded near to Condeixa,
and passed that day and night on the road side
in comparative peace. Not so the next, for at
Casal Nova, on the 14th, we breakfasted, dined,
and supped on powder and ball.</p>
<p>Our general of division was on leave of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">137</a></span>
absence in England during this important period,
and it was our curse in the interim to fall into
the hands successively of two or three of the
worthiest and best of men, but whose only
claims to distinction as officers was their sheet of
parchment. The consequence was, that whenever
there was any thing of importance going
on, we were invariably found leaving undone
those things which we ought to have done, and
doing that which we ought not to have done.
On the occasion referred to we were the whole
day battering our brains out against stone walls
at a great sacrifice of life, whereas, had we
waited with common prudence until the proper
period, when the flank movements going on
under the direction of our illustrious chief had
begun to take effect, the whole of the loss
would have been on the other side, but as it
was, I am afraid that although we carried our
point we were the greatest sufferers. Our battalion
had to lament the loss of two very valuable
officers on that occasion, Major Stewart and
Lieutenant Strode.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">138</a></span></p>
<p>At the commencement of the action, just as
the mist of the morning began to clear away, a
section of our company was thrown forward
among the skirmishers, while the other three
remained in reserve behind a gentle eminence,
and the officer commanding it, seeing a piece of
rising ground close to the left, which gave him
some uneasiness, he desired me to take a man
with me to the top of it, and to give him notice
if the enemy attempted any movement on that
side. We got to the top; but if we had not
found a couple of good sized stones on the spot,
which afforded shelter at the moment, we should
never have got any where else, for I don't think
they expended less than a thousand shots upon
us in the course of a few minutes. My companion,
John Rouse, a steady sturdy old rifleman,
no sooner found himself snugly covered,
than he lugged out his rifle to give them one in
return, but the slightest exposure brought a
dozen balls to the spot in an instant, and I was
amused to see old Rouse, at every attempt,
jerking back his head with a sort of knowing<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">139</a></span>
grin, as if it were only a parcel of schoolboys,
on the other side, threatening him with snow-balls;
but seeing, at last, that his time for
action was not yet come, he withdrew his rifle,
and, knowing my inexperience in those matters,
he very good-naturedly called to me not to expose
myself looking out just then, for, said he,
"there will be no moving among them while
this shower continues."</p>
<p>When the shower ceased we found that they
had also ceased to hold their formidable post, and,
as quickly as may be, we were to be seen standing
in their old shoes, mixed up with some of the
forty-third, and among them the gallant Napier,
the present historian of the Peninsular War,
who there got a ball through his body which
seemed to me to have reduced the remainder of
his personal history to the compass of a simple
paragraph: it nevertheless kept him but a very
short while in the back-ground.</p>
<p>I may here remark that the members of that
distinguished family were singularly unfortunate
in that way, as they were rarely ever in any<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">140</a></span>
serious action in which one or all of them did
not get hit.</p>
<p>The two brothers in our division were badly
wounded on this occasion, and, if I remember
right, they were also at Busaco; the naval
captain, (the present admiral of that name,)
was there as an amateur, and unfortunately
caught it on a spot where he had the last wish
to be distinguished, for, accustomed to face
broadsides on his native element, he had no
idea of taking in a ball in any other direction
than from the front, but on shore we were
obliged to take them just as they came!</p>
<p>This severe harassing action closed only with
the day-light, and left the French army wedged
in the formidable pass of Miranda de Corvo.</p>
<p>They seemed so well in hand that some doubt
was entertained whether they did not intend to
burst forth upon us; but, as the night closed
in, the masses were seen to melt, and at day-light
next morning they were invisible.</p>
<p>I had been on picquet that night in a burning
village, and the first intimation we had of their<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">141</a></span>
departure was by three Portuguese boys, who
had been in the service of French officers, and
who took the opportunity of the enemy's night
march to make their escape—they seemed well
fed, well dressed, and got immediate employment
in our camp, and they proved themselves
very faithful to their new masters. One of
them continued as a servant to an officer for
many years after the peace.</p>
<p>In the course of the morning we passed the
brigade of General Nightingale, composed of
Highlanders, if I remember right, who had
made a flank movement to get a slice at the
enemy's rear guard; but he had arrived at the
critical pass a little too late.</p>
<p>In the afternoon we closed up to the enemy
at Foz d'Aronce, and, after passing an hour in
feeling for their different posts, we began to
squat ourselves down for the night on the top of
a bleak hill, but soon found that we had other
fish to fry. Lord Wellington, having a prime
nose for smelling out an enemy's blunder, no<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">142</a></span>
sooner came up than he discovered that Ney had
left himself on the wrong side of the river, and
immediately poured down upon him with our
division, Picton's, and Pack's Portuguese, and,
after a sharp action, which did not cease until
after dark, we drove him across the river with
great loss.</p>
<p>I have often lamented in the course of the
war that battalion officers, on occasions of that
kind, were never entrusted with a peep behind
the curtain. Had we been told before we advanced
that there was but a single division in
our front, with a river close behind them, we
would have hunted them to death, and scarcely
a man could have escaped; but, as it was,
their greatest loss was occasioned by their own
fears and precipitancy in taking to the river at
unfordable places—for we were alike ignorant of
the river, the localities, or the object of the attack;
so that when we carried the position, and
exerted ourselves like prudent officers to hold
our men in hand, we were, from want of information,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">143</a></span>
defeating the very object which had
been intended, that of hunting them on to the
finale.</p>
<p>When there is no object in view beyond the
simple breaking of the heads of those opposed
to us, there requires no speechification; but, on
all occasions, like the one related, it ought never
to be lost sight of—it is easily done—it never,
by any possibility, can prove disadvantageous,
and I have seen many instances in which the
advantages would have been incalculable. I
shall mention as one—that three days after the
battle of Vittoria, in following up the retreating
foe, we found ourselves in a wood, engaged in a
warm skirmish, which we concluded was occasioned
by our pushing the enemy's rear guard
faster than they found it convenient to travel;
but, by and bye, when they had disappeared,
we found that we were near the junction of two
roads, and that we had all the while been close
in, and engaged with the flank of another
French division, which was retiring by a road
running parallel with our own. The road (and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">144</a></span>
that there was a retiring force upon it) must,
or ought to have been known to some of our
staff officers, and had they only communicated
their information, there was nothing to have
prevented our dashing through their line of
march, and there is little doubt, too, but the
thousands which passed us, while we stood there
exchanging shots with them, would have fallen
into our hands.</p>
<p>The day after the action at Foz d'Aronce was
devoted to repose, of which we stood much in
want, for we had been marching and fighting
incessantly from day-light until dark for several
consecutive days, without being superabundantly
provisioned; and our jackets, which had been tolerably
tight fits at starting, were now beginning
to sit as gracefully as sacks upon us. When
wounds were abundant, however, we did not
consider it a disadvantage to be low in flesh,
for the poorer the subject the better the patient!</p>
<p>A smooth ball or a well polished sword will
slip through one of your transparent gentlemen
so gently that be scarcely feels it, and the holes<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">145</a></span>
close again of their own accord. But see the
smash it makes in one of your turtle or turkey
fed ones! the hospital is ruined in finding materials
to reduce his inflammations, and it is
ten to one if ever he comes to the scratch
again.</p>
<p>On descending to the river side next morning to
trace the effects of the preceding night's combat,
we were horrified and disgusted by the sight of
a group of at least five hundred donkeys standing
there ham-strung. The poor creatures
looked us piteously in the face, as much as to
say, "Are you not ashamed to call yourselves
human beings?" And truly we were ashamed
to think that even our enemy could be capable
of such refinement in cruelty. I fancy the truth
was, they were unable to get them over the
river, they had not time to put them to death,
and, at the same time, they were resolved that
we should not have the benefit of their services.
Be that as it may, so disgusted and savage were
our soldiers at the sight, that the poor donkeys
would have been amply revenged, had fate, at<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">146</a></span>
that moment, placed five hundred Frenchmen
in our hands, for I am confident that every
one of them would have undergone the same
operation.</p>
<p>The French having withdrawn from our front
on the 16th, we crossed the Ciera, at dawn of
day, on the 17th; the fords were still so deep,
that, as an officer with an empty haversack on
my back, it was as much as I could do to
flounder across it without swimming. The soldiers
ballasted with their knapsacks, and the
sixty rounds of ball cartridge were of course in
better fording trim. We halted that night in a
grove of cork trees, about half a league short
of the Alva.</p>
<p>Next morning we were again in motion, and
found the enemy's rear-guard strongly posted on
the opposite bank of that river.</p>
<p>The Alva was wide, deep, and rapid, and the
French had destroyed the bridge of Murcella,
and also the one near Pombeira. Nevertheless,
we opened a thundering cannonade on those in
our front, while Lord Wellington, having, with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">147</a></span>
extraordinary perseverance, succeeded in throwing
three of his divisions over it higher up,
threatening their line of retreat—it obliged
those opposed to us to retire precipitately, when
our staff corps, with wonderful celerity, having
contrived to throw a temporary bridge over the
river, we passed in pursuit and followed until
dark; we did not get another look at them
that day, and bivouacked for the night in a
grove of pines, on some swampy high lands, by
the road side, without baggage, cloaks, or
eatables of any kind.</p>
<p>Who has not passed down Blackfriars-road
of an evening? and who has not seen, in the
vicinity of Rowland Hill's chapel, at least half
a dozen gentlemen presiding each over his highly
polished tin case, surmounted by variegated
lamps, and singing out that most enchanting
of all earthly melodies to an empty stomach,
that has got a sixpence in its clothly casement,
"hot, all hot!" The whole concern is not
above the size of a drum, and, in place of dealing<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">148</a></span>
in its empty sounds, rejoices in mutton-pies,
beef-steaks, and kidney-puddings, "hot,
all hot!" If the gentlemen had but followed us
to the wars, how they would have been worshipped
in such a night, even without their lamps.</p>
<p>In these days of invention, when every suggestion
for ameliorating the condition of the
soldier is thankfully received, I, as one, who
have suffered severely by outward thawings and
inward gnawings, beg to found my claim to the
gratitude of posterity, by proposing that, when
a regiment is ordered on active service, the
drummers shall deposit their sheep-skins and
their cat-o'-nine tails in the regimental store-room,
leaving one cat only in the keeping of the
drum major. And in lieu thereof that each
drummer be armed with a <i>tin drum</i> full of "hot,
all hot!" and that whenever the quarter-master
fails to find the <i>cold</i>, the odd cat in the keeping
of the drum-major shall be called upon to
remind him of his duty.</p>
<p>If the simple utterance of the three magical<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">149</a></span>
monosyllables already mentioned did not rally a
regiment more rapidly round the given point
than a tempest of drums and trumpets, I should
be astonished, and as we fought tolerably well
on empty stomachs, I should like to see what
we would not do on kidney puddings, "hot,
all hot!"</p>
<p>On the 19th we were again in motion at day-light,
and both on that day and the next, although
we did not come into actual contact with
the enemy, we picked up a good many stragglers.
We were obliged, however, to come to
a halt for several days from downright want, for
the country was a desert, and we had out-marched
our supplies. Until they came up,
therefore, we remained two days in one village,
and kept creeping slowly along the foot of the
Sierra, until our commissariat was sufficiently
re-inforced to enable us to make another dash.</p>
<p>I was amused at that time, in marching through
those towns and villages which had been the
head-quarters of the French army, to observe
the falling off in their respect to the Marquess<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">150</a></span>
d'Alorna, a Portuguese nobleman, who had
espoused their cause, and who, during Massena's
advance, had been treated like a prince among
them. On their retreat, however, it was easily
seen that he was considered an incumbrance.
Their names were always chalked on the doors
of the houses they occupied, and we remarked
that the one allotted to the unfortunate marquis
grew gradually worse as we approached the
frontier, and I remember that in the last village
before we came to Celerico, containing about
fifty houses, only a cow's share of the buildings
had fallen to his lot.</p>
<p>We halted one day at Mello, and seeing a
handsome-looking new church on the other side
of the Mondego, I strolled over in the afternoon
to look at it. It had all the appearance of
having been magnificently adorned in the interior,
but the French had left the usual traces
of their barbarous and bloody visit. The doors
were standing wide open, the valuable paintings
destroyed, the statues thrown down, and mixed
with them on the floor, lay the bodies of six or<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">151</a></span>
seven murdered Portuguese peasants. It was a
cruel and a horrible sight, and yet in the midst
thereof was I tempted to commit a most sacrilegious
act, for round the neck of a prostrate
marble female image, I saw a bone necklace of
rare and curious workmanship, the only thing
that seemed to have been saved from the general
wreck, which I very coolly transferred to my
pocket and in due time to my portmanteau. But
a day of retribution was at hand, for both the
portmanteau and the necklace went from me
like a tale that is told, and I saw them no more.</p>
<p>It was the 28th before we again came in contact
with the enemy at the village of Frexadas.
Two companies of ours and some dragoons were
detached to dislodge them, which they effected
in gallant style, sending them off in confusion
and taking a number of prisoners; but the advantage
was dearly purchased by the death of
our adjutant, Lieutenant Stewart. He imprudently
rode into the main street of the village,
followed by a few riflemen, before the French<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">152</a></span>
had had time to withdraw from it, and was shot
from a window.</p>
<p>One would imagine that there is not much
sense wrapped up in an ounce of lead, and yet
it invariably selects our best and our bravest,
(no great compliment to myself by the way,
considering the quantity of those particles that
must have passed within a yard of my body at
different times, leaving all standing.) Its present
victim was a public loss, for he was a shrewd,
active, and intelligent officer; a gallant soldier,
and a safe, jovial, and honourable companion.</p>
<p>I was not one of the party engaged on that
occasion, but with many of my brother officers,
watched their proceedings with my spy-glass
from the church-yard of Alverca. Our rejoicings
on the flight of the enemy were quickly turned
into mourning by observing in the procession of
our returning victorious party, the gallant adjutant's
well-known bay horse with a dead body
laid across the saddle. We at first indulged in
the hope that he had given it to the use of some<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">153</a></span>
more humble comrade; but long ere they
reached the village we became satisfied that the
horse was the bearer of the inanimate remains
of his unfortunate master, who but an hour before
had left us in all the vigour of health, hope, and
manhood. At dawn of day on the following
morning the officers composing the advanced
guard, dragoons, artillery, and riflemen, were
seen voluntarily assembled in front of Sir Sidney
Beckwith's quarters, and the body, placed in a
wooden chest, was brought out and buried there
amid the deep but silent grief of the spectators.</p>
<p>Brief, however, is the space which can be
allotted to military lamentations in such times,
for within a quarter of an hour we were again
on the move in battle array, to seek laurels or
death in another field.</p>
<p>Our movement that morning was upon
Guarda, the highest standing town in Portugal,
which is no joke, as they are rather exalted in
their architectural notions—particularly in convent-building—and
were even a thunder-charged
cloud imprudent enough to hover for a week<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">154</a></span>
within a league of their highest land, I verily
believe that it would get so saddled with monks,
nuns, and their accompanying iron bars, that it
would be ultimately unable to make its escape.</p>
<p>Our movement, as already said, was upon
Guarda, and how it happened, the Lord and
Wellington only knows, but even in that wild
mountainous region the whole British army
arriving from all points of the compass were
seen to assemble there at the same instant, and
the whole French army were to be seen at the
same time in rapid retreat within gun-shot
through the valley below us.</p>
<p>There must have been some screws loose
among our minor departments, otherwise such
a brilliant movement on the part of our chief
would not have gone for nothing. But notwithstanding
that the enemy's masses were struggling
through a narrow defile for a considerable time,
and our cavalry and horse artillery were launched
against them, three hundred prisoners were
the sole fruits of the day's work.</p>
<hr />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">155</a></span></p>
<h2><a name="CHAP_VIIB" id="CHAP_VIIB">CHAP. VII.</a><br />
<span class="subhang">The persecution of the guardian of two angels. A Caçadore
and his mounted followers. A chief of hussars in his
trousers. A chief of rifles in his glory, and a sub of ditto
with two screws in the neck.</span></h2>
<p class="in0">In one of the first chapters of this book I not
only pledged my constancy to my fair readers,
but vowed to renew my addresses from time to
time as opportunities offered. As my feet, however,
have since trodden from one extremity of
a kingdom to the other, and many months have,
in the meanwhile, rolled away without giving
me an opportunity of redeeming the pledge, I
fear that my fidelity might be doubted if I delayed
longer in assuring them that the spirit has<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">156</a></span>
all along been willing, but the subject fearfully
wanting; for wherever I have wandered the
angel of death has gone before, and carefully
swept from the female countenance all lines of
beauty, leaving nothing for the eye to dwell on
but the hideous ruins of distress.</p>
<p>The only exceptions were our fellow travellers,
for the country on our line of march, as already
said, was reduced to a desert, and no one
remained in it who had either wealth or strength
to remove, and our regimental wife had deserted,
but our gallant associates, the 43d and 52d
regiments, had one each, who had embarked
with them, and remained true to the brigade
until the end of the war. One of them was remarkably
pretty, and it did one's heart good to
see the everlasting sweets that hung upon her
lovely countenance, assuring us that our recollections
of the past were not ideal, which they
would otherwise have been apt to revolve themselves
into from the utter disappearance of
reality for so long a period.</p>
<p>The only addition to them which our division<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">157</a></span>
could boast, were two smart substantial looking
Portuguese angels, who followed our two Caçadore
regiments, and rode on mule-back under
the especial protection of their regimental chaplain.
These two were a continual source of
amusement to us on the march whenever we
found ourselves at liberty to indulge in it. The
worthy father himself was quite a lady's man,
(Portuguese,) he was a short stout old fellow,
with a snuff-coloured coat buttoned up to the
throat, which was quite unnecessary with him,
seeing that he shaved and put on a clean shirt
sometimes as often as once a fortnight. The
round mealy-faced ball which he wore as a head
was surmounted by a tall cocked hat, and when
mounted on his bay pony in his Portuguese
saddle, which is boarded up like a bucket, (the
shape of his seat and thighs,) he was exactly
like some of the cuts I have seen of Hudibras
starting on his erratic expedition.</p>
<p>It was our daily amusement whenever we
could steal away from our regiment a short time,
for two or three of us to start with some design<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">158</a></span>
against the Padré and his dark-eyed wards.
One of us would ride quietly up alongside of
him and another on that of the ladies as if we
wished to pass, but in wishing them the compliments
of the season we of course contrived
to get ourselves entangled in conversation, while
a third officer of our party rode some distance
in the rear in readiness to take advantage of
circumstances.</p>
<p>The Padré was a good-natured old fellow,
fond of spinning a yarn, and as soon as one of
us had got him fairly embarked in his story, the
other began gradually to detach one or both of
the damsels from his side, according as the
inequalities of the road favoured the movement.
They entered into the frolic merrily, but still he
was so much alive that we rarely succeeded in
stealing one out of sight; but if we did by any
accident, it was a grand scene to see the scramble
which he and his pony made after the fugitives,
and on recovering the one, his rage on
his return to find that the other had also disappeared.
After one of these successful expeditions<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">159</a></span>
we found it prudent never to renew the
attack until his wrath was assuaged, and it never
abode with him long, so that week after week
and year after year we continued to renew the
experiment with various success.</p>
<p>It is amusing to think to what absurdities
people will have recourse by way of amusement
when subjects for it are scarce. It was long a
favourite one with us to hunt a Caçadore as we
called it. Their officers as well as our own were
always mounted, and when their corps happened
to be marching in our front, any officer
who stopped behind, (which they frequently had
occasion to do,) invariably, in returning to
rejoin his regiment, passed ours at a full
gallop; and on those occasions he had no
sooner passed our first company than the officers
of it were hard at his heels, the others
following in succession as he cleared them,
so that by the time he had reached the head
of the regiment the whole of our officers had
been in full chace. We never carried the
joke too far, but made it a point of etiquette to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">160</a></span>
stop short of our commanding officer, (who was
not supposed to see what was going on,) and
then fell quietly back to our respective places.</p>
<p>I have often seen the hunted devil look round
in astonishment, but I do not think he ever saw
the wit of the thing, and for that matter I don't
know that my readers will feel that they are
much wiser, but it was nevertheless amusing to
us; and not without its use, for the soldiers enjoyed
the joke, which, though trifling, helped
to keep up that larking spirit among them, which
contributed so much towards the superiority and
the glory of our arms. In times of hardship
and privation the officer cannot be too much
alive to the seizing of every opportunity, no
matter how ridiculous, if it serves to beguile the
soldier of his cares.</p>
<p>On the 1st of April we again closed up with
the enemy on the banks of the Coa, near Sabugal.
It was a wet muggy afternoon near dusk
when we arrived at our ground, and I was sent,
with the company which I had charge of, on
picquet to cover the left front of our position.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">161</a></span></p>
<p>The enemy held an opposite post on our side
of the river, and I was ordered if they were
civil to me not to interfere with them, but in the
event of the reverse, to turn them over to their
own side. My stomach was more bent upon
eating than fighting that evening, and I was
glad to find that they proved to be <i>gentlemen</i>,
and allowed me to post my sentries as close as I
pleased without interruption.</p>
<p>I found one of our German hussar videttes
on a rising ground near me, and received an
order from my brigadier to keep him there until
he was relieved, and I accordingly placed a
rifleman alongside of him for his better security,
but after keeping him an hour or two in the
dark and no relief appearing, I was forced to
let him go or to share my slender allowance with
him, for the poor fellow (as well as his horse)
was starving. I have seen the day, however,
that I would rather have dispensed with my
dinner (however sharp set) than the services of
one of those thorough-bred soldiers, for they
were as singularly intelligent and useful on outpost<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">162</a></span>
duty, as they were effective and daring in
the field.</p>
<p>The first regiment of hussars were associated
with our division throughout the war and were
deserved favourites. In starting from a swampy
couch and bowling along the road long ere dawn
of day, it was one of the romances of a soldier's
life to hear them chanting their national
war songs—some three or four voices leading
and the whole squadron joining in the chorus.
As I have already said, they were no less daring
in the field than they were surpassingly good on
out-post duty. The hussar was at all times
identified with his horse, he shared his bed and
his board, and their movements were always
regulated by the importance of their mission.
If we saw a British dragoon at any time
approaching in full speed, it excited no great
curiosity among us, but whenever we saw one
of the first hussars coming on at a gallop it was
high time to gird on our swords and bundle up.</p>
<p>Their chief, too, was a perfect soldier, and
worthy of being the leader of such a band, for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">163</a></span>
he was to them what the gallant Beckwith was
to us—a father, as well as a leader.</p>
<p>He was one who never could be caught napping.
They tell a good anecdote of him after
the battle of Toulouse, when the news arrived
of the capture of Paris and Bonaparte's abdication.
A staff officer was sent to his outpost
quarter to apprise him of the cessation of hostilities—it
was late when the officer arrived, and
after hearing the news, the colonel proceeded to
turn into bed as usual, "all standing," when
the officer remarked with some surprise, "Why,
colonel, you surely don't mean to sleep in your
clothes to-night, when you know there is an
armistice?"</p>
<p>"Air mistress or no air mistress," replied the
veteran, "by Got I sleeps in my breeches!"</p>
<p>We remained another day in front of Sabugal,
and as it was known that Reynier held that
post with his single corps unsupported, Lord
Wellington resolved to punish him for his temerity.</p>
<p>The day dawned on the morning of the 3d<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">164</a></span>
of April, however, rather inauspiciously. Aurora
did not throw off her night-cap at the usual
hour, and when she could no longer delay the
ceremony she shed such an abundance of dewy
tears that Sabugal, with its steel-clad heights,
remained invisible to the naked eye at the distance
of a few hundred yards, which interfered
materially with that punctuality in the combined
movements so necessary to ensure the complete
success of our enterprize. Leaving, therefore,
to those concerned to account for their delays,
my object in renewing this battle is to pay a last
tribute to the memory of Sir Sidney Beckwith,
the hero of that day.</p>
<p>He, as he had been directed, moved his brigade
to a ford of the Coa, and was there waiting
further orders, when a staff officer rode up, and
hastily demanded why he had not attacked?</p>
<p>Beckwith was an actor of the immortal Nelson's
principle—that if a commander is in doubt
he never can do wrong in placing himself alongside
of the enemy. We instantly uncorked our
muzzle-stoppers, off with our lock-caps, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">165</a></span>
our four companies of riflemen, led through the
river, (which was deep and rapid,) followed by
the 43d, driving in the enemy's picquet which
defended it. The officer commanding, left his
sky-blue cloak fluttering in the breeze on the
top of a furze bush, and I felt a monstrous inclination
to transfer it to my own shoulders, for
it was an article of which I happened, at that
moment, to be in especial want; but as it was
the beginning of a battle in place of the end of
one, and I had an insurmountable objection to
fight under false colours, I passed it by.</p>
<p>As soon as we gained the summit of the hill
it became as clear as the mist that we were regularly
in for it. Beckwith, finding himself
alone and unsupported, in close action, with
only hundreds to oppose to the enemy's thousands,
at once saw and felt all the danger of his
situation; but he was just the man to grapple
with any odds, being in his single person a host—of
a tall commanding figure and noble countenance,
with a soul equal to his appearance—<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">166</a></span>he
was as Napier says, "a man equal to rally
an army in flight."</p>
<p>Our four companies had led up in skirmishing
order, driving in the enemy's light troops; but
the summit was defended by a strong compact
body, against which we could make no
head; but opening out, and allowing the 43d
to advance, they, with a tearing volley and a
charge, sent the enemy rolling into the valley
below, when the rifles again went to work in
front, sticking to them like leeches.</p>
<p>The hill we had just gained became our rally-post
for the remainder of the day, and, notwithstanding
the odds on the side of the enemy, they
were never able to wrest it from us. Our force
was as well handled as theirs was badly, so that
in the successive and desperate encounters which
took place, both in advance and in retreat, we
were as often to be seen in their position as they
were in ours.</p>
<p>Beckwith himself was the life and soul of the
fray; he had been the successful leader of those<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">167</a></span>
who were then around him in many a bloody
field, and his calm, clear, commanding voice
was distinctly heard amid the roar of battle, and
cheerfully obeyed. He had but single companies
to oppose to the enemy's battalions;
but, strange as it may appear, I saw him twice
lead successful charges with but two companies
of the 43d, against an advancing mass of the
enemy. His front, it is true, was equal to
theirs, and such was his daring, and such
the confidence which these hardy soldiers had
in him, that they went as fiercely to work
single-handed as if the whole army had been
at their heels.</p>
<p>Beckwith's manner of command on those occasions
was nothing more than a familiar sort of
conversation with the soldier. To give an idea
of it I may as well mention that in the last
charge I saw him make with two companies of
the 43d, he found himself at once opposed to a
fresh column in front, and others advancing on
both flanks, and, seeing the necessity for immediate
retreat, he called out, "Now, my lads,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">168</a></span>
we'll just go back a little if you please." On
hearing which every man began to run, when
he shouted again, "No, no, I don't mean that—we
are in no hurry—we'll just walk quietly
back, and you can give them a shot as you go
along." This was quite enough, and was obeyed
to the letter—the retiring force keeping up a
destructive fire, and regulating their movements
by his, as he rode quietly back in the midst of
them, conversing aloud in a cheerful encouraging
manner—his eye all the while intently watching
the enemy to take advantage of circumstances.
A musket-ball had, in the meantime, shaved his
forehead, and the blood was streaming down his
countenance, which added not a little to the
exciting interest of his appearance. As soon as
we had got a little way up the face of our hill,
he called out, "Now, my men, this will do—let
us shew them our teeth again!" This was
obeyed as steadily as if the words halt, front,
had been given on parade, and our line was instantly
in battle array, while Beckwith, shaking
his fist in the faces of the advancing foe, called<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">169</a></span>
out to them, "Now, you rascals, come on here
if you dare!" Those he addressed shewed no
want of courage, but, for a while, came boldly
on to the tune of <i>old trousers</i>,<a name="FNanchor_C" id="FNanchor_C" href="#Footnote_C" class="fnanchor">C</a> notwithstanding
the fearful havoc we were making in their ranks;
but they could not screw themselves up the long
disputed hill—the 52d (two battalions) had, by
this time, come into the line of battle, and were
plying them hard on the right, while our rifles
were peppering them on their front and left, and,
as soon as they came near enough, another dash
by Beckwith, at the head of the 43d, gave
them the <i>coup de grace</i>. The fate of the day
was now decided—the net which had been wove<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">170</a></span>
in the morning, and which the state of the weather
had prevented being brought to a crisis as
soon as was intended, now began to tighten
around them—the 5th division crossed by the
bridge of Sabugal, and the 3d, (I believe,) by
a ford to the right—and Reynier, seeing no
hopes of salvation but by immediate flight, very
speedily betook himself to it, and, I believe,
saved all that did not fall on the field of battle—a
piece of good fortune of which his conduct
that day shewed him undeserving, for, had not
the extraordinary state of the weather caused
the delays and mistakes which took place on our
side, he could scarcely have taken a man out of
the field.</p>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_C" id="Footnote_C" href="#FNanchor_C" class="fnanchor">C</a> <i>Old trousers</i> was a name given by our soldiers to the
point of war which is beat by the French drummers in advancing
to the charge. I have, when skirmishing in a wood,
and a French regiment coming up to the relief of the opposing
skirmishers, often heard the drum long before we
saw them, and, on those occasions, our riflemen immediately
began calling to each other, from behind the different bushes,
"Holloa there! look sharp! for damn me, but here comes
old trousers!"</p></div>
<p>While standing in our last position, awaiting
the attack in our front, I was much amused in
observing, on the opposite height, the approach
of our 3d division, unnoticed by the enemy—a
French column occupied the top of what seemed
to be almost a precipice overlooking the river;
but I observed some of the 60th rifles clambering
up the face of it on all fours, and, to see<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">171</a></span>
their astonishment, when they poked their heads
over the brink, to find themselves within a couple
of yards of a French column! They, of course,
immediately concealed themselves under the
bank; but it was curious to observe that they
were unseen by the enemy, who were imprudent
enough either to consider themselves secure
on that side, or to give all their attention to the
fight going on between their comrades and us;
but certain it is they allowed the riflemen to
gather there in formidable numbers. As we
advanced immediately, the intervening rising
ground prevented my seeing what took place,
but on crowning the opposite height, which the
French had just evacuated, we found, by the
bodies on the ground, that they had just received
a volley from a part of the third division—and
one of the most deadly which had been fired
that day.</p>
<p>Our cavalry had been astray during the fight,
but they afterwards made two or three ineffectual
attempts to break in upon the enemy's line
of retreat.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">172</a></span></p>
<p>Immediately after the action, we drew up
behind an old cow-shed, which Lord Wellington
occupied for a short time, while it poured torrents
of rain. Sir William Erskine, with some
of his horsemen, joined us there, and I heard
him say to the commander-in-chief that he
claimed no merit for the victory, as it belonged
alone to Sidney Beckwith! I believe his lordship
wanted no conjurer to tell him so, and did
ample justice to the combatants, by stating in
his dispatch that "this was one of the most
glorious actions that British troops were ever
engaged in."</p>
<p>To those accustomed to the vicissitudes of
warfare it is no less curious to remark the many
miraculous escapes from wounds than the recovery
from them. As an instance of the former,
I may observe, that, in the course of the action
just related, I was addressing a passing remark
to an officer near me, who, in turning round to
answer, raised his right foot, and I observed
a grape shot tear up the print which it had but
that instant left in the mud. As an instance of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">173</a></span>
the latter I shall here relate, (though rather misplaced,)
that, at the storming of Badajos, in
April, 1812, one of our officers got a musket-ball
in the right ear, which came out at the back
of the neck, and, though after a painful illness,
he recovered, yet his head got a twist, and he
was compelled to wear it, looking over the right
shoulder. At the battle of Waterloo, in 1815,
(having been upwards of three years with his
neck awry,) he received a shot in the left ear,
which came out within half an inch of his former
wound in the back of the neck, and it set
his head straight again!</p>
<p>This is an anecdote which I should scarcely
have dared to relate were it not that, independent
of my personal knowledge of the facts, the
hero of it still lives to speak for himself, residing
on his property, in Nottinghamshire, alike honoured
and respected as a civilian, as he was
loved and esteemed as a gentleman and a gallant
<span class="locked">soldier.<a name="FNanchor_D" id="FNanchor_D" href="#Footnote_D" class="fnanchor">D</a></span></p>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_D" id="Footnote_D" href="#FNanchor_D" class="fnanchor">D</a> Lieutenant Worsley.</p></div>
<p>After the action at Sabugal our brigade was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">174</a></span>
placed under cover in the town, and a wild night
it proved—the lightning flashed—the winds
howled—and the rains rained. The house occupied
by my brother sub and myself was a two-story
one, and floored after the manner of some
of our modern piers, with the boards six inches
apart, and transferrable, if necessary, to a wider
range, without the trouble of extracting or unscrewing
nails.</p>
<p>The upper floor, as the most honoured portion,
was assigned to us, while the first was
reserved for the accommodation of some ten or
a dozen well-starved inmates.</p>
<p>We had scarcely proceeded to dry our clothes,
and to masticate the few remaining crumbs of
biscuit, when we received a deputation from the
lower regions, craving permission to join the
mess; but, excepting the scrapings of our haversacks,
we had literally nothing for ourselves,
and were forced to turn a deaf ear to their entreaties,
for there was no making them believe
we were as destitute as we seemed. It was one
of those cruel scenes to which the seats of war<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">175</a></span>
alone can furnish parallels, for their wan and
wasted countenances shewed that they were
wildly in want.</p>
<p>The following day saw Portugal cleared of its
invaders, and the British standard once more
unfurled within the Spanish boundary.</p>
<p>The French army retired behind the Agueda,
and our division took possession of a portion of
its former quarters, Fuentes d'Onoro, Gallegos,
and Espeja. There we enjoyed a few days
repose, of which we stood in much need, it
having been exactly a month since we broke up
in front of Santarem, and, as the foregoing
pages shew, it was not spent in idleness.</p>
<hr />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">176</a></span></p>
<h2><a name="CHAP_VIII" id="CHAP_VIII">CHAP. VIII.</a><br />
<span class="subhang">National Characters. Adventures of a pair of leather
Breeches. Ditto of a pound of Beef. Shewing what the
French General did not do, and a Prayer which he did
not pray; with a few random Shots.</span></h2>
<p class="in0">Fuentes, which was our first resting place,
was a very handsome village, and every family
so well known to the light division, that no
matter into which quarter the billet fell, the individual
was received as an old and approved
friend.</p>
<p>The change from Portugal into Spain, as alluded
to in my first work, was very striking.
In the former the monkish cowl seemed even
on ordinary occasions to be drawn over the face
of nature; for though their sun was a heavenly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">177</a></span>
one, it shone over a dark and bigotted race;
and though they were as ripe for mischief as
those of more enlightened nations, yet even in
that they were woefully defective, and their
joys seemed often sadly miscalled. But at the
time I speak of, as if to shroud every thing in
unfathomable gloom, the ravages of the enemy
had turned thousands of what (to them) were
happy homes, into as many hells—their domestic
peace ruined—their houses and furniture fired,
and every countenance bearing the picture of
melancholy and wan despair.</p>
<p>Their damsels' cheeks wore no roses, yet did
they wear soil enough on which to rear them.
But at the same time be it remarked that I
quarrel not with the countenance but with the
soil, for I am a pale lover myself.</p>
<p>In Spain, on the contrary, health and joy
seemed to beam on every countenance, and comfort
in every dwelling. I have observed some
writers quarrel with my former statement on
this subject, and maintain that though the difference
in appearance was remarkable, that so<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">178</a></span>
far as regards the article of cleanliness, the facts
were not so. With these, however, I must still
differ after giving every thing due consideration.
The Portuguese did not assume to be a cleanly
race, and they were a filthy one in reality. The
Spaniards did affect to be the former, and I do
think that they approached it as nearly as may
be. I allude to the peasantry, for the upper
and middling classes sink into immeasurable
contempt in the comparison, but their peasantry
I still maintain are as fine and as cleanly a
class as I ever saw. Their dress is remarkably
handsome, and though I can give no opinion as
to the weekly value of soap expended on their
manly countenances, yet in regard to the shirt,
which is their greatest pride, and neatly embroidered
in the bosom according to the position
of the wearer in the minds of those on whom
that portion of the ornamental devolves, I can
vouch for their having shewn a clean one as
often as need be. And though I do not feel
myself at liberty to enter into the details of the
dress of their lovely black-eyed damsels, I may<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">179</a></span>
be permitted to say that it is highly becoming
to them; and, in short, I should have some
dread of staking our national credit by parading
the inmates of any chance village of our own
against a similar one of theirs.</p>
<p>Their houses too are remarkably neat and
cleanly, and would be comfortable were it not
for those indefatigable villainous insects that
play at a perpetual hop, skip, and jump, giving
occasional pinches to the exposed parts of the
inmate; and yet what warm country is exempt
from them or something worse. Go into boasted
America, and so great is the liberty of all classes
there, that what with the hum of the musquitto
above, and the bug below the blanket, the unfortunate
wight, as I can testify, is regularly
<i>hum-bugged</i> out of his natural repose. As I
have taken a trip across the Atlantic for the
foregoing example, I cannot resist giving an
anecdote to shew that our brethren on that side
of the water sometimes have a night's rest
sacrificed to <i>inexpressible</i> causes as well as natural
ones.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">180</a></span></p>
<p>A gentleman at the head of the law there,
(not the hangman,) told me that in his early
days while the roads were yet in their infancy,
he was in the habit of going his circuit
on horseback, with nothing but a change
of linen tacked to his crupper—that one day
he had been overtaken by a shower of rain
before he could reach the lonely cottage, which
he had destined for his night's repose—and that
it interfered materially with the harmony which
had hitherto existed between him and his leather
breeches, for he felt uncomfortable in them,
and he felt uncomfortable out of them, arising
from the dread that he might never be able to
get into them again. His landlady, however,
succeeded in allaying his fears for the moment,
and having lent him one of her nether garments
for present use, she finally consigned him to
bed, with injunctions to sleep undisturbed, for
that she would take especial care, while they
underwent the necessary fiery ordeal, that she
would put that within which should preserve
their capacities undiminished.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">181</a></span></p>
<p>Notwithstanding the satisfactory assurance on
the part of the dame, a doubt continued still to
hang on the mind of the man in the petticoat;
and as "the mind disturbed denies the body
rest," so was every attempt of his to close an
eye, met by the vision of a pair of shrivelled
leathers, until at length in a fit of feverish excitement
he started from his couch determined to
know the worst; and throwing open the door
of the kitchen, he, to his no small astonishment,
beheld his leathers not only filled, but well
filled too, by the landlady herself, who there
stood in them, toasting and turning round and
round; neither so gracefully nor so fast as
Taglioni, perhaps, but still she kept turning
all the same; and it, most probably, was the
smoke arising from the lawyer's wet leathers
which Tom Moore saw curling so gracefully
above the green elms when he wrote the Woodpecker.</p>
<p>But to return to the Peninsula. While it
must be admitted that the hidalgo's evil is
the lesser, I could, nevertheless, wish that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">182</a></span>
the good old Spaniard would march a little
more with the spirit of the times, for by the
ordinary use of a small-tooth comb, he might be
enabled to limit his <i>hair</i> hunting to the sports
of the field.</p>
<p>The day after our arrival at Fuentes I was
amused to hear one of our soldiers describing
to a comrade his last night's fare in the new
quarter. Soon after his taking possession of it,
three days' rations had been served out to him,
and his landlady, after reconnoitring it for a
while with a wistful eye, at length proposed
that they should mess together while he
remained in their house, to which he readily
assented; and by way of making a fair beginning,
he cut off about a pound of the beef
which he handed over to her, but at the same
time allowing her about as much play with it as
a cat does to a mouse—a precaution which he
had reason to rejoice in, for he presently found
it transferred to a kettle then boiling on the
fire, containing, as he said, thirteen buckets
of water, in which his pound of beef was floating<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">183</a></span>
about like a cork in the middle of the ocean!
"Hilloah, my nice woman, says I, if you and
I are to mess together I'll just trouble you to
take out twelve buckets and a half of that
water, and in place thereof, that you will be
pleased to put in a pound of beef for every
mouth which you intend shall keep mine in company—and
if you choose to give some butter
or a slice or two of bacon in addition, I
shall not object to it, but I'll have none of your
gammon!" The dispute ended in the rifleman's
being obliged to fish out his pound of beef and
keep it under his own protection.</p>
<p>Our repose in Fuentes was short. The garrison
of Almeida was blockaded with a fortnight's
provision only, and two companies of ours under
Colonel Cameron were immediately dispatched
to shoot their bullocks while grazing on the
ramparts, which still further contracted their
means of subsistence.</p>
<p>Lord Wellington had in the mean time hurried
off to the south in consequence of the
pressing importance of the operations of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">184</a></span>
corps under Marshal Beresford, leaving the main
army for the time being under the command of
Sir Brent Spencer. In the afternoon of the
16th of April we were hastily ordered under
arms, and passing through Gallegos we were
halted behind a hill on the banks of the Agueda,
when we found that the movement had been
occasioned by the passing of a convoy of provisions
which the enemy were attempting to
throw into Ciudad Rodrigo, and which was at
that moment with its escort of two hundred
men shut up in some inclosures of stone walls
within half a mile of us surrounded by our
dragoons.</p>
<p>I don't know how it happened, but we were
kept there inactive for a couple of hours with
eight thousand men sending in summonses for
them to surrender, when a couple of our idle
guns would have sent the loose wall about their
ears and made them but too happy to be allowed
to do so. But as it was, the garrison of Ciudad
Rodrigo came out and carried them off triumphantly
from under our noses.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">185</a></span></p>
<div class="poem-container">
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="iq">"There's nae luck about the house,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">There's nae luck ava;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">There's nae luck about the house,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">When our gude man's awa."<br /></span>
</div></div>
</div>
<p>This was the most critical period of the whole
war; the destinies not only of England but of
Europe hung upon it, and all hinged on the
shoulders of one man,—that man was Wellington!
I believe there were few even of those who
served under him capable of knowing, still less
of appreciating, the nature of the master-mind
which there, with God's assistance, ruled all
things; for he was not only the head of the
army but obliged to descend to the responsibility
of every department in it. In the different
branches of their various duties, he received the
officers in charge, as ignorant as schoolboys,
and, by his energy and unwearied perseverance,
he made them what they became—the most
renowned army that Europe ever saw. Wherever
he went at its head, glory followed its steps—wherever
he was not—I will not say disgrace,
but something near akin to it ensued, for it is<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">186</a></span>
singular enough to remark that of all the distinguished
generals who held separate commands
in that army throughout the war Lord
Hill alone (besides the commander-in-chief)
came out of it with his fame untarnished by any
palpable error. In all his battles Lord Wellington
appeared to us never to leave any thing to
chance. However desperate the undertaking—whether
suffering under momentary defeat, or
imprudently hurried on by partial success—we
ever felt confident that a redeeming power was
at hand, nor were we ever deceived. Those
only, too, who have served under such a master-mind
and one of inferior calibre can appreciate
the difference in a physical as well as a moral
point of view—for when in the presence of the
enemy, under him, we were never deprived of
our personal comforts until prudence rendered
it necessary, and they were always restored to
us again at the earliest possible moment. Under
the temporary command of others we have been
deprived of our baggage for weeks through the
timidity of our chief, and without the shadow<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">187</a></span>
of necessity; and it is astonishing in what a
degree the vacillation and want of confidence in
a commander descends into the different ranks.</p>
<p>Of all the commanders in that army at the
period I speak of, none stood more distinguished
than he who was for the moment our head (the
gallant Spencer,) and yet, singularly enough,
the moment he was left to himself, not only his
usual daring but all spirit of enterprise seemed
to have forsaken him. Witness the escape of
the French detachment as just related, as well
as the various subsequent movements under him;
whereas, within a few days, when in the field
of Fuentes under Wellington, he was himself
again.</p>
<p>While halted behind the hill already mentioned,
I got my first look at the celebrated
Guerilla chief, Don Julian Sanchez. He was a
middling-sized thick-set fellow, with a Spanish
complexion, well whiskered and mustached, with
glossy black hair, and dressed in a hussar uniform.
The peasantry of that part of the country
used to tell rather a romantic story of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">188</a></span>
cause which induced him to take up arms,—namely,
that the French had maltreated and
afterwards murdered his wife and family before
his face, besides firing his house, (cause enough
in all conscience,) and for which he amply
revenged himself, for he became the most celebrated
throat-cutter in that part of the world.
His band when he first took the field did not
exceed fifty men, but about the period I speak
of his ranks had swelled to about fifteen hundred.
They were a contemptible force in the field,
but brave, enterprising, and useful in their mountain
fastnesses—in cutting off supplies and small
detachments. I did not see his troops until some
time after, when his heavy dragoons one day
crossed our line of march. They afterwards
cut a more respectable figure; but at that
period they looked a regular set of ragamuffins,
wearing cocked hats with broad white lace
round the edges; yellow coats, with many more
than button-holes, and red facings; breeches
of various colours and no stockings, but a sort
of shoe on the foot with a spur attached, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">189</a></span>
their arms were as various as their colours;
some with lances, some with carabines, and in
short, every one seemed as if he had equipped
himself in whatever the fortune of war had
thrown in his way.</p>
<p>As the battle of Fuentes approached, our life
became one of perpetual motion, and when
I raised my head from its stone pillow in the
morning, it was a subject of speculation to guess
within a league of its next resting place,
although we were revolving within a very limited
space. Nothing clings so tenaciously to my
mind as the remembrance of the different spots
on which I have passed a night. Out of six
years campaigning it is probable that I slept at
least half the period under the open canopy of
heaven, (barring latterly a sheet of canvas,) and
though more than twenty years have since rolled
over my head, I think I could still point out my
every resting place.</p>
<p>On the night of the 1st of May I was sent
from Alameda with thirty riflemen and six<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">190</a></span>
dragoons to watch a ford of the Agueda. The
French held a post on the opposite side—but at
daylight in the morning I found they had disappeared.
Seeing a Spanish peasant descending
on the opposite bank—and the river not being
fordable to a person on foot, while its continuous
roaring through its rugged course drowned every
other voice—I detached one of the dragoons,
who brought him over behind him, and as he
told me that the French were, at that moment,
on the move to the left, I immediately transmitted
the information to head quarters. I was
soon after ordered to join my battalion, which I
found lodged in a stubble field about half way
between Gallegos and Alameda, on a piece of
rising ground which we had christened Kraüchenberg's
hill, in compliment to that gallant
captain of German hussars, who, with his single
troop, had made a brilliant and successful charge
from it the year before on the enemy's advancing
horsemen.</p>
<p>The following night we had gone to bed in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">191</a></span>
the village of Espeja, but were called to arms
in the middle of it, and took post in the wood
behind.</p>
<p>With the enemy close upon us, our position
was any thing but a safe one; but, as it included
a conical hill, which commanded a view
of their advance, Lord Wellington was anxious
to retain it until the last possible moment.</p>
<p>The chief of the German hussars, who covered
the reconnoitring party, looked rather blank
when he found, next morning, that the infantry
were in the act of withdrawing, and tried hard
to persuade Beckwith to leave two companies
of riflemen as a support, assuring him that all
the cavalry in the world were unable to harm
them in such a cover; but as the cover was, in
reality, but a sprinkling of the Spanish oaks,
our chief found it prudent to lend his deaf ear
to the request. However, we all eventually
reached the position of Fuentes unmolested—a
piece of good luck which we had no right to
expect, considering the military character of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">192</a></span>
our adversaries, and the nature of the ground
we had to pass over.</p>
<p>Having been one of the combatants in that
celebrated field, and having already given a history
of the battle such as the fates decreed, it
only remains with me, following the example of
other historians, to <i>favour</i> the public with my
observations thereon.</p>
<p>In the course of my professional career several
events have occurred to bother my subaltern
notions on the principles of the art of war, and
none more than the battle of Fuentes; but to
convey a just idea of what I mean to advance,
it is necessary that I should describe the ground,
and while those who choose, may imagine that
they see it sketched by one who never before
drew any thing but the cork out of a bottle, or
a month's pay out of the hands of the pay-master,
others, whose imaginations are not so
lively, must be contented in supposing themselves
standing, with an army of thirty thousand
men, between the streams of the Tourones<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">193</a></span>
and Dos Casas, with our right resting on Nava
d'Aver, and our left on Fort Conception, a position
extending seven miles.</p>
<p>The French advanced from Rodrigo with
forty-five thousand men to relieve their garrison,
which we had shut up in Almeida, which is in
rear of our left—and in place of going the
straight road to it, through Alameda and Fort
Conception, Massena spreads his army along
our whole front, and finally attacks the most
distant part of it, (Nava d'Aver.)</p>
<p>That, I believe, was all strictly according to
rule, for the purpose of preserving his base of
operations; but I am labouring to shew that it
was an occasion on which Massena might and
ought to have set every rule at defiance, for, in
possession of a strong fortress under his own lee,
and another under that of his adversary, with an
army in the field exceeding ours by a fourth, he
ought to have known that no possible cast of the
dice could have enabled us to do more than maintain
the blockade—that, if we gave him a defeat
it was impossible for us to follow it up, and if he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">194</a></span>
defeated us our ruin was almost inevitable—in
short, had I been Prince of Essling, I would
have thrust every thing but my fighting men
under the protection of the guns of Rodrigo,
and left myself, free and unfettered, to go where
I liked, do what I could, and, if need be, to
change bases with my adversary; and it is odd
to me if I would not have cut such capers as
would have astonished the great Duke himself.</p>
<p>From Fuentes to Alameda, a distance of between
two and three miles, trusting to the ruggedness
of the banks of the Dos Casos, the
position was nearly altogether unoccupied on
our side, and had Massena but taken the trouble
to wade through that stream as often as I had,
sometimes for love and sometimes for duty, he
would have found that it was passable in fifty
places—and, as the ground permitted it, had he
assembled twenty thousand infantry there, to be
thrust over at day-light, and held the rest of
his army in readiness to pounce upon the wing to
be attacked—and, had he prayed too, as did the
Scottish knight of old, (who had more faith in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">195</a></span>
his good sword than in the justice of his cause,)
in these words, "O, Lord, we all know that
the race is not to the swift nor the battle to the
strong, and that, whichever side you take,
will be sure to win; but, if you will, for
this once, stand aside, and leave us two to
fight it out, I shall be for ever obliged to you"—he
might then have commenced the day's
work with a tolerable prospect of success—for,
if half the twenty thousand men, on reaching
the top of the hill, remained to keep the one
wing in check, and the remainder turned against
the flank of the devoted one, while his main
army took it in front, they would have had good
cause to feel ashamed of themselves if they did
not dispose of it long before human aid could
have reached, and odd would it have been if
the others had not then considered it high time
to be off.</p>
<p>What alterations Lord Wellington would have
made in his dispositions had he found himself
opposed to one who held such fighting views as I
do, it is not for me to say; but it is evident that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">196</a></span>
he estimated Massena at his full value when he
persisted in holding such an extended position
with an inferior army, while the other, with his
superior force, was satisfied with battering a portion
of his best <span class="locked">regimental<a name="FNanchor_E" id="FNanchor_E" href="#Footnote_E" class="fnanchor">E</a></span> brains out against
the stone walls about Fuentes, and retiring,
at last, without attaining the object of his advance.</p>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_E" id="Footnote_E" href="#FNanchor_E" class="fnanchor">E</a> The most formidable attack there on the 5th was made
by his most choice troops, and they succeeded in penetrating
to the high ground behind the church, where they were met
by a brigade of the 3d division, and routed with great
slaughter. One of the wounded prisoners pointed out to me
the body of a captain of grenadiers, (whose name I forget,)
who was renowned in their army for his daring.</p></div>
<p>The foregoing reflections will, no doubt, to
many, appear wild; but, with a tolerable knowledge
of the ground, and of the comparative
strength, I am not the less satisfied that my plan
may be often tried with success.</p>
<p>In speaking of distance, however, it must not
be forgotten that in war the opposing bodies come
together with wonderful celerity; for, although<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">197</a></span>
soldiers do not see so far as severed lovers, who,
by transmitting their looks at each other through
the moon or some favoured star, contrive to kill
space more quickly, yet the soldier, who has
no great stomach for the battle, and sees his
enemy in the morning almost out of sight, begins
to reckon himself secure for that day, must
be rather astonished when he finds how soon a
cannon-ball makes up the difference between
them!</p>
<p>Packenham, (the gallant Sir Edward,) who
was then adjutant-general, led the brigade of
the third division, which restored the battle in
the village. He came to us immediately after,
faint with excitement, where we were standing
in reserve, and asked if any officer could
oblige him with some wine or brandy—a calabash
was unslung for his use, and after taking
a small sip out of it, and eulogizing, in the
handsomest manner, the conduct of the troops,
he left us to renew his exertions wherever they
might be wanted. He was as gallant a spirit as
ever went into a field!</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">198</a></span></p>
<p>Lord Wellington, in those days, (as he was
aware,) was always designated among the soldiers
by the name of <i>Old Douro</i>. The morning
after the battle, the celebrated D. M. of
the guards, rode up to a group of staff officers,
and demanded if any of them had seen Beau
Douro this morning? His Lordship, who was
there reclining on the ground in his boat-cloak,
started up, and said, "Well! by —— I never
knew I was a beau before!" The same morning
that officer came galloping to us with an
order—our chief, (Sidney Beckwith,) who was
never on horseback except when his duty required
it, had the greatest horror of the approach
of a staff officer, who generally came at full
speed until within a yard or two—seeing M.
coming on as usual on his fiery dark chesnut,
he began waving his hand for him to stop before
he had got within fifty yards, and calling out,
"Aye, aye, that will do! we'll hear all you have
got to say quite well enough!"</p>
<p>Among the many great and goodly names of
general officers which the Army-list furnished,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">199</a></span>
it was lamentable to see that some were sent
from England, to commands in that army, who
were little better than old <span class="locked">wives,<a name="FNanchor_F" id="FNanchor_F" href="#Footnote_F" class="fnanchor">F</a></span> and who
would have been infinitely more at home in
feeding the pigs and the poultry of a farm-yard
than in furnishing food for powder in the field;
yet so it was:—the neglect of such an one to
deliver an order with which he had been entrusted,
lost us the fame and the fruits of our
victory, it prevented a gallant regiment from
occupying the important post intended for it,
and it cost that regiment its gallant chief, whose
nice sense of honour could see no way of removing
the stain which the neglect of his superior
had cast upon his reputation, than by
placing a pistol to his own head. His fate was
sadly and deeply deplored by the whole army.</p>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_F" id="Footnote_F" href="#FNanchor_F" class="fnanchor">F</a> No allusion to the last-mentioned officer, who was one
of another stamp.</p></div>
<p>As this particular period furnished few occurrences
to vary the monotony of the hammer-and-tongs
sort of life we led, I shall take advantage<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">200</a></span>
of the opportunity it affords to fire a few random
shots for the amusement of my readers.</p>
<h3 class="vspace">SHOT THE FIRST.<br />
<i>The Duel.</i></h3>
<p>On reaching Paris, after the battle of Waterloo,
we found Johnny Petit in very bad humour;
and that three out of every four of the officers
in each army were not disposed of by private
contract, with pistols and small swords, must be
ascribed to our ignorance alike of their language
and their national method of conveying offence;
for, in regard to the first, although we were
aware that the <i>sacre bœuftake</i> and <i>sacre pomme
de terre</i>, with which we were constantly saluted,
were not applied complimentarily, yet, as the
connecting offensive links were lost to most of
us, these words alone were not looked upon as
of a nature requiring <i>satisfaction</i>; and, with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">201</a></span>
regard to practical insults, a favourite one of
theirs, as we afterwards discovered, was to tread,
as if by accident, on the toe of the person to be
insulted. Now, as the natural impulse of the
Englishman, on having his toe trodden on, is to
make a sort of apology to the person who did it,
by way of relieving him of a portion of the
embarrassment which he expects to be the
attendant of such awkwardness, many thousand
insults of the kind passed unnoticed:—the
Frenchman flattering himself that he had done
a bold thing,—the Englishman a handsome one;
whereas, had the character of the tread been
distinctly understood, it would, no doubt, have
been rewarded on the spot by <i>our</i> national
method—a douse on the chops! However, be
that as it may, my business is to record the
result of one in which there was no misunderstanding;
and, as some one has justly remarked,
"when people are all of one mind, it is astonishing
how well they agree."</p>
<p>It occurred at an early hour in the morning,
at one of those seminaries for grown children so<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">202</a></span>
common in Paris, and the parties (a French
officer and one of ours) agreed to meet at day-light,
which left them but brief space for preparation,
so that when they arrived on the
ground, and their fighting irons were paraded,
the Frenchman's were found to consist of a brace
of pocket-pistols, with finger-sized barrels,—while
our officer had a huge horse pistol,
which he had borrowed from the quarter-master,
and which looked, in the eyes of the
astonished Frenchman, like a six-pounder, the
bore of it being large enough to swallow the
stocks, locks, and barrels of his brace, with the
ball-bag and powder-horn into the bargain; and
he, therefore, protested vehemently against the
propriety of exposing himself to such fearful
odds, which being readily admitted on the other
side, they referred the decision to a halfpenny
whether they should take alternate shots with
the large, or one each with the small.</p>
<p>The Fates decreed in favour of the small arms;
and, the combatants having taken their ground,
they both fired at a given signal, when the result<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">203</a></span>
was that the Frenchman's pistol burst, and blew
away his finger, while our man blew away his
ramrod; and as they had no longer the means
of continuing the fight, they voted that they
were a brace of good fellows, and after shaking
the Frenchman by his other three fingers, our
officer accompanied him home to breakfast.</p>
<h3 class="vspace">SHOT THE SECOND.<br />
<i>Cannon-Law.</i></h3>
<p>While stationed, in the province of Artois,
with the Army of Occupation, one of our soldiers
committed a most aggravated case of highway-robbery
upon a Frenchwoman, for which
he was tried by a court-martial, condemned,
and suffered death within three days. About a
fortnight after, when the whole affair had nearly
been forgotten by us, the French report of the
outrage, after having gone through its routine of
the different official functionaries, made its appearance<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">204</a></span>
at our head-quarters, describing the
atrocious nature of the offence, and calling for
vengeance on the head of the offender. The
commander-in-chief's reply was, as usual,
short, but to the purpose:—The man was
hanged for it ten days ago.</p>
<h3 class="vspace">SHOT THE THIRD.<br />
<i>Civil Law.</i></h3>
<p>Whilst on the station mentioned in the foregoing
anecdote, two of our medical officers
went in a gig, on a short tour, in the neighbourhood
of our cantonments, and having unconsciously
passed the line of demarkation,
they were pulled up on their entrance into the
first town they came to, for the payment of the
usual toll; but they claimed a right to be exempted
from it on the score of their being
officers of the Army of Occupation. The collector
of the customs, however, being of a different<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">205</a></span>
opinion, and finding his oratorical powers
thrown away upon them, very prudently called
to his aid one of those men-at-arms with which
every village in France is so very considerately
furnished. That functionary, squaring his
cocked hat, giving his mustachoes a couple
of twists, and announcing that he was as
brave as a lion, as brave as the devil, and
sundry other characters of noted courage, he,
by way of illustration, drew his sword, and
making half-a-dozen furious strokes at the paving
stones, made the sparks fly from them like
lightning. Seeing that the first half dozen had
failed to extract the requisite quantity of sous,
he was proceeding to give half-a-dozen more,
but his sword broke at the first, and our two
knights of the lancet, having fewer scruples
about surrendering to him as an unarmed than
an armed man, made no further difficulty in
accompanying him to the municipal magistrate.</p>
<p>That worthy, after hearing both sides of the
case with becoming gravity, finally sentenced
our two travellers to pay for the repairs of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">206</a></span>
the sword which had been so courageously
broken in defence of their civic rights.</p>
<h3 class="vspace">SHOT THE FOURTH.<br />
<i>Sword Law.</i></h3>
<p>At the commencement of the battle of Waterloo,
three companies of our riflemen held a
sand bank, in front of the position, and abreast
of La Haye Saint, which we clung to most
tenaciously, and it was not until we were stormed
in front and turned in both flanks that we
finally left it. Previous to doing so, however,
a French officer rushed out of their ranks and
made a dash at one of ours, but neglecting the
prudent precaution of calculating the chances
of success before striking the first blow, it cost
him his life. The officer he stormed happened
to be a gigantic highlander about six feet and a
half—and, like most big men, slow to wrath, but<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">207</a></span>
a fury when roused. The Frenchman held that
in his hand which was well calculated to bring
all sizes upon a level—a good small sword—but
as he had forgotten to put on his spectacles, his
first (and last) thrust passed by the body and
lodged in the highlander's left arm. Saunders's
blood was now up (as well as down) and with
our then small regulation half-moon sabre, better
calculated to shave a lady's-maid than a
Frenchman's head, he made it descend on the
pericranium of his unfortunate adversary with a
force which snapped it at the hilt. His next
dash was with his fist (and the hilt in it) smack
in his adversary's face, which sent him to the
earth; and though I grieve to record it, yet as
the truth must be told, I fear me that the chivalrous
Frenchman died an ignominious death, viz.
by a kick. But where one's own life is at
stake, we must not be too particular.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">208</a></span></p>
<h3 class="vspace">SHOT THE FIFTH.<br />
<i>Love Law.</i></h3>
<p>Of all the evils with which a sober community
can be cursed, there is none so great as
a guard-house; for while the notable house-wife
is superintending the scouring of her kitchen
coppers, and the worthy citizen is selling his
sweets, the daughters are as surely to be found
lavishing their's upon their gaudy neighbour,
while the nursery-maid standing a story higher
is to be seen sending her regards a step lower—into
the sentry-box.</p>
<p>Though many years have now passed away,
I remember as if but yesterday, my first guard
mounting, in a certain garrison town which shall
be nameless. After performing the first usual
routine of military duties, my next was, as a
matter of course, to reconnoitre the neighbourhood;
for if a house happened to be within
range of the officer's beat, he seldom had to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">209</a></span>
look for an adventure in vain,—nor had I on the
occasion alluded to. The station was in the
centre of a populous city, the purlieus were
genteel, and at the window of one of the opposite
houses I soon descried a bevy of maidens who
seemed to be regarding me with no small
curiosity.</p>
<p>Eyes met eyes which looked again, and as
all seemed to go merry as a marriage bell, I
took out my pencil and motioned as if I would
write, which meeting with an approving smile,
I straightway indited an epistle suitable to the
occasion, and shewing it to them when ready,
I strolled past the door, where, as I expected,
I found a fair hand which seemed to belong to
nobody, in readiness to receive it.</p>
<p>In the course of a few minutes I received a
note from the same mysterious hand, desiring
to be informed for which of the group my last
effusion was intended; and though the question
was rather a puzzler to a person who had never
seen them before, and, even then, too far off to
be able to distinguish whether their eyes were<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">210</a></span>
green or yellow, yet I very judiciously requested
that my correspondent would accept it on her
own account. It was arranged accordingly,
and her next epistle, while it preached prudence
and discretion, desired that I should
come to the door at eleven at night when she
would have an opportunity of speaking to me.</p>
<p>It may be imagined that time flew on leaden
wings until the arrival of the appointed hour,
when proceeding as directed, I found the door
ajar, and the vision of the hand, now with
a body in the back ground, beckoning me to
enter. Following the invitation the door was
gently closed, and I was soon in a large dimly
lighted hall, by the side of my fair incognita,
with my hand clasped in hers. But ah
me! I had barely time to unburthen myself of
a hurricane of sighs (enough to have blown a
fire out) and to give one chaste salute, when
papa's well-known knock was heard at the door
and dissolved the charm.</p>
<p>In an agony of affright my fair friend desired
me to run up stairs to the first landing, and as<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">211</a></span>
I valued my life, not to stir from it until she
should come to fetch me.</p>
<p>Misfortunes they say seldom come single, and
so I found it, for I had scarcely reached the
desired place when the voice of the sentry thundered,
"Guard, turn out!" and conveyed to me
the very pleasant information that the grand
rounds approached, while I, the officer of the
guard, was absent, the captive of a damsel. I
was in a precious scrape; for, prior to the arrival
of the other evil, I held it to be somewhat more
than doubtful whether I was reserved for a kiss
or a kick, but the odds were now two to one in
favour of the latter, for if I did not find my
way outside the walls within three quarters of a
minute, it was quite certain that if I failed to
receive what was due to me inside the house I
should catch it outside, by getting kicked from
the service. My case was therefore desperate,
and as the voice of papa was still heard at the
stair-foot and precluded the possibility of bolting
undetected by the door, my only alternative was
the stair window.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">212</a></span></p>
<p>The field officer was passing under it as I
threw up the sash, and though the distance to
the ground loomed fearfully long there was no
time for deliberation, but bundling out, and
letting myself down by the hands as far as I
could, I took my chance of the remainder and
came down on the pavement with such a tremendous
clatter that I thought I had been
shivered to atoms. The noise fortunately startled
the field officer's horse, so that it was as much
as he could do to keep his seat for the moment,
which gave me time to gather myself up; when,
telling him that in my hurry to get to my place
before him, I had stumbled against a lamp post
and fallen, the affair passed away without further
notice, but my aching bones, for many an after-day,
would not permit me to forget the adventure
of that night.</p>
<p>In my next turn for guard at the same place
I got a glimpse of my fair friend, and but for
once. I saw on my arrival that the family were
in marching order, and my old acquaintance, the
hand, soon after presented me with a billet<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">213</a></span>
announcing their immediate departure for the
season, to a distant watering place. She lamented
the accident which she feared had befallen
me, and as she thought it probable that we
would never meet again, she begged that I
would forgive and look upon it merely as the
badinage of a giddy girl.</p>
<h3 class="vspace">SHOT THE SIXTH.<br />
<i>At a sore subject.</i></h3>
<p>"They who can feel for other's woes should
ne'er have cause to mourn their own!" so sayeth
the poet, and so should I say if I saw them
feeling; but I have found such a marvellous
scarcity of those tender-hearted subjects on the
field of battle, that, in good sooth, if the soldier
had not a tear to shed for his own woes, he
stood a very good chance of dying unwept,
which may either be considered a merry or a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">214</a></span>
dreary end, according to the notion of the individual.</p>
<p>In taking a comparative view of the <i>comforts</i>
attending a sea and land fight, I know not what
evils our nautical brethren may have to contend
against, which we have not; but they have this
advantage over us—that, whatever may be the
fate of the day, they have their bed and breakfast,
and their wounds are promptly attended to.
This shot, be it observed, is especially fired at
the wounded.</p>
<p>When a man is wounded the corps he belongs
to is generally in action, and cannot spare from
the ranks the necessary assistance, so that he
is obliged to be left to the tender mercies of
those who follow after, and they generally pay
him the attention due to a mad dog, by giving
him as wide a berth as they possibly can—so
that he often lies for days in the field without
assistance of any kind.</p>
<p>Those who have never witnessed such scenes
will be loth to believe that men's hearts can get<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">215</a></span>
so steeled; but so it is—the same chance befals
the officer as the soldier, and one anecdote will
illustrate both.</p>
<p>At the battle of Vittoria one of our officers
was disabled by a shot through the leg, but
having contrived to drag himself to a road-side,
he laid himself down there, in the hope that,
among the passing thousands, some good Samaritan
might be found with compassion enough to
bind up his wound, and convey him to a place
of shelter.</p>
<p>The rear of a battle is generally a queer place—the
day is won and lost there a dozen times,
unknown to the actual combatants—fellows
who have never seen an enemy in the field, are
there to be seen flourishing their drawn swords,
and "cutting such fantastic tricks before high
heaven, as make angels weep," while others
are flying as if pursued by legions of demons;
and, in short, while every thing is going on in
front with the order and precision of a field-day,
in rear every thing is confusion worse confounded.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">216</a></span></p>
<p>When my wounded friend took post on the
road-side, it was in the midst of a panic amongst
the followers of the army, caused by an imaginary
charge of cavalry—he tried in vain, for a
length of time, to attract the notice of somebody,
when his eyes were at length regaled by
a staff surgeon of his acquaintance, who approached
amid the crowd of fugitives, and,
having no doubt but he would at length receive
the requisite attention, he hailed him by name
as soon as he came within reach. The person
hailed, pulled up, with "Ah! my dear fellow,
how do you do? I hope you are not badly hit?"
"I can't answer for that," replied my friend,
"all I know is, that my leg is bleeding profusely,
and until some good-natured person
dresses it and assists me to remove, here I must
lie!" "Ah! that's right," returned the other,
"keep yourself quiet—this is only an affair of
cavalry—so that you may make yourself quite
comfortable," and, clapping spurs to his horse,
he was out of sight in a moment!</p>
<p>The next known character who presented<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">217</a></span>
himself was a volunteer, at that time attached
to the regiment—an eccentric sort of a gentleman,
but one who had a great deal of method in
his eccentricity—for, though he always went
into battle with us, I know not how it happened,
but no one ever saw him again until it
was all over—he must have been an especial
favourite of the fickle goddess—for, by his own
shewing, his absence from our part of the battle
was always occasioned by his accidentally falling
in with some other regiment which had lost
all its officers, and, after rallying and leading
them on to the most brilliant feat of the day,
he, with the modesty becoming a hero, left them
alone in their glory—in ignorance of the person
to whom they owed so much, while he retired
to his humble position as a volunteer!</p>
<p>On the occasion referred to, however, in place
of being at the head of a regiment and leading
them on to the front, he was at the head of half
a dozen horses, which he had contrived to scrape
together in the field, and was leading them the
other road. As soon as he had descried my<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">218</a></span>
wounded friend he addressed him as did the
doctor—was remarkably glad to see him, and
hoped he was not badly hit—and, having received
a similar reply, he declared that he was very
sorry to hear it—<i>very</i>—"but," added he, "as
you are lying there, at all events, perhaps you
will be good enough to hold these horses for me
until I return, for I know where I can get about
as many more!"</p>
<p>Patience had not then ceased to be a virtue—and,
lest my readers should think that I am
drawing too largely on theirs, I shall resume
the thread of my narrative.</p>
<hr />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">219</a></span></p>
<h2><a name="CHAP_IX" id="CHAP_IX">CHAP. IX.</a><br />
<span class="subhang">A bishop's gathering.—Volunteers for a soldier's love, with
a portrait of the lover.—Burning a bivouac.—Old invented
thrashing machines and baking concerns.—A flying Padre
taking a shot flying.</span></h2>
<p class="in0">Soon after the battle of Fuentes Lord Wellington
was again called to the south, leaving us
with a burning desire to follow, which was
eventually gratified; for, after various coquettish
movements between us and the enemy,
which carried us in retreat near to Sabugal, we,
at length, received an order for the south; and,
leaving our adversaries to do that which might
seem best unto them, we were all at once helm
up for the other side of the Tagus.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">220</a></span></p>
<p>On our way there we halted a night at Castello
Branco, and hearing that the Bishop's
garden was open for inspection, and well worth
the seeing, I went with a brother-officer to
reconnoitre it.</p>
<p>Throughout the country which we had been
traversing for a season, the ravages of the contending
armies had swept the fruits, flowers,
and even the parent stems, from the face of the
earth, as if such things had never been; and it
is, therefore, difficult to convey an idea of the
gratification we experienced in having our senses
again regaled with all that was delightful in
either, and in admirable order.</p>
<p>Beauty, in whatever shape it comes before us,
is almost irresistible, and the worthy prelate's
oranges proved quite so; for they looked so
brightly yellow—so plumply ripe—and the trees
groaned with their load, as if praying for relief,
that with hearts framed as ours, so sensitively
alive to nature's kindlier feelings, it was
impossible to refuse the appeal.</p>
<p>Stolen kisses, they say, are the sweetest, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">221</a></span>
besides, as there might have been some impropriety
in pressing the oranges to our lips so publicly,
we were at some loss to provide for their
transfer to a suitable place, as our dress was
pocketless, and fitted as tight as a glove; but
we contrived to stow away about a dozen
each in our then sugar-loaf-shaped regimental
caps, and placing them carefully on the
head, we marched off as stiffly as a brace of
grenadiers.</p>
<p>As the devil would have it, however, in traversing
the palace-hall, we encountered the
Bishop himself, and as it was necessary that the
compliments of the season should pass between
us, it was rather an awkward meeting; I was
myself alive to the consequences of having more
brains above the head than in it, and, therefore,
confined myself to the stiff soldier's salute; but
my companion, unluckily, forgot his load, and
in politely returning the prelate's bow, sent his
cap and oranges rolling at his feet, while his
face shone as a burnt offering at the same shrine!<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">222</a></span>
The Bishop gave a benevolent smile, and after
very good naturedly assisting the youth to collect
the scattered fruit, he politely wished us a
good morning, leaving us not a little ashamed
of ourselves, and deeply impressed with a sense
of his gentleman-like demeanour and amiable
disposition.</p>
<p>Our third march from Castello Branco brought
us to Portalegre, where we halted for some
days.</p>
<p>In a former chapter, I have given the Portuguese
national character, such as I found it generally,—but
in nature there are few scenes so blank
as to have no sunny side, and throughout that
kingdom, the romantic little town of Portalegre
still dwells the greenest spot on memory's waste.</p>
<p>Unlike most other places in that devoted land,
it had escaped the vengeful visit of their ruthless
foe, and having, therefore, no fatal remembrance
to cast its shade over the future, the
inhabitants received us as if we had been beings
of a superior order, to whom they were indebted<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">223</a></span>
for all the blessings they enjoyed, and showered
their sweets upon us accordingly.</p>
<p>In three out of four of my sojourns there, a
friend and I had the good fortune to be quartered
in the same house. The family consisted
of a mother and two daughters, who were very
good-looking and remarkably kind. Our return
was ever watched for with intense interest, and
when they could not command sufficient influence
with the local authorities to have the house
reserved, they nevertheless contrived to squeeze
us in; for when people are in a humour to be
pleased with each other, small space suffices for
their accommodation.</p>
<p>Such uniform kindness on their part, it is unnecessary
to say, did not fail to meet a suitable
return on ours. We had few opportunities of
falling in with things that were rich and rare, (if
I except such <i>jewels</i> as those just mentioned,)
yet were we always stumbling over something or
other, which was carefully preserved for our next
happy meeting; and whether they were gems or<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">224</a></span>
gew-gaws, they were alike valued for the sake
of the donors.</p>
<p>The kindness shown by one family to two particular
individuals goes, of course, for nothing
beyond its value; but the feeling there seemed
to be universal.</p>
<p>Our usual morning's amusement was to visit
one or other of the convents, and having ascertained
the names of the different pretty nuns,
we had only to ring the bell, and request the
pleasure of half-an-hour's conversation with one
of the prettiest amongst them, to have it
indulged; and it is curious enough that I never
yet asked a nun, or an attendant of a nunnery,
if she would elope with me, that she did not
immediately consent,—and that, too, unconditionally.</p>
<p>My invitations to that effect were not general,
but, on the contrary, remarkably particular;
and to show that in accepting it they meant no
joke, they invariably pointed out the means, by
telling me that they were strictly watched at<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">225</a></span>
that time, but if I returned privately, a week or
two after the army had passed, they could very
easily arrange the manner of their escape.</p>
<p>I take no credit to myself for any preference
shewn, for if there be any truth in my looking-glass—and
it was one of the most flattering I
could find—their discriminating powers would
entitle them to small credit for any partiality
shewn to me individually; and while it was
no compliment, therefore, to me, or to the
nunnery, it must necessarily be due to nature,
as showing that the good souls were overflowing
with the milk of human kindness, and could
not say nay while they possessed the powers of
pleasing: for, as far as I have compared notes
with my companions, the feeling seemed to
have been general.</p>
<p>On quitting Portalegre, we stopped, the next
night, at Aronches, a small miserable walled
town, with scarcely a house in it that would
entitle the holder to vote on a ten shilling franchise;
and on the night following we went into<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">226</a></span>
bivouac, on Monte Reguingo, between Campo
Mayor and the Caya, where we remained a
considerable time. We were there, as our gallant
historian (Napier) tells us, in as judicious
but, at the same time, in as desperate a position
as any that Lord Wellington had held during
the war; yet, I am free to say, however, that
none of us knew any thing at all about the
matter, and cared still less. We there held, as
we ever did, the most unbounded confidence in
our chief, and a confidence in ourselves, fed by
continued success, which was not to be shaken;
so that we were at all times ready for any thing,
and reckless of every thing. The soldiers had
become so inured to toil and danger that they
seemed to have set disease, the elements, and
the enemy alike at defiance. Head-aches and
heart-aches were unknown amongst them, and
whether they slept under a roof, a tent, or the
open sky, or whether they amused themselves
with a refreshing bath in a stream, or amused
the enemy with a shot, was all a matter of indifference.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">227</a></span>
I do not eulogize our own men at
the expense of others, for although the light
division stood on that particular post alone, our
chief confidence originated in the hope and belief
that every division in the army was animated
by the same spirit.</p>
<p>The day after our taking post at Reguingo,
notwithstanding my boasted daring, we were
put to the rout by an unlooked-for enemy,
namely, a fire in the bivouac;—a scorching sun
had dried up the herbage, and some of the camp-fires
communicated with the long grass on
which we were lodged; the fresh summer-breeze
wafted the ground flame so rapidly through
the bivouac that before all the arms and accoutrements
could be removed, many of the
men's pouches were blown-up, and caused some
accidents.</p>
<p>I believe it is not generally, and cannot be
too well known to military men, that this is a
measure which is very often had recourse to by
an enemy, (when the wind favours,) to dislodge
a post from a field of standing corn or long<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">228</a></span>
grass; and the only way to counteract it is, for
the officer commanding the post to fire the grass
immediately behind him, so that by the time
the enemy's fire has burnt up, his own will
have gone away in proportion, and left a secure
place for him to stand on, without losing much
ground.</p>
<p>Our bivouac at Monte Reguingo abounded
in various venomous reptiles, and it is curious
enough to think that amongst the thousands of
human beings sleeping in the same bed and at
their mercy, one rarely or never heard of an
injury done by them.</p>
<p>A decayed tree full of holes, against which
the officers of our company had built their straw
hut, was quite filled with snakes, and I have
often seen fellows three feet long winding their
way through the thatch, and voting themselves
our companions at all hours, but the only inconvenience
we experienced was in a sort of feeling
that we would rather have had the hut to ourselves.</p>
<p>One morning in turning over a stone on which<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">229</a></span>
my head had rested all night, I saw a scorpion
with the tail curled over his back looking me
fiercely in the face; and though not of much
use, I made it a rule thereafter to take a look
at the other side of my pillow before I went to
sleep, whenever I used a stone one.</p>
<p>An officer in putting on his shoe one morning,
found that he had squeezed a scorpion to
death in the toe of it. That fellow must have
been caught napping, or he certainly would have
resisted the intruder.</p>
<p>The only thing in the shape of an accident
from reptiles that I remember ever having occurred
in our regiment was to a soldier who had
somehow swallowed a lizard. He knew not
when or how, and the first hint he had of the
tenement being so occupied, was in being troubled
with internal pains and spitting of blood, which
continued for many months, in spite of all the
remedies that were administered. But a powerful
emetic eventually caused him to be delivered
of as ugly a child of the kind as one would
wish to look at, about three inches long. I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">230</a></span>
believe that Dr. Burke, late of the Rifles, has
it still preserved.</p>
<p>In that neighbourhood I was amused in observing
the primitive method adopted by the
farmers in thrashing their corn,—namely, in
placing it on a hard part of the public road and
driving some bullocks backwards and forwards
through it; and for winnowing, they tossed it
in a sieve and trusted to the winds to do the
needful. Notwithstanding the method, however,
they contrived to shew us good looking
bread in that part of the world—as white as
a confectioner's seed cake—and though the
devil take such seeds as these sons of cows
had contrived to grind up with the flour, yet it
was something like the cooking on board ship;
we ought to have been thankful for the
good which the Gods provided and asked no
questions.</p>
<p>In July, the breaking up of the assembled
armies which had so long menaced us, sent our
division again stretching off to the north in
pursuit of fresh game. The weather was so<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">231</a></span>
intensely hot, that it was thought advisable to
perform the greater part of our marches during
the night. I can imagine few cases, however,
in which a night march can prove in any way
advantageous; for unless the roads are remarkably
good, it requires double time to perform
them. The men go stumbling along half asleep,
and just begin to brighten up when their permitted
hour of repose arrives. The scorching
sun, too, murders sleep, and of our ten or twelve
days' marching on that occasion, I scarcely ever
slept at all. I have always been of opinion
that if men who are inured to fatigue are suffered
to have a decent allowance of repose during
the night, that you may do what you like with
them during the day, let the climate or the
weather be what it may.</p>
<p>I remember having been at that time in possession
of a small black pony, and like the old
man and his ass, it might have admitted of a
dispute among the spectators which of us ought
to have carried the other, but to do myself justice
I rarely put him to the inconvenience of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">232</a></span>
carrying anything beyond my boat-cloak, blanket,
&c.; but one morning before day-light, in
stumbling along through one of those sleepy
marches, my charger, following at the length
of the bridle-rein, all at once shot past me as
if he had been fired out of a mortar, and went
heels over head, throwing a complete somerset
and upsetting two of the men in his headlong
career. I looked at the fellow in the utmost
astonishment to see whether he was in joke or
earnest, thinking that I had by accident got
hold of one of Astley's cast-off's, who was
shewing me some of his old stage tricks, but
when he got up, he gave himself a shake and
went quietly on as usual, so that it must have
been nothing beyond a dreaming caper, seeing
that he was not much given to the exhibition of
feats of agility in his waking moments.</p>
<p>On reaching our destination in the north, our
division took up a more advanced position than
before, and placed the garrison of Ciudad
Rodrigo under blockade.</p>
<p>In the first village we occupied (Mortiago) the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">233</a></span>
only character worthy of note was a most active
half-starved curate, whose duty it was to marry
and to bury every body within a wide range,
besides performing the usual services in sundry
chapels in that and the adjoining villages. He
was so constantly at a gallop on horseback in
pursuit of his avocations that we dubbed him
the <i>Padrè volante</i> (the flying parson.) We did
there, as in all the Spanish villages the moment
we took possession, levelled the ground at the
end of the church, and with wooden bats cut
out in the shape of rackets, got up something
like an apology for that active and delightful
game.</p>
<p>Our greatest enjoyment there was to catch
the Padrè in one of his leisure moments and to
get him to join in the amusement, of which he
was remarkably fond, and he was no sooner
enlisted, than it became the malicious aim of
every one to send the ball against his lank ribs.
Whenever he saw that it was done intentionally,
however, he made no hesitation in shying his
bat at the offender; but he was a good-natured<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">234</a></span>
soul, as were also his tormentors, so that every
thing passed off as was intended.</p>
<p>The Padrè in addition to his other accomplishments
was a sportsman, and as he was
possessed of a pointer dog (a companion which,
as we had more mouths than food, we were
obliged to deny ourselves), his company in the
field on that account was in great request; whatever
his feats might have been there however,
he generally came off but second best. I remember
that two of our gentlemen accompanied him
the first day, and when they sprung the first
covey, the Padrè's bird, out of the three shots,
was the only one that came to the ground; but
notwithstanding, one of the officers immediately
ran up and very coolly placed it in his own bag.
The Padrè ran up too, and stood gaping open-mouthed
thinking he had pocketed the bird in
joke; however, the other went on deliberately
loading as if all had been right. Meanwhile,
the other officer coming up, said, "Why, S.
that was not your bird, it is the Padrè's!"
"My dear sir," he replied, "I know it is not<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">235</a></span>
my bird, but do you suppose that I would allow
a fellow like that to think that he had killed a
bird? My good sir, I would not allow him
to suppose for one moment that he had even
fired at it!"</p>
<hr />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">236</a></span></p>
<h2><a name="CHAP_X" id="CHAP_X">CHAP. X.</a><br />
<span class="subhang">Shewing how a volunteer may not be what Doctor Johnson
made him.—A mayor's nest.—Cupping.—The Author's
reasons for punishing the world with a book.—And some
volunteers of the right sort.</span></h2>
<p class="in0">When we next changed our quarter we found
the new one peopled exclusively by old wives
and their husbands, and, as the enemy were at
a distance, we should certainly have gone defunct
through sheer ennui, had not fortune sent
us a fresh volunteer—a regular "broth of a
boy," from the Emerald Isle, who afforded
ample scope for the exercise of our mischievous
propensities during our hours of idleness.</p>
<p>A volunteer—be it known to all who know it<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">237</a></span>
not—is generally a young man with some pretensions
to gentility—and while, with some,
those pretensions are so admirably disguised
as to be scarcely visible to the naked eye, in
others they are conspicuous; but, in either case,
they are persons who, being without the necessary
influence to obtain a commission at home,
get a letter of introduction to the commander
of the forces in the field, who, if he approves,
attaches them to regiments, and, while they
are treated as gentlemen out of the field, they
receive the pay, and do the duty of private soldiers
in it. In every storming party or service
of danger, in which any portion of a regiment is
engaged, if a volunteer is attached to it, he is
expected to make one of the number, and, if
a bullet does not provide for him in the meantime,
he eventually succeeds to the commission
of some officer who has fallen in action.</p>
<p>Tommy Dangerfield, the hero of my tale,
was, no doubt, (as we all are,) the hero of his
mother—in stature he was middle sized—rather
bull shouldered, and walked with bent knees—<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">238</a></span>his
face was a fresh good-natured one, but with
the usual sinister cast in the eye worn by common
Irish country countenances—in short,
Tommy was rather a good-looking, and, in
reality, not a bad, fellow, and the only mistake
which he seemed to have made, was in the
choice of his profession, for which his general
appearance and his ideas altogether disqualified
him—nevertherless, had he fallen into
other hands it is possible that he might have
passed muster with tolerable repute until the
termination of the war; but I don't know how
it was, nor do I know whether we differed from
other regiments in the same respect, but our
first and most uncharitable aim was to discover
the weak points of every fresh arrival, and to
attack him through them. If he had redeeming
qualities, he, of course, came out scatheless,
but, if not, he was dealt with most unmercifully.
Poor Tommy had none such—he was weak on
all sides, and therefore went to the wall.</p>
<p>At the time he joined, we were unusually
situated with regard to the enemy, for, on ordinary<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">239</a></span>
occasions, we had their sentries opposite
to ours within a few hundred yards; but, at that
period, we had the French garrison of Ciudad
Rodrigo behind us, with the 52d regiment between;
while the nearest enemy in our front was
distant some ten or twelve miles—nevertheless,
our first essay was to impress Tommy with a
notion that our village was a fortified place, and
that we were closely blockaded on all sides—and
it became our daily amusement to form a reconnoitring
party to endeavour to penetrate beyond
the posts—which posts, be it remarked, were
held by a few of our own men, disguised for
the purpose, and posted at the out-skirts of the
village wood.</p>
<p>Tommy, though not a desperate character,
shewed no want of pluck—wherever we went he
followed, and wherever we fled he led the way!</p>
<p>On the first occasion of the kind we got him
on horseback, and conducting him through the
wood until we received the expected volley, we
took to our heels in the hope that he would get
unseated in the flight, but he held on like grim<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">240</a></span>
death, and arrived in the village with the loss of
his cap only. It was, however, brought to him
in due time by an old rifleman of the name of
Brotherwood, who had commanded the enemy
on that occasion, but who claimed peculiar merit
in its recovery; and, having taken the opportunity
of cutting a hole in it as if a ball had
passed through, he got a dollar for the cut!</p>
<p>Poor Tommy, from that time, led the life of
the devil—he could not shew his nose outside
his own house that he was not fired at—and
whenever we made up a larger party to shew
him more of the world it was only to lead him
into further mischief.</p>
<p>I was some time after this removed into the
left wing of our regiment, which belonged to a
different brigade, so that I ceased to be a daily
witness of his torments, though aware that they
went on as theretofore.</p>
<p>Tommy continued to rub on for a considerable
time. Death had become busy in our ranks—first,
by the siege and storming of Ciudad Rodrigo,
and immediately after, by that of Badajos.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">241</a></span>
I had heard little or nothing of him during
those stirring events of real war—and it was not
until the morning after the storming of Badajos
that he again came under my notice—from
having heard that he had been missing the night
before. I there saw him turn up, like a half-drowned
rat, covered with mud and wet, which
looked very much as if he had passed the night
in the inundation, adjoining the breach, up to
his neck in the water, and probably a little
deeper at times, when the fire-balls were flying
thickest. He nevertheless contrived to hold on
yet a little longer—one day, (agreeably to order,)
taking post in the middle of a river, with his
face towards Ispahan, to watch the enemy in
that direction—and the next day, in conformity
with the same orders, applying to the quarter-master-general
for a route for himself and party
to go to Kamskatcha to recruit, he got so bewildered
that he could not distinguish between a
sham and a real order, and, at last, when in
the face of the enemy, in front of Salamanca,
he absolutely refused to take the duty for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">242</a></span>
which he had been ordered, and was consequently
obliged to cut.</p>
<p>It was the best thing that could have happened
both for him and the service; for, as
I said before, he had mistaken his profession,
and as he was yet but a youth, it is to be hoped
that he afterwards stumbled upon the right one.</p>
<p>Atalya, which we now occupied, is a mountain
village about half a league in front of the
Vadillo. The only amusing characters we found
in it were the pigs. I know not whether any
process was resorted to in the mornings to entice
them from their homes to grub up the
falling acorns from the beautiful little evergreen
oaks which adorned the hills above, but it was a
great scene every evening at sunset to go to the
top of the village, and see about five hundred
of them coming thundering down the face of
the mountain at full speed, and each galloping
in to his own door.</p>
<p>We had been a considerable time there before
we discovered that the neighbourhood could
furnish metal more attractive, but a shooting<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">243</a></span>
excursion at last brought us acquainted with the
Quinta Horquera (I think it was called), a very
respectable farm-house, situated on a tongue of
land formed by the junction of another mountain
stream with the Vadillo.</p>
<p>The house itself was nothing out of the common
run, but its inmates were, for we found it
occupied by the chief magistrate of Ciudad
Rodrigo, with his wife and daughter, and two
young female relatives. He himself was a
staunch friend of his country, and when the
fortress of Rodrigo fell into the hands of the
French, rather than live in communion with
them, he retired with his family to that remote
property, in the hope that as it was so much
out of the way he might rest there in peace
and security until circumstances enabled him
to resume his position in society as a true and
loyal Spaniard; but as the sequel will shew, he
had reckoned without his host, for with a British
regiment in the neighbourhood, and his house
filled with young ladies he was an unreasonable
man to expect peace there, and the enemy also<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">244</a></span>
by and bye came down upon him, as if to prove
that his notions of security were equally fallacious.</p>
<p>Don Miguel himself was a splendid ruin of a
man of three score, of a majestic figure, regular
features, and stern dark Castilian countenance.
He was kind and amusing withal, for though
his own face was forbidden to smile, yet he
seemed to enjoy it in others, and did all in his
power to promote amusement, that is, as much
as a Spaniard ever does.</p>
<p>His wife was very tall and very slender—the
skin of her pale fleshless face fitting so tight as
to make it look like a pin-head. She was very
passive and very good-natured, her other day
having long passed by.</p>
<p>Their only daughter was a woman about
twenty-eight years of age, with rather a dull
pock-pitted countenance, and a tall, stout, clumsy
figure. She had very little of the Spaniard in
her composition, but was nevertheless a kind
good-natured girl. Her relatives, however, were
metal of another sort: the eldest was a remarkably<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">245</a></span>
well made plump little figure, with a fair
complexion, natural curly hair, and a face full
of dimples which shewed eternal sunshine; while
her sister, as opposite as day from night, shewed
the flashing dark eye, sallow complexion, and
the light sylph-like figure for which her country-women
are so remarkable. To look at her was
to see a personification of that beautiful description
of Byron's in his first canto of Childe
<span class="locked">Harold—</span></p>
<div class="poem-container">
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="iq">"Yet are Spain's maids no race of Amazons,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">But formed for all the witching arts of love!"<br /></span>
</div></div>
</div>
<p>Their house, under the circumstances in which
we were placed, became an agreeable lounge for
many of us for a month or two, for though the
sports of the field, with the limited means at our
disposal, formed our daily amusement, we always
contrived that it should terminate somewhere in
the neighbourhood of the Quinta, where we
were sure of three things—a hearty welcome, a
dish of conversation, and another of chestnuts
fried in hog's-lard, with a glass of aguadente to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">246</a></span>
wind up with, which, after the fatigues of the
day, carried us comfortably home to our more
substantial repast, with a few little pleasing
recollections to dream about.</p>
<p>The French marshal, as if envious of our enjoyments,
meagre as they were, put a sudden
stop to them. His advance, however, was not
so rapid but that we were enabled to give our
first care towards providing for the safety of our
friends of the Quinta, by assisting them with
the means of transporting themselves to a more
remote glen in the mountains, before it was
necessary to look to our own, and</p>
<div class="poem-container">
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Although the links of love that morn<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Which War's rude hands had asunder torn<br /></span>
</div></div>
</div>
<p class="in0">had not been patent ones, yet did it savour
somewhat of chivalric times when we had been
one evening in the field in the front of the
Quinta sporting with the young and the lovely
of the land, as if wars and rumours of wars
were to be heard of no more.</p>
<p>I say I felt it rather queerish or so, to be<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">247</a></span>
spreading down my boat-cloak for a bed in the
same field the next night, with an enemy in my
front, for so it was, and to find myself again
before day-light next morning, from my cold
clay couch, gazing at the wonderful comet of
1811, that made such capital claret, and wishing
that he would wag his fiery tale a little
nearer to my face, for it was so stiff with hoar
frost that I dared neither to laugh nor cry for
fear of breaking it.</p>
<p>We passed yet another night in the same field
hallowed by such opposite recollections; but
next day, independently of the gathered strength
of the enemy in our front, we found a fight of
some magnitude going on behind us, the combat
of Elbodon; and our major-general, getting
alarmed at last at his own temerity, found a
sleeping place for us, some distance in the rear,
in a hollow, where none but the comet and its
companions might be indulged with a look.</p>
<p>Our situation was more than ticklish—with
an enemy on three sides and an almost impassable
mountain on the fourth—but starting with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">248</a></span>
the lark next morning and passing through Robledillo,
we happily succeeded in joining the
army in front of Guinaldo in the afternoon, to
the no small delight of his Grace of Wellington,
whose judicious and daring front with half the
enemy's numbers, had been our salvation. And
it must no doubt have been a mortifying reflection
to our divisional chief, to find that his
obstinacy and disobedience of orders had not
only placed his own division, but that of the
whole army in such imminent peril.</p>
<p>Marmont had no doubt a laurel-wreath in
embryo for the following day, but he had allowed
<i>his</i> day to go by; the night was ours and
we used it, so that when day-light broke, he
had nothing but empty field-works to wreak his
vengeance on. He followed us along the road,
with some sharp partial fighting at one or two
places, and there seemed a probability of his
coming on to the position in which Lord Wellington
felt disposed to give him battle; but a
scarcity of provisions forced him to retrace his
steps, and break up to a certain extent for the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">249</a></span>
subsistence of his army, while our retreat terminated
at Soita, which it appeared was about
the spot on which Lord Wellington had determined
to make a stand.</p>
<p>I shall ever remember our night at Soita for
one thing. The commissariat had been about
to destroy a cask of rum in the course of that
day's retreat, when at the merciful intercession
of one of my brother officers, it was happily
spared and turned over to his safe keeping, and
he shewed himself deserving of the trust, for
by wonderful dexterity and management, he
contrived to get it wheeled along to our resting-place,
when establishing himself under the
awning of a splendid chestnut-tree, he hung out
the usual emblem of its being the head-quarters
of a highland chief—not for the purpose of
scaring way-fairers as erst did his forefathers
of yore, to exclude the worthy Baillie Nicol
Jarvie from the clachan of Aberfoyle—but for
the more hospitable one of inviting them to be
partakers thereof; and need I add that among
the many wearers of empty calabashes which<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">250</a></span>
the chances of war had there assembled around
him, the call was cheerfully responded to, and
a glorious group very quickly assembled.</p>
<p>The morrow promised to be a bloody one; but
we cared not for the morrow:—"sufficient for
the day is the evil thereof:"—the song and the
jest went merrily round, and, if the truth must
be told, I believe that though we carried our
cups to the feast, we all went back in them,
and with the satisfaction of knowing that we had
relieved our gallant chieftain of all further care
respecting the contents of the cask.</p>
<p>The enemy having withdrawn the same night,
we retraced our steps, next day, to our former
neighbourhood; and though we were occasionally
stirred up and called together by the
menacing attitudes of our opponents, yet we
remained the unusually long period of nearly
three months without coming again into actual
contact with them.</p>
<p>No officer during that time had one fraction
to rub against another; and when I add that
our paunches were nearly as empty as our<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">251</a></span>
pockets, it will appear almost a libel upon common
sense to say that we enjoyed it; yet so it
was,—our very privations were a subject of pride
and boast to us, and there still continued to be
an <i>esprit de corps</i>,—a buoyancy of feeling
animating all, which nothing could quell; we
were alike ready for the field or for frolic, and
when not engaged in the one, went headlong
into the other.</p>
<p>Ah me! when I call to mind that our chief
support in those days of trial was the anticipated
delight of recounting those tales in after
years, to wondering and admiring groups around
our domestic hearths, in merry England; and
when I find that so many of these after years
have already passed, and that the folks who
people these present years, care no more about
these dear-bought tales of former ones than if
they were spinning-wheel stories of some "auld
wife ayont the fire;" I say it is not only enough to
make me inflict them with a book, as I have done,
but it makes me wish that I had it all to do over<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">252</a></span>
again; and I think it would be very odd if I
would not do exactly as I have done, for I knew
no happier times, and they were their own
reward!</p>
<p>It is worthy of remark that Lord Wellington,
during the time I speak of, had made his arrangements
for pouncing upon the devoted fortress of
Ciudad Rodrigo, with such admirable secrecy,
that his preparations were not even known to
his own army.</p>
<p>I remember, about a fortnight before the siege
commenced, hearing that some gabions and
fascines were being made in the neighbourhood,
but it was spoken of as a sort of sham preparation,
intended to keep the enemy on the <i>qui
vive</i>, as it seemed improbable that he would
dare to invest a fortress in the face of an army
which he had not force enough to meet in the
field, unless on some select position; nor was it
until the day before we opened the trenches that
we became quite satisfied that he was in earnest.</p>
<p>The sieges, stormings, and capture of Ciudad<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">253</a></span>
Rodrigo and Badajos followed hard on each
other's heels; and as I gave a short detail of the
operations in my former volume, it only remains
for me now to introduce such anecdotes and
remarks as were there omitted.</p>
<p>The garrison of Ciudad was weak in number,
but had a superabundant store of ammunition,
which was served out to us with a
liberal hand; yet, curious enough, except what
was bestowed on the working parties, (and that
was plenty in all conscience,) the greater portion
of what was intended for the supporting
body was expended in air, for they never seemed
to have discovered the true position of the
besieging force; and though some few of us, in
the course of each night, by chance-shots, got
transferred from natural to eternal sleep, yet
their shells were chiefly employed in the ploughing-up
of a hollow way between two hills, where
we were supposed to have been, and which
they did most effectually at their own cost.</p>
<p>When our turn of duty came for the trenches,
however, we never had reason to consider ourselves<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">254</a></span>
neglected, but, on the contrary, could
well spare what was sent at random.</p>
<p>I have often heard it disputed whether the
most daring deeds are done by men of good or
bad repute, but I never felt inclined to give
either a preference over the other, for I have
seen the most desperate things done by both. I
remember one day during the siege that a shell
pitched in the trenches within a few yards of a
noted bad character of the 52d regiment, who,
rather than take the trouble of leaping out of
the trench until it had exploded, went very
deliberately up, took it in his arms, and pitched
it outside, obliging those to jump back who had
there taken shelter from it.</p>
<p>A wild young officer, whose eccentricities and
death, at Waterloo, were noticed in my former
volume, was at that time at variance with his
father on the subject of pecuniary matters, and
in mounting the breach, at Ciudad, sword in
hand, while both sides were falling thick and
fast, he remarked to a brother-officer alongside
of him, in his usual jocular way, "Egad, if I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">255</a></span>
had my old father here now, I think I should be
able to bring him to terms!"</p>
<p>Nothing shows the spirit of daring and inherent
bravery of the British soldier so much as in
the calling for a body of volunteers for any
desperate service. In other armies, as Napier
justly remarks, the humblest helmet may catch
a beam of glory; but in ours, while the subaltern
commanding the forlorn hope may look for
death or a company, and the field-officer commanding
the stormers an additional step by
brevet, to the other officers and soldiers who
volunteer on that desperate service, no hope
is held out—no reward given; and yet there
were as many applicants for a place in the
ranks as if it led to the highest honours and rewards.</p>
<p>At the stormings of Badajos and St. Sebastian
I happened to be the adjutant of the regiment,
and had the selection of the volunteers on those
occasions, and I remember that there was as
much anxiety expressed, and as much interest
made by all ranks to be appointed to the post of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">256</a></span>
honour, as if it had been sinecure situations,
in place of death-warrants, which I had at my
disposal.</p>
<p>For the storming of St. Sebastian, the numbers
from our battalion were limited to twenty-five;
and in selecting the best characters out of
those who offered themselves, I rejected an Irishman
of the name of Burke, who, although he
had been on the forlorn hope both at Ciudad
and Badajos, and was a man of desperate bravery,
I knew to be one of those wild untameable
animals that, the moment the place was
carried, would run into every species of excess.</p>
<p>The party had been named two days before
they were called for, and Burke besieged my
tent night and day, assuring me all the while
that unless he was suffered to be of the party,
the place would not be taken! I was forced at
last to yield, after receiving an application in his
behalf from the officer who was to command the
party; and he was one of the very few of that
gallant little band who returned to tell the story.</p>
<p>Nor was that voracious appetite for fire-eating<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">257</a></span>
confined to the private soldier, for it extended
alike to all ranks. On the occasion just alluded
to, our quota, as already stated, was limited to
a subaltern's command of twenty-five men; and
as the post of honour was claimed by the senior
lieutenant, (Percival,) it in a manner shut the
mouths of all the juniors; yet were there some
whose mouths would not be shut,—one in particular
(Lieutenant H.) who had already seen
enough of fighting to satisfy the mind of any
reasonable man, for he had stormed and bled at
Ciudad Rodrigo, and he had stormed at Badajos,
not to mention his having had his share in many,
and not nameless battles, which had taken place
in the interim; yet nothing would satisfy him
but that he must draw his sword in that also.</p>
<p>Our colonel was too heroic a soul himself to
check a feeling of that sort in those under him,
and he very readily obtained the necessary permission
to be a volunteer along with the party.
Having settled his temporal affairs, namely,
willing away his pelisse, jacket, two pairs of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">258</a></span>
trousers, and sundry nether garments,—and
however trifling these bequests may appear to a
military youth of the present day, who happens
to be reconnoitring a merchant tailor's settlement
in St. James's Street, yet let me tell him that,
at the time I speak of, they were valued as
highly as if they had been hundreds a year in
reversion.</p>
<p>The prejudice against will-making by soldiers
on service is so strong, that had H. been a rich
man in place of a poor one, he must have
died on the spot for doing what was accounted
infinitely more desperate than storming a breach;
but his poverty seemed to have been his salvation,
for he was only half killed,—a ball entered
under his eye, passed down the roof of the
mouth, through the palate, entered again at the
collar-bone, and was cut out at the shoulder-blade.
He never again returned to his regiment,
but I saw him some years after, in his
native country (Ireland), in an active situation,
and, excepting that he had gotten an ugly mark<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">259</a></span>
on his countenance, and his former manly voice
had dwindled into a less commanding one, he
seemed as well as ever I saw him.</p>
<p>Will-making, as already hinted at, was, in the
face of the enemy, reckoned the most daring of
all daring deeds, for the doer was always considered
a doomed man, and it was but too often
verified—not but that the same fatality must
have marked him out without it; but so strong
was the prejudice generally on that subject that
many a goodly estate has, in consequence,
passed into what, under other circumstances,
would have been forbidden hands.</p>
<p>On the subject of presentiments of death in
going into battle, I have known as many instances
of falsification as verification. To the latter the
popular feeling naturally clings as the more interesting
of the two; but I am inclined to
think that the other would preponderate if the
account could be justly rendered. The officer
alluded to may be taken as a specimen of
the former—he had been my messmate and
companion at the sieges and stormings of both<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">260</a></span>
Ciudad and Badajos—and on the morning after
the latter, he told me that he had had a presentiment
that he would have fallen the night
before, though he had been ashamed to confess
it sooner—and yet to his credit be it spoken,
so far from wishing to avoid, he coveted the
post of danger—as his duty for that day would
have led him to the trenches, but he exchanged
with another officer, on purpose to ensure himself
a place in the storm.</p>
<p>Of my own feelings on the point in consideration,
I am free to say that, while I have been
engaged in fifty actions, in which I have neither
had the time, nor taken the trouble to ask myself
any questions on the subject, but encountered
them in whatever humour I happened to
be—yet, in many others, (the eve of pitched
battles,) when the risk was imminent, and certain
that one out of every three must go to the
ground, I have asked myself the question, "Do
I feel like a <i>dead</i> man?" but I was invariably
answered point blank, "<i>No!</i>" And yet must I
still look like a superstitious character, when I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">261</a></span>
declare that the only time that I ever went into
action, labouring under a regular depression of
spirits, was on the evening on which the musket-ball
felt my head at Foz d'Aronce.</p>
<p>But to return to the storming of Ciudad.
The moment which is the most dangerous to the
honour and the safety of a British army is that
in which they have won the place they have assaulted.
While outside the walls, and linked
together by the magic hand of discipline, they
are heroes—but once they have forced themselves
inside they become demons or lunatics—for it is
difficult to determine which spirit predominates.</p>
<p>To see the two storming divisions assembled
in the great square that night, mixed up in a
confused mass, shooting at each other, and
firing in at different doors and windows, without
the shadow of a reason, was enough to
drive any one, who was in possession of his
senses, mad. The prisoners were formed in
a line on one side of the square—unarmed,
it is true—but, on my life, had they made<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">262</a></span>
a simultaneous rush forward, they might have
made a second Bergen-op-Zoom of it—for so
absolute was the sway of the demon of misrule,
that half of our men, I verily believe, would
have been panic-struck and thrown themselves
into the arms of death, over the ramparts, to
escape a danger that either did not exist or
might have been easily avoided. After calling,
and shouting, until I was hoarse in endeavouring
to restore order, and when my voice was no longer
audible, seeing a soldier raising his piece to fire
at a window, I came across his shoulders with
a musket-barrel which I had in my hand, and
demanded, "What the devil, sir, are you firing
at?" to which he answered, "I don't know,
sir! I am firing because every body else is!"</p>
<p>The storming of a fortress was a new era to
the British army of that day, and it is not
to be wondered at if the officers were not fully
alive to the responsibility which attaches to
them on such an occasion—but on their conduct
every thing hinges—by judgement and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">263</a></span>
discretion men may be kept together—but once
let them loose and they are no longer redeemable.</p>
<p>I have often lamented that speechifying was
at such a discount in those days, for, excepting
what was promulgated in Lord Wellington's
orders, which were necessarily brief, the subordinates
knew nothing of the past, present, or
the future, until the glimpse of an English
newspaper some months after served to enlighten
their understandings; but there were
every day occasions, in which the slightest hint
from our superiors, as to the probable results,
would have led to incalculable advantages, and
in none more so than in the cases now quoted.
So far from recommending caution, the chief of
one of the storming divisions is grievously belied
if he did not grant some special licenses for that
particular occasion, though I am bound to say
for him that he did all he could to repress them
when he found the advantage taken.</p>
<p>Ciudad, being a remote frontier fortress,
could boast of few persons of any note within
its walls—our worthy friends of Horquera, (the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">264</a></span>
Alcaldé, with his family,) were probably the
best, and he returned and resumed his official
functions as soon as he found that the place had
reverted to its legal owners—his house had been
a princely one, but was, unfortunately, situated
behind the great breach, and was blown to
atoms—so that, for the time being, he was
obliged to content himself with one more humble—though,
if I may speak as I have felt, I
should say not less comfortable, for I contrived
to make it my home as often as I could find an
excuse for so doing—and, as the old Proverb
goes, "where there is a will there is a way,"
it was as often as I could.</p>
<p>One portion of the ceremony of Spanish hospitality
was their awaking me about five in the
morning to take a cup of chocolate, made so
thick that a tea-spoon might stand in it, which,
with a little crisp brown toast, was always administered
by the fair hands of one of the damsels,
and certes I never could bring myself to
consider it an annoyance, however unusual it
may seem in this cold land of ours.</p>
<hr />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">265</a></span></p>
<h2><a name="CHAP_XI" id="CHAP_XI">CHAP. XI.</a><br />
<span class="subhead">Very short, with a few anecdotes still shorter; but the principal
actors thought the scenes long enough.</span></h2>
<p class="in0">After the fall of Ciudad Rodrigo, our battalion
took possession for a time of Ituera, a pretty
little village on the banks of the Azava.</p>
<p>It was a delightful coursing country, abounding
in hares; and as the chase in those days
afforded a double gratification—the one present,
and the other in perspective, (the dinner hour,)
it was always followed with much assiduity. The
village, too, happened to be within a short ride of
Ciudad, so that frequent visits to our friends
formed an agreeable variety, and rendered our
short sojourn there a season of real enjoyment.</p>
<p>I was much struck, on first entering Spain, in
observing what appeared to be a gross absurdity<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">266</a></span>
in their religious observances; for whenever one
of those processions was heard approaching, the
girls, no matter how they had been employed,
immediately ran to the window, where, kneeling
down, they continued repeating their <i>aves</i> until
it had passed, when they jumped up again and
were ready for any frolic or mischief.</p>
<p>Such was the effect produced inwardly by the
outward passage of the <i>Hoste</i>, but it was not
until I went to Ituera that I had an opportunity
of witnessing the fatal results of a more familiar
visit from those gentlemen bearing torches and
dark lanterns, for they certainly seemed to me to
put several souls to flight before they were duly
prepared for it.</p>
<p>One happened to be the landlady of the house
in which I was quartered, a woman about three
score, and blind; but she was, nevertheless, as
merry as a cricket, and used to amuse us over
the fireside in the evening, while "twisting her
rock and her wee pickle tow," in chaunting
Malbrook and other ditties equally interesting,
with a voice which at one time might have had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">267</a></span>
a little music in it, but had then degenerated
into the squeak of a penny trumpet.</p>
<p>In her last evening on earth, she had treated us
with her usual serenade, and seemed as likely to
live a dozen years longer as any one of the group
around her; but on my return from a field-day
next forenoon, I met the Padré, the sexton, and
their usual accompaniments, marching out of the
house to the tune of that <i>grave</i> air of theirs;
and I saw that further question was needless,
for the tears of the attendant damsels told me
the tale of woe.</p>
<p>Her sudden departure was to me most unaccountable,
nor could I ever obtain an explanation
beyond that she was very aged; that they had
sent for the Father to comfort her, and now she
was happy in the keeping of their blessed
Virgin.</p>
<p>There was much weeping and wailing for a day
or two, and her grand-daughter, a tall thin lath
of a girl, about eleven or twelve years of age,
seemed the most distressed of the group. It so
happened that a few days after, an order was
promulgated authorising us to fill up our ranks<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">268</a></span>
with Spanish recruits, to the extent of ten men
for each company, and I started off to some of
the neighbouring villages, where we were well-known,
in the hope of being able to pick up some
good ones. On my return I was rather amused
to find that the damsel already mentioned, whom
I had left ten days before bathed in tears, was
already a blushing bride in the hands of a strapping
muleteer.</p>
<p>While on the subject of those Spanish recruits
I may here remark that we could not persuade
the countrymen to join us, and it was not until
we got to Madrid that we succeeded in procuring
the prescribed number for our battalion. Those
we got, however, were a very inferior sample of
the Spaniard, and we therefore expected little
from them, but to their credit be it recorded,
they turned out admirably well—they were orderly
and well-behaved in quarters, and thoroughly
good in the field; and they never went
into action that they had not their full portion of
casualties.</p>
<p>There were fifty of them originally, and at the
close of the war, (about a year and a half after,)<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">269</a></span>
I think there were about seventeen remaining,
and there had not been a single desertion from
among them. When we were leaving the country
they received some months' gratuitous pay and
were discharged, taking with them our best
wishes, which they richly merited.</p>
<p>Lord Wellington during the whole of the war
kept a pack of fox-hounds, and while they contributed
not a little to the amusement of whatever
portion of the army happened to be within
reach of head-quarters, they were to his
Lordship valuable in many ways; for while he
enjoyed the chase as much as any, it gave him
an opportunity of seeing and conversing with the
officers of the different departments, and other
individuals, without attracting the notice of the
enemy's emissaries; and the pursuits of that
manly exercise, too, gave him a better insight
into the characters of the individuals under him,
than he could possibly have acquired by years
of acquaintance under ordinary circumstances.</p>
<p>It is not unusual to meet, in the society of the
present day, some old Peninsular trump, with the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">270</a></span>
rank very probably of a field officer, and with a
face as polished, and its upper story as well furnished
as the figure-head of his sword hilt,
gravely asserting that all the merit which the
Duke of Wellington has acquired from his victories
was due to the troops! And having plundered
the Commander-in-Chief of his glory, and
divided it among the followers, he, as an officer
of those same followers, very complacently claims
a field officer's allowance in the division of the
spoil.</p>
<p>I would stake all I have in this world that no
man ever heard such an opinion from the lips of
a private soldier—I mean a thorough good service
one—for the ideas of such men are beyond
it; and I have ever found that their proudest
stories relate to the good or gallant deeds of
those above them. It is impossible, therefore, to
hear such absurdities advanced by one in the
rank of an officer, without marvelling by what
fortuitous piece of luck he, with the military
capacity of a baggage animal, had contrived to
hold his commission, for he must have been<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">271</a></span>
deeply indebted to the clemency of those above,
and takes the usual method of that class of
persons, to shew his sense thereof, by kicking
down the ladder by which he ascended.</p>
<p>Our civil brethren in general are of necessity
obliged to swallow a considerable portion of
whatever we choose to place before them. But
when they meet with such an one as I have described,
they may safely calculate that whenever
the items of his services can be collected, it will
be found that his Majesty has had a hard bargain!
For, knowing, as every one does, what the
best ship's crew would be afloat in the wide
world of waters without a master, they may, on
the same principle, bear in mind that there can
no more be an efficient army without a good
general, than there can be an efficient general
without a good army, for the one is part and
parcel of the other—they cannot exist singly!</p>
<p>The touching on the foregoing subject naturally
obliges me to wander from my narrative to
indulge in a few professional observations, illustrative
not only of war but of its instruments.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">272</a></span></p>
<p>Those unaccustomed to warfare, are apt to
imagine that a field of battle is a scene of confusion
worse confounded, but that is a mistake,
for, except on particular occasions, there is in
general no noise or confusion any thing like
what takes place on ordinary field days in
England. I have often seen half the number of
troops put to death, without half the bluster and
confusion which takes place in a sham fight in
the Phœnix-Park of Dublin.</p>
<p>The man who blusters at a field day is not
the man who does it on the field of battle: on
the contrary his thoughts there are generally too
big for utterance, and he would gladly squeeze
himself into a nutshell if he could. The man
who makes a noise on the field of battle is
generally a good one, but all rules have their
exceptions, for I have seen one or two thorough
good ones, who were blusterers in both situations;
but it nevertheless betrays a weakness in
any officer who is habitually noisy about trifles,
from the simple fact that when any thing of importance
occurs to require an extraordinary<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">273</a></span>
exertion of lungs, nature cannot supply him with
the powers requisite to make the soldiers understand
that it is the consequence of an occurrence
more serious, than the trifle he was in the habit
of making a noise about.</p>
<p>In soldiering, as in every thing else, except
Billingsgate and ballad singing, the cleverest
things are done quietly.</p>
<p>At the storming of the heights of Bera, on the
8th of October, 1813, Colonel, now Sir John
Colbourne, who commanded our second brigade,
addressed his men before leading them up to the
enemy's redoubt with, "Now, my lads, we'll just
charge up to the edge of the ditch, and if we
can't get in, we'll stand there and fire in their
faces." They charged accordingly, the enemy
fled from the works, and in following them up
the mountain, Sir John, in rounding a hill, accompanied
only by his brigade-major and a few
riflemen, found that he had headed a retiring
body of about 300 of the French, and whispering
to his brigade-major to get as many men together
as he could, he without hesitation rode<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">274</a></span>
boldly up to the enemy's commander, and demanded
his sword! The Frenchman surrendered
it with the usual grace of his countrymen, requesting
that the other would bear witness that
he had conducted himself like a good and valiant
soldier! Sir John answered the appeal with an
approving nod; for it was no time to refuse
bearing witness to the valour of 300 men, while
they were in the act of surrendering to half a
dozen.</p>
<p>If a body of troops is under fire, and so placed
as to be unable to return it, the officer commanding
should make it a rule to keep them
constantly on the move, no matter if it is but
two side steps to the right or one to the front, it
always makes them believe they are doing something,
and prevents the mind from brooding over
a situation which is the most trying of any.</p>
<p>The coolness of an officer in action, if even
shewn in trifles, goes a great way towards maintaining
the steadiness of the men. At the battle
of Waterloo, I heard Sir John Lambert call one
of his commanding officers to order for repeating<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">275</a></span>
his (the general's) word of command, reminding
him that when the regiments were in contiguous
close columns, they ought to take it from
himself! As the brigade was under a terrific
fire at the time, the notice of such a trifling
breach of rule shewed, at all events, that the
gallant general was at home!</p>
<p>In the course of the five days' fighting which
took place near Bayonne, in December, 1813, a
singular change of fate, with its consequent interchange
of civilities, took place between the
commanding officer of a French regiment and
one of ours; I forget whether it was the 4th or
9th, but I think it was one of the regiments of
that brigade—it had been posted amongst some
enclosures which left both its flanks at the
mercy of others.</p>
<p>The fighting at that place had been very
severe, with various success, and while the
regiment alluded to was hotly engaged in front,
a French corps succeeded in getting in their rear;
when the enemy's commandant advancing to
the English one, apologised for troubling him,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">276</a></span>
but begged to point out that he was surrounded,
and must consider himself his prisoner! While
the British colonel was listening to the mortifying
intelligence, and glancing around to see
if no hope of escape was left, he observed
another body of English in the act of compassing
the very corps by which he had been
caught; and, returning the Frenchman's salute,
begged his pardon for presuming to differ with
him in opinion, but that he was labouring under
a mistake, for he (the Frenchman) was, on the
contrary, his prisoner, pointing in his turn to the
movement that had taken place while they had
been disputing the point. As the fact did not
admit of a doubt, the Frenchman giving a shrug
of the shoulders, and uttering a lament over
the fickleness of the war-goddess, quietly
surrendered.</p>
<hr />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">277</a></span></p>
<h2><a name="CHAP_XII" id="CHAP_XII">CHAP. XII.</a><br />
<span class="subhang">Shewing rough visitors receiving a rough reception. Some
living and moving specimens thereof. Tailors not such
fractions of humanity as is generally believed. Gentle
visitors receiving a gentle reception, which ends by shewing
that two shakes joined together sound more melodiously
on the heart-strings than two hands which shake of their
own accord.</span></h2>
<p class="in0">Pass we on to Badajos—to that last, that
direful, but glorious night—the 6th of April—"so
fiercely fought, so terribly won, so dreadful
in all its circumstances, that posterity can
scarcely be expected to credit the tale."</p>
<p>Any one who has taken the trouble to read
and digest what Napier has said in vindication
of the measures adopted by Lord Wellington for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">278</a></span>
the subjugation of those fortresses in the manner
in which it was done, must feel satisfied that
their propriety admits of no dispute. But as
the want of time rendered it necessary to set
the arts and sciences at defiance—and that, if
carried at all, it must have been done with an
extra sacrifice of human life, it will for ever remain
a matter of opinion at what period of the
siege the assault should have been made with
the best prospect of success, and with the least
probable loss—and such being the case it must
be free to every writer to offer his own ideas.</p>
<p>Lord Wellington, as is well known, waited
on each occasion for open breaches, and was
each time successful—so far he did well, and
they may do better who can. Colonel Lamarre
would have attacked Badajos the first night of
the siege with better hopes of success than on
the last, as the garrison, he says, would have
been less prepared, and the defences not so complete.
But I differ from him on both positions,
for, depend upon it, that every garrison is excessively<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">279</a></span>
alive for the first few days after they
have been invested. And as to defensive preparations,
I have reason to think that few after
ones of consequence took place, but those of
counteracting the effects of our battering guns.</p>
<p>I am, nevertheless, one of those who would
like to see the attempt made at an intermediate
period. Breaches certainly serve the important
end of distracting the attention of the garrison,
and leading them to neglect other assailable
points—though, whenever they have the opportunity
of retrenching them, as at Badajos, they
are undoubtedly the strongest parts of the works.
I should therefore carry on the siege in the usual
manner until about the time the batteries began
to come into operation, and as it might then be
fairly presumed that the garrison, by the regular
order of proceedings, would be lulled into a
notion of temporary security, I should feel
monstrously inclined to try my luck. If it
turned up trumps it might save valuable time
and a thousand or two of valuable lives. If it<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">280</a></span>
failed, the loss would be in proportion; but it
would neither lose time, nor compromise the
result of the siege.</p>
<p>Colonel Jones, an able writer and an able
fighter, in his particular department, would have
had us do what his great guns ought to have
done on that memorable night—namely, to have
cleared away the defences on the top of the
breach, which he affirms might have been done
by the rush of a dense mass of troops. But
had he been where I was he would have seen
that there was no scarcity of rushes of dense
masses of troops; but, independently of every
other engine of destruction which human ingenuity
could invent—they were each time met by
a dense rush of balls, and it is the nature of
man to bow before them. No dense mass of
troops could reach the top of that breach.</p>
<p>Major (then Lieutenant) Johnston, of ours,
who was peculiarly calculated for desperate enterprize,
preceded the forlorn hope, in command
of a party carrying ropes, prepared with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">281</a></span>
nooses, to throw over the sword blades, as the
most likely method of displacing, by dragging
them down the breach; but he and his whole
party were stricken down before one of them
had got within throwing distance.</p>
<p>When an officer, as I have already mentioned,
with a presentiment of death upon him, resigned
a safe duty to take a desperate one—when
my own servant, rather than remain behind,
gave up his situation and took his place
in the ranks—when another man of ours (resolved
to win or to die,) thrust himself beneath
the chained sword blades, and there suffered the
enemy to dash his brains out with the ends of
their muskets—these, I say, out of as many
thousand instances of the kind which may be
furnished, will shew that there was no want of
daring leaders or desperate followers.</p>
<p>The defences on the tops of the breaches
ought to have been cleared away by our batteries
before the assault commenced. But failing
that, I cannot see why a couple of six-pounders
(or half a dozen) might not have been run up<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">282</a></span>
along with the storming party, to the crest of
the glacis. Our battalion took post there, and
lay about ten minutes unknown to the enemy,
and had a few guns been sent along with us,
I am confident that we could have taken them
up with equal silence, and had them pointed at
the right place—when, at the time that the
storming party commenced operations, a single
discharge from each, at that range of a few
yards, would not only have disturbed the economy
of the sword blades and sand-bags, but
astonished the wigs of those behind them. As it
was, however, when I visited the breaches next
morning, instead of seeing the ruin of a place
just carried by storm, the whole presented the
order and regularity of one freshly prepared to
meet it—not a sword blade deranged, nor a
sand-bag removed!</p>
<p>The advance of the fourth division had been
delayed by some accident, and the head of their
column did not reach the ditch until our first
attack had been repulsed, and when considerable
confusion consequently prevailed.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">283</a></span></p>
<p>The seventh Fusileers came gallantly on, headed
by Major ——, who, though a very little man,
shouted with the lungs of a giant, for the way
to be cleared, to "let the royal Fusileers advance!"
Several of our officers assisted him
in such a laudable undertaking; but, in the
mean time, a musket-ball found its way into
some sensitive part, and sent the gallant major
trundling heels over head among the loose stones,
shouting to a less heroic tune—while his distinguished
corps went determinedly on, but with no
better success than those who had just preceded
them, for the thing was not to be done.</p>
<p>After we had withdrawn from the ditch and
reformed the division for a renewal of the attack,
(it must have been then about two or three
o'clock in the morning,) some of those on the
look-out brought us information that the enemy
were leaving the breaches, and our battalion
was instantly moved forward to take possession.</p>
<p>We stole down into the ditch with the same
silence which marked our first advance—an occasional
explosion or a discharge of musketry<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">284</a></span>
continued to be heard in distant parts of the
works; but in the awful charnel pit we were
then traversing to reach the foot of the breach,
the only sounds that disturbed the night were
the moans of the dying, with an occasional
screech from others suffering under acute agony;
while a third class lying there disabled, and
alive to passing events, on hearing the movement
of troops, (though too dark to distinguish
them,) began proclaiming their names and regiments,
and appealing to individual officers and
soldiers of the different corps, on whose friendly
aid they seemed to feel that they could rely if
they happened to be within hearing.</p>
<p>It was a heart-rending moment to be obliged
to leave such appeals unheeded; but, though
the fate of those around might have been ours
the next instant, our common weal, our honour,
and our country's, alike demanded that every
thing should be sacrificed to secure the prize
which was now within our grasp; and our onward
movement was therefore continued into
the breach with measured tread and stern silence,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">285</a></span>
leaving the unfortunate sufferers to doubt
whether the stone walls around had not been
their only listeners.</p>
<p>Once established within the walls we felt
satisfied that the town was ours—and, profiting
by his experience at Ciudad, our commandant
(Colonel Cameron) took the necessary measures
to keep his battalion together, so long as the
safety of the place could in any way be compromised—for,
knowing the barbarous license which
soldiers employed in that desperate service
claim, and which they will not be denied, he
addressed them, and promised that they should
have the same indulgence as others, and that
he should not insist upon keeping them together
longer than was absolutely necessary; but he
assured them that if any man quitted the ranks
until he gave permission he would cause him
to be put to death on the spot. That had
the desired effect until between nine and ten
o'clock in the morning, when, seeing that the
whole of the late garrison had been secured and
marched off to Elvas, he again addressed his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">286</a></span>
battalion, and thanked them for their conduct
throughout: he concluded with, "Now, my men,
you may fall out and enjoy yourselves for the
remainder of the day, but I shall expect to see
you all in camp at the usual roll-call in the
evening!"</p>
<p>When the evening came, however, in place of
the usual tattoo report of all present, it was all
absent, and it could have been wished that the
irregularities had ended with that evening's
report.</p>
<p>As soon as a glimpse of day-light permitted I
went to take a look at the breach, and there
saw a solitary figure, with a drawn sword,
stalking over the ruins and the slain, which, in
the grey dawn of morning, appeared to my
astonished eyes like a headless trunk, and concluded
that it was the ghost of one of the departed
come in search of its earthly remains. I
cautiously approached to take a nearer survey,
when I found that it was Captain M'Nair, of
the 52d, with his head wrapped in a red handkerchief.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">287</a></span></p>
<p>He told me that he was looking for his cap
and his scabbard, both of which had parted
company from him in the storm, about that
particular spot; but his search proved a forlorn
hope. I congratulated him that his head had
not gone in the cap, as had been the case with
but too many of our mutual companions on that
fatal night.</p>
<p>When our regiment had reformed after the
assault we found a melancholy list of absent
officers, ten of whom were doomed never to see
it more, and it was not until our return to the
camp that we learnt the fate of all.</p>
<p>The wounded had found their way or
been removed to their own tents—the fallen
filled a glorious grave on the spot where they
fell.</p>
<p>The first tent that I entered was Johnston's,
with his shattered arm bandaged; he was lying
on his boat-cloak fast asleep; and, coupling his
appearance with the recollection of the daring
duty he had been called on to perform but a few
hours before, in front of the forlorn hope, I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">288</a></span>
thought that I had never set my eyes on a nobler
picture of a soldier. His whole appearance,
even in sleep, shewed exactly as it had been in
the execution of that duty; his splendid figure
was so disposed that it seemed as if he was
taking the first step on the breach—his eyebrows
were elevated—his nostrils still distended—and,
altogether, he looked as if he would clutch the
castle in his remaining hand. No one could
have seen him at that moment without saying,
"there lies a hero!"</p>
<p>Of the doomed, who still survived, was poor
Donald Mac Pherson, a gigantic highlander of
about six feet and a half, as good a soul as ever
lived; in peace a lamb—in war a lion. Donald
feared for nothing either in this world or the
next; he had been true to man and true to his
God, and he looked his last hour in the face
like a soldier and a Christian!</p>
<p>Donald's final departure from this life shewed
him a worthy specimen of his country, and his
methodical arrangements, while they prove what
I have stated, may, at the same time, serve as<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">289</a></span>
as a model for Joe Hume himself, when he
comes to cast up his last earthly accounts.</p>
<p>Donald had but an old mare and a portmanteau,
with its contents, worth about £15, to
leave behind him. He took a double inventory
of the latter, sending one to the regiment by
post, and giving the other in charge of his servant—and
paying the said worthy his wages up
to the probable day of his death; he gave him a
conditional order on the paymaster for whatever
more might be his due should he survive beyond
his time—and, if ever man did, he certainly
quitted this world with a clear conscience.</p>
<p>Poor Donald! peace be to thy manes, for
thou wert one whom memory loves to dwell on!</p>
<p>It is curious to remark the fatality which attends
individual officers in warfare. In our
regiment there were many fine young men who
joined us, and fell in their first encounter with
the enemy; but, amongst the old standing
dishes, there were some who never, by any
chance got hit, while others, again, never went
into action without.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">290</a></span></p>
<p>At the close of the war, when we returned to
England, if our battalion did not shew symptoms
of its being a well-shot corps, it is very
odd: nor was it to be wondered at if the camp-colours
were not covered with that precision,
nor the salute given with the grace usually expected
from a reviewed body, when I furnish
the following account of the officers commanding
companies on the day of inspection, viz.</p>
<p>Beckwith with a cork-leg—Pemberton and
Manners with a shot each in the knee, making
them as stiff as the other's tree one—Loftus
Gray with a gash in the lip, and minus a portion
of one heel, which made him march to the
tune of dot and go one—Smith with a shot in
the ankle—Eeles minus a thumb—Johnston, in
addition to other shot holes, a stiff elbow, which
deprived him of the power of disturbing his
friends as a scratcher of Scotch reels upon the
violin—Percival with a shot through his lungs.
Hope with a grape-shot lacerated leg—and George
Simmons with his riddled body held together by
a pair of stays, for his was no holyday waist, which<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">291</a></span>
naturally required such an appendage lest the
burst of a sigh should snap it asunder; but
one that appertained to a figure framed in nature's
fittest mould to "brave the battle and
the breeze!"</p>
<p>I know not to what particular circumstances
British tailors were in the first instance indebted,
for ranking them so low in the scale
of humanity, but, as far as my knowledge extends,
there never was a more traduced race.
Those of our regiment I know were among
the best soldiers in it, and more frequently hit
than any, very much to our mortification; for
the very limited allowance of an officer's campaigning
baggage left him almost constantly at
their mercy for the decoration of his outward
man; but as the musket-balls shewed no mercy
to them, we could not of course expect them to
extend it to us.</p>
<p>Our master-man having at this time got his
third shot, we deemed it high time to place him
on the shelf, by confining his operations in the
field, to the baggage guard. So long as we<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">292</a></span>
could preserve him in a condition to wield the
scissors, we luckily discovered that there were
minor thimble-plyers ready to rally round him,
for we should otherwise have been driven sometimes
to the extraordinary necessity of invading
the nether garments of the ladies!</p>
<p>The last night at Badajos had been to the
belligerents such as few had ever seen—the
next, to its devoted inhabitants, was such as
none would ever wish to see again, for there
was no sanctuary within its walls.</p>
<p>I was conversing with a friend the day after,
at the door of his tent, when we observed two
ladies coming from the city, who made directly
towards us; they seemed both young, and when
they came near, the elder of the two threw back
her <i>mantilla</i> to address us, shewing a remarkably
handsome figure, with fine features, but
her sallow, sunburnt, and careworn, though still
youthful countenance, shewed that in her, "The
time for tender thoughts and soft endearments
had fled away and gone."</p>
<p>She at once addressed us in that confident<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">293</a></span>
heroic manner so characteristic of the high bred
Spanish maiden, told us who they were, the last
of an ancient and honourable house, and referred
to an officer high in rank in our army, who had
been quartered there in the days of her prosperity,
for the truth of her tale.</p>
<p>Her husband she said was a Spanish officer
in a distant part of the kingdom; he might or
he might not still be living. But yesterday, she
and this her young sister were able to live in
affluence and in a handsome house—to day,
they knew not where to lay their heads—where
to get a change of raiment or a morsel of bread.
Her house, she said, was a wreck, and to shew
the indignities to which they had been subjected,
she pointed to where the blood was still trickling
down their necks, caused by the wrenching of
their earrings through the flesh, by the hands of
worse than savages who would not take the
trouble to unclasp them!</p>
<p>For herself, she said, she cared not; but for
the agitated, and almost unconscious maiden by
her side, whom she had but lately received over<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">294</a></span>
from the hands of her conventual instructresses,
she was in despair, and knew not what to do;
and that in the rapine and ruin which was at that
moment desolating the city, she saw no security
for her but the seemingly indelicate one she had
adopted, of coming to the camp and throwing
themselves upon the protection of any British
officer who would afford it; and so great, she
said, was her faith in our national character, that
she knew the appeal would not be made in vain,
nor the confidence abused. Nor was it made
in vain! nor could it be abused, for she stood by
the side of an angel!—A being more transcendantly
lovely I had never before seen—one more
amiable, I have never yet known!</p>
<p>Fourteen summers had not yet passed over
her youthful countenance, which was of a delicate
freshness, more English than Spanish—her
face though not perhaps rigidly beautiful,
was nevertheless so remarkably handsome, and
so irresistibly attractive, surmounting a figure cast
in nature's fairest mould, that to look at her was
to love her—and I did love her; but I never told<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">295</a></span>
my love, and in the meantime another, and a
more impudent fellow stepped in and won her!
but yet I was happy—for in him she found such
a one as her loveliness and her misfortunes
claimed—a man of honour, and a husband in
every way worthy of her!</p>
<p>That a being so young, so lovely, so interesting,
just emancipated from the gloom of a
convent, unknowing of the world and to the
world unknown, should thus have been wrecked
on a sea of troubles, and thrown on the mercy of
strangers under circumstances so dreadful, so
uncontrollable, and not to have sunk to rise no
more, must be the wonder of every one. Yet
from the moment she was thrown on her own
resources, her star was in the ascendant.</p>
<p>Guided by a just sense of rectitude, an innate
purity of mind, a singleness of purpose which
defied malice, and a soul that soared above circumstances,
she became alike the adored of the
camp and of the drawing-room, and eventually the
admired associate of princes. She yet lives, in the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">296</a></span>
affections of her gallant husband in an elevated
situation in life, a pattern to her sex, and the
every body's <i>beau ideal</i> of what a wife should be.</p>
<p>My reader will perhaps bear with me on this
subject yet a little longer.</p>
<p>Thrown upon each other's acquaintance in
a manner so interesting, it is not to be wondered
at that she and I conceived a friendship for each
other, which has proved as lasting as our lives—a
friendship which was cemented by after circumstances
so singularly romantic, that imagination
may scarcely picture them! The friendship
of man is one thing—the friendship of
woman another; and those only who have been
on the theatre of fierce warfare, and knowing
that such a being was on the spot, watching
with earnest and unceasing solicitude over his
safety, alike with those most dear to her, can
fully appreciate the additional value which it
gives to one's existence.</p>
<p>About a year after we became acquainted, I
remember that our battalion was one day moving<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297">297</a></span>
down to battle, and had occasion to pass by
the lone country-house in which she had been
lodged.</p>
<p>The situation was so near to the outposts, and
a battle certain, I concluded that she must ere
then have been removed to a place of greater
security, and, big with the thought of coming
events, I scarcely even looked at it as we rolled
along, but just as I had passed the door, I found
my hand suddenly grasped in her's—she gave it
a gentle pressure, and without uttering a word
had rushed back into the house again, almost
before I could see to whom I was
indebted for a kindness so unexpected and so
gratifying.</p>
<p>My mind had the moment before been sternly
occupied in calculating the difference which it
makes in a man's future prospects—his killing
or being killed, when "a change at once came
o'er the spirit of the dream," and throughout the
remainder of that long and trying day, I felt
a lightness of heart and buoyancy of spirit<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298">298</a></span>
which, in such a situation, was no less new
than delightful.</p>
<p>I never, until then, felt so forcibly the beautiful
description of Fitz James's expression of
feeling, after his leave-taking of Helen under
somewhat similar <span class="locked">circumstances:—</span></p>
<div class="poem-container">
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="iq">"And after oft the knight would say,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">That not when prize of festal day,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Was dealt him by the brightest fair<br /></span>
<span class="i0">That e'er wore jewel in her hair,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">So highly did his bosom swell,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">As at that simple, mute, farewell."<br /></span>
</div></div>
</div>
<hr />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299">299</a></span></p>
<h2><a name="CHAP_XIII" id="CHAP_XIII">CHAP. XIII.</a><br />
<span class="subhang">Specimens of target-practice, in which markers may become
marked men.—A grave anecdote, shewing how "some
men have honours thrust upon them."—A line drawn between
man and beast.—Lines drawn between regiments,
and shewing how credit may not be gained by losing what
they are made of.—Aristocratic.—Dedicatic.—Dissertation
on advanced guards, and desertion of knapsacks, shewing
that "the greater haste the worse speed."</span></h2>
<p class="in0">With discipline restored, Badajos secured, and
the French relieving army gone to the right
about, we found ourselves once more transferred
to the North.</p>
<p>Marmont had, during our absence, thrown
away much valuable time in cutting some unmeaning
vagaries before the Portuguese militia,
which, happily for us, he might have spent more
profitably; and now that we approached him, he
fell back upon Salamanca, leaving us to take
quiet possession of our former cantonments.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300">300</a></span></p>
<p>Lord Wellington had thus, by a foresight almost
superhuman, and by a rapidity of execution
equal to the conception, succeeded in snatching
the two frontier fortresses out of the enemy's
hands in the face of their superior armies, it
gave him a double set of keys for the security of
rescued Portugal, and left his victorious army
free and unfettered for the field.</p>
<p>We had been on the watch long enough, with
the enemy before, beside, and around us; but it
had now become their turn to look out for
squalls, and by and bye they caught it—but in
the meanwhile we were allowed to have some
respite after the extraordinary fatigues of the
past.</p>
<p>Spring had by that time furnished the face of
nature with her annual suit of regimentals, (I
wish it had done as much for us,) our pretty
little village stood basking in the sunshine of
the plain, while the surrounding forest courted
the lovers of solitude to repose within its shady
bosom. There the nightingale and the bee-bird
made love to their mates—and there too the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301">301</a></span>
wolf made love to his meat, for which he preferred
the hind-quarter of a living horse, but
failing that, he did not despise a slice from a
mule or a donkey.</p>
<p>Nature seemed to have intended that region
as the abode of rural tranquillity, but man had
doomed it otherwise. The white tent rearing its
fiery top among the green leaves of the forest—the
war-steed careering on the plains—the voice
of the trumpet for the bleat of the lamb—and
the sharp clang of the rifle with its thousand
echoes reverberating from the rocks at target-practice,
were none of them in keeping with the
scene; so that the nightingale was fain to hush
its melody, and the wolf his howl, until a change
of circumstances should restore him to his former
sinecure of head ranger.</p>
<p>The actors on that busy scene too continued
to be wild and reckless as their occupation, their
lives had been so long in perpetual jeopardy that
they now held them of very little value. A
rifleman one day in marking the target, went
behind to fix it more steadily; another, who<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_302" id="Page_302">302</a></span>
did not observe him go there, sent a ball
through, which must have passed within a hair's
breadth of the marker, but the only notice he
took was to poke his head from behind, and
thundering out, "Hilloah there, d—— your
eyes, do you mean to shoot us?" went on with
his work as if it had been nothing.</p>
<p>Whilst on the subject of rifle-shooting, and
thinking of the late Indian exhibition of its
nicety on the London stage, it reminds me that
the late Colonel Wade, and one of the privates
of our second battalion, were in the habit of
holding the target for each other at the distance
of 200 yards.</p>
<p>I cannot think of those days without reflecting
on the mutability of human life, and the chances
and changes which man is heir to. For, to think
that I, who had so many years been the sleeping
and waking companion of dead men's bones,
and not only accustomed to hold them valueless,
but often to curse the chance "which brought
them between the wind and my nobility;" I say
that, under such circumstances, to think I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303">303</a></span>
should e'er have stood the chance of dying the
death of a body snatcher, is to me astonishing,
and would shew, even without any scriptural
authority, "that in the midst of life we are in
death," for so it was.</p>
<p>Some years after, I was on my way from
Ireland to Scotland, when I was taken seriously
ill at Belfast. After being confined to bed several
days in a hotel there, and not getting
better, I became anxious to reach home, and
had myself conveyed on board a steam-boat
which was on the point of sailing.</p>
<p>I had been but a few minutes in bed when I
heard a confused noise about the boat; but I
was in a low, listless mood, dead to every thing
but a feeling of supreme misery, until my cabin-door
was opened, and the ugly faces of several
legal understrappers protruded themselves, and
began to reconnoitre me with a strong sinister
expression; I was dead even to that, but when
they at length explained, that in searching the
luggage of the passengers, they had found a
defunct gentleman in one of the boxes, and as<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_304" id="Page_304">304</a></span>
he belonged to nobody out of bed, he must naturally
be the property of the only one in it, viz.
myself! a very reasonable inference, at which I
found it high time to stir myself, the more particularly
as the intimation was accompanied by
an invitation to visit the police-office.</p>
<p>My unshaved countenance worn down to a
most cadaverous hue with several days intense
suffering, was but ill calculated to bear me out
in assertions to the contrary, but having some
documentary evidence to shew who I was, and
seeing too that I was really the invalid which
they thought I had only affected, they went
away quite satisfied. Not so, however, the mob
without, who insisted on being allowed to judge
for themselves, so that the officers were obliged
to return and beg of me to shew myself at the
cabin widow to pacify them.</p>
<p>There is no doubt but I must at that time,
have borne a much stronger resemblance to the
gentleman in the box, than to the gentleman
proprietor; but to shew the justice and discrimination
of mobites, I had no sooner<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_305" id="Page_305">305</a></span>
exhibited my countenance such as it was, than
half of them shouted that they knew me to be
the man, and demanded that I should be handed
over to them; and had there not been some of
the family of the hotel fortunately on board
seeing their friends off, who vouched for my
authenticity, and for my having been in bed in
their house ever since I came to town, there
is little doubt but they would have made a
<i>subject</i> of me.</p>
<p>Returning from this grave anecdote to the seat
of war, I pass on to the assembling of the army
in front of Ciudad Rodrigo preparatory to the
advance upon Salamanca.</p>
<p>Our last assemblage on the same spot was to
visit the walls of that fortress with the thunder
of our artillery, and having, by the force of
such persuasive arguments, succeeded in converting
them into friends, in whom, with confidence,
we might rely in the hour of need, we
were now about to bid them and our peasant
associates an adieu, with a fervent wish on our
part that it might be a final one, while with joy<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_306" id="Page_306">306</a></span>
we looked forward to the brightening prospect
which seemed to promise us an opportunity of
diving a little deeper into their land of romance
than we had yet done.</p>
<p>Division after division of our iron framed warriors
successively arrived, and took possession
of the rugged banks of the Agueda, in gallant
array and in gayer shape than formerly, for in
our first campaigns the canopy of heaven had
been our only covering, and our walking on two
legs, clothed in rags, the only distinction between
us and the wild beast of the forest—whereas
we were now indulged in the before
unheard of luxury of a tent—three being allowed
to the soldiers of each company, and one
to the officers.</p>
<p>There is nothing on earth so splendid—nothing
so amusing to a military soul as this assembling
of an army for active service—to see
fifty thousand men all actuated by one common
spirit of enterprize, and the cause their
country's! And to see the manner, too, in
which it acts on the national characters enlisted<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_307" id="Page_307">307</a></span>
in it—the grave-looking, but merry-hearted
Englishman—the canny, cautious, and calculating
Scotchman, and the devil-may-care <i>nonchalance</i>
of the Irish.</p>
<p>I should always prefer to serve in a mixed
corps, but I love to see a national one—for
while the natives of the three amalgamate well,
and make, generally speaking, the most steady,
there is nevertheless an <i>esprit</i> about a national
one which cannot fail to please.</p>
<p>Nothing occasions so much controversy in
civil life as the comparative merits of those
same corps—the Scotchman claiming every victory
in behalf of his countrymen, and the Irishman
being no less voracious—so that the unfortunate
English regiments, who furnish more
food for powder than both put together, are
thus left to fight and die unhonoured.</p>
<p>Those who know no better naturally enough
award the greatest glory to the greatest sufferers;
but that is no time criterion—for great loss in
battle, in place of being a proof of superior<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_308" id="Page_308">308</a></span>
valour and discipline, is not unfrequently occasioned
by a want of the latter essential.</p>
<p>The proudest trophy which the commanding
officer of a regiment can ever acquire is the
credit of having done a brilliant deed with little
loss—and although there are many instances in
which they may justly boast of such misfortunes—witness
the fifty-seventh at Albuera, the twenty-seventh
at Waterloo, and a hundred similar cases,
in which they nearly all perished on the spot
they were ordered to defend, yet I am of
opinion that if the sentiments of old service
officers could be gathered, it would be found
among a majority, that their proudest regimental
days were not those on which they had suffered
most.</p>
<p>National regiments have perhaps a greater
<i>esprit de corps</i> generally than the majority of
mixed ones, but in action they are more apt to
be carried away by some sudden burst of undisciplined
valour, as Napier would have it, to the
great danger of themselves and others.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_309" id="Page_309">309</a></span></p>
<p>An Irishman, after the battle of Vimiera, in
writing home to his friends, said, "We charged
them over fifteen leagues of country, we never
waited for the word of command, for we were
all Irish!" And I think I could furnish a Highland
anecdote or two of a similar tendency.</p>
<p>In the present day, the crack national regiments,
officered as they are with their share of
the <i>elite</i> of their country's youth, are not to be
surpassed—but in war time I have never considered
a crack national regiment equal to a
crack mixed one.</p>
<p>The Irishman seems sworn never to drink
water when he can get whiskey, unless he likes
it better—the Scotchman, for a soldier, sometimes
shews too much of the lawyer—the Englishman,
too, has his besetting sin—but by
mixing the three in due proportions, the evils
are found to counteract each other. As regards
personal bravery there is not a choice among them—and
for the making of a perfect regiment I
should therefore prescribe one-half English, and
of Irish and Scotch a quarter each. Yet, as I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_310" id="Page_310">310</a></span>
said before, I love to see a national corps, and
hope never to see a British army without them.</p>
<p>With regard to officers, I think I mentioned
before that in war we had but a slender sprinkling
of the aristocracy among us. The reason
I consider a very sensible one, for whatever may
be the sins with which they have, at different
times, been charged, the want of pluck has
never been reckoned among the number. But
as there never was any scarcity of officers for
the field, and consequently their country did not
demand the sacrifice—they may very conscientiously
stand acquitted for not going abroad, to
fight and be starved, when they could live at
home in peace and plenty.</p>
<p>I have often lamented however that a greater
number had not been induced to try their fortunes
on the tented field, for I have ever found
that their presence and example tended to correct
many existing evils. How it should have
happened I leave to others, but I have rarely
known one who was not beloved by those under
him. They were not better officers, nor were<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_311" id="Page_311">311</a></span>
they better or braver men than the soldiers of
<span class="locked">fortune,<a name="FNanchor_G" id="FNanchor_G" href="#Footnote_G" class="fnanchor">G</a></span> with which they were mingled; but
there was a degree of refinement in all their
actions, even in mischief, which commanded the
respect of the soldiers, while those who had
been framed in rougher moulds, and left unpolished,
were sometimes obliged to have recourse
to harsh measures to enforce it. The example
was therefore invaluable for its tendency to shew
that habitual severity was not a necessary ingredient
in the art of governing—and however
individuals may affect to despise and condemn
the higher orders, it is often because they feel
that they sink in the comparison, and thus it is
that they will ever have their cringers and imitators
even among their abusers.</p>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_G" id="Footnote_G" href="#FNanchor_G" class="fnanchor">G</a> Meaning soldiers of no fortune.</p></div>
<p>I have, without permission, taken the liberty
of dedicating this volume to one of their number—not
because he is one of them, but that he
is what I have found him—a nobleman! I
dedicate it to him, because, though personally<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_312" id="Page_312">312</a></span>
unacquainted, I knew and admired him in war,
as one of the most able and splendid assistants
of the illustrious chief with whom he served—and,
"though poor the offering be," I dedicate
it to him in gratitude, that with no other recommendation
than my public services, I have ever
since the war experienced at his hands a degree
of consideration and kindness which none but a
great and a good man could have known how to
offer.</p>
<p>It may appear to my reader that I have no
small share of personal vanity to gratify in
making this announcement, and I own it. I am
proud that I should have been thought deserving
of his lordship's notice, but I am still prouder
that it is in my power to give myself as an example
that men of rank in office are not all of
them the heartless beings which many try to
make them appear.</p>
<p>With the army assembled, and the baggage
laden on a fine May morning, I shall place every
infantry man on his legs, the dragoon in his
saddle, and the followers on their donkeys,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_313" id="Page_313">313</a></span>
starting the whole cavalcade off on the high
road to Salamanca, which, being a very uninteresting
one, and without a shot to enliven the
several days' march, I shall take advantage of
the opportunity it affords to treat my young
military readers to a dissertation on advanced
guards—for we have been so long at peace that
the customs of war in the like cases are liable
to be forgotten, unless rubbed into existence
from time to time by some such old foggy as I
am, and for which posterity can never feel sufficiently
thankful, as to see our army taking the
field with the advanced guard on a plain, prescribed
by the book of regulations, would bring
every old soldier to what I for one am not prepared
for—a premature end; as however well the
said advanced guard may be calculated to find
birds' nests in a barrack square or on a common
parade, in the field it would worry an army to death.</p>
<p>In the first place, if a plain is an honest plain,
it requires no advanced guard, for a man's eyes
are not worth preserving if they cannot help him<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_314" id="Page_314">314</a></span>
to see three or four miles all round about—but
there is no such thing as a plain any where.
Look at the plains of Salamanca, where you
may fancy that you see fifty miles straight on
end without so much as a wart on the face of
nature, as big as a mole hill; yet within every
league or two you find yourself descending into
a ravine a couple of miles deep, taking half
a day to regain the plain on the opposite side,
within a couple of stones' throw of where you
were.</p>
<p>In place of harassing the men with perpetual
flank patroles, blistering their feet over the loose
stones with shoes full of sand, and expending
their valuable wind, which is so much wanted
towards the end of the day, in scrambling over
uneven ground, let me recommend the advanced
guard to confine itself to the high road until
patrolling becomes necessary, which, in a forest,
will be from the time they enter until they leave
it, unless they can trust to the information that
the enemy are otherwise engaged. And in the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_315" id="Page_315">315</a></span>
open country every officer commanding a regiment,
troop, or company, who has got half a
military eye in his head, will readily see when it
is advisable to send a patrole to examine any particular
ground; and in so doing his best guide is
to remember the amount of the force which he
covers; for while he knows that the numbers
necessary to surprize an army of fifty thousand
men cannot be conveniently crammed within the
compass of a nutshell, he must, on the other
hand, remember that there are few countries
which do not afford an ambuscade for five or ten
thousand—<i>ergo</i>, if there be any truth in Cocker,
the man covering five thousand men must look
exactly ten times sharper than the man who
covers fifty thousand.</p>
<p>With an army of rough and ready materials
such as ours had now become, the usual precautions
were scarcely necessary, except in the
immediate vicinity of the foe, for they had by
this time discovered that it was more easy to
find than to get rid of us; but they ought,
nevertheless, to be strictly observed at all times,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_316" id="Page_316">316</a></span>
unless there are good and sufficient reasons why
they need not.</p>
<p>In an open country a few squadrons of dragoons
shoved well to the front will procure
every necessary information; but, in a close
country, I hold the following to be the best
advanced guard.</p>
<p>1st. A subaltern with twelve hussars, throwing
two of them a hundred yards in front, and
four at fifty.</p>
<p>2d. A section of riflemen or light infantry at
fifty yards.</p>
<p>3d. The other three sections of the company
at fifty yards.</p>
<p>4th. Four companies of light infantry at a
hundred yards, with communicating files, and
followed closely by two pieces of horse artillery,
and a squadron of dragoons.</p>
<p>On falling in with the enemy, the advanced
videttes will fire off their carabines to announce
it, and if their opponents fall back they will
continue their onward movement. If they do
not, the intermediate four will join them, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_317" id="Page_317">317</a></span>
try the result of a shot each; when, if the enemy
still remain, it shews that they decline taking a
civil hint, which, if they are infantry, they assuredly
will; and dispositions must be made
accordingly. While the remaining hussars are
therefore dispatched to watch the flanks, the
leading section of infantry will advance in skirmishing
order, and take possession of the most
favourable ground near the advanced videttes.
The other three sections will close up to within
fifty yards, one of them, if necessary, to join the
advanced one, but a subdivision must remain in
reserve. The guns will remain on the road, and
the dragoons and infantry composing the main
body of the advanced guard will be formed on
the flanks, in such manner as the ground will
admit, so as to be best ready for either attack or
defence; and in that disposition they will wait further
orders, presuming that the officer commanding
the division will not be a hundred miles off.</p>
<p>The foregoing applies more particularly to the
following of an enemy whom you have not lately<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_318" id="Page_318">318</a></span>
thrashed, whereas, if following a beaten one, he
ought never to be allowed a moment's respite so
long as you have force enough of any kind up
to shove him along. He ought to be bullied
every inch of the way with dragoons and horse
artillery, and the infantry brought to bear as
often as possible.</p>
<p>However much additional celerity of movement
on the part of the latter force may be
desirable, I must impress upon the minds of all
future comptrollers of knapsacks, that on no
consideration should an infantry man ever be
parted from his pack. He will not move a bit
faster without than he does with it, nor do I
think he can do a yard further in a day's walking;
they become so accustomed to the pace,
and so inured to the load, that it makes little
difference to them whether it is on or <span class="locked">off,<a name="FNanchor_H" id="FNanchor_H" href="#Footnote_H" class="fnanchor">H</a></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_319" id="Page_319">319</a></span>
while the leaving of them behind leads, at all
times, to serious loss, and to still more serious
inconvenience.</p>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_H" id="Footnote_H" href="#FNanchor_H" class="fnanchor">H</a> Lightly however as they felt the load at the time, it was
one that told fearfully on the constitution, and I have seen
many men discharged in consequence, as being worn out, at
thirty-five years of age.</p></div>
<p>The rifles during the war were frequently, as
an indulgence, made to fight without them, but
on every occasion it proved a sacrifice, and a
great one. For although they were carried for
us by the dragoons, who followed after, yet as
our skirmishing service took us off the road,
the kit of every man who got wounded was sure
to be lost, for while he was lying kicking on his
back in the middle of a field, or behind a stone
wall, impatiently waiting for assistance, his
knapsack had passed on to the front, and was
never heard of more, (for every one has quite
enough to do to take care of his own affairs on
those occasions,) and the poor fellow was thus
deprived of his comforts at a time when they
were most needed. A dragoon, too, carrying
several of them would sometimes get hit, and
he of course pitched them all to the devil, while
he took care of himself, and the unfortunate
owners after their hard day's fighting were compelled<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_320" id="Page_320">320</a></span>
to sleep in the open air for that and many
succeeding nights, without the use of their blankets
or necessaries. On one occasion I remember
that they were left on the ground, and the
battle rolled four miles beyond them, so that
when it was over, and every one had already
done enough, the soldiers were either obliged to
go without, or to add eight or ten miles walk to
a harassing day's work.</p>
<p>The secretary at war eventually came in for
his share of the trouble attendant on those movements,
for many were the claims for compensation
which poured in upon the War-Office in
after years, by the poor fellows who had bled
and lost their all upon those occasions, nor do I
know whether they have ever yet been set at rest.</p>
<p>So much for advanced guards and people in
a hurry, and as I happen to have a little leisure
time and a vacant leaf or two to fill up, I shall
employ it in taking a shot at field fortification;
and in so doing, be it remarked, that I leave
science in those matters to the scientific, for I
am but a practical soldier.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_321" id="Page_321">321</a></span></p>
<p>The French shewed themselves regular moles
at field work, for they had no sooner taken post
on a fresh position, than they were to be seen
stirring up the ground in all directions. With
us it was different. I have always understood
that Lord Wellington had a dislike to them, and
would rather receive his enemy in the open field
than from behind a bank of mud. How far it
was so I know not; but the report seemed to
be verified by circumstances, for he rarely ever
put us to the trouble of throwing up either redoubts
or breast works, except at particular
outposts, where they were likely to be useful.
At Fuentes indeed he caused some holes to be
dug on the right of the line, in which the
enemy's cavalry might have comfortably broken
their necks without hurting themselves much;
but I do not recollect our ever disturbing the
ground any where else—leaving the lines of
Torres Vedras out of the question, as containing
works of a different order.</p>
<p>If time and circumstances permitted common
field works to be so constructed as to prevent<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_322" id="Page_322">322</a></span>
an enemy from scrambling up the walls, they
would indeed be a set of valuable pictures in
the face of a position; but as with mud alone
they never can, I, for one, hold them to be
worse than nothing, and would rather go against
one of them, than against the same number of
men in the open field.</p>
<p>It is true that in such a place they will suffer
less in the first instance, but if they do not repulse
their assailants or make a speedy retreat,
they are sure to be all netted in the long run,
and the consequence is, that one rarely sees a
work of that kind well defended, for while its
garrison is always prepared for a start, its fire is
not so destructive as from the same number of
men in the field, for in the field they will do their
duty, but in the redoubt they will not, and half
of their heads will be well sheltered under the
ramparts, while they send the shot off at random.
I know the fellows well, and it is only to
swarm a body of light troops against the nearest
angle, to get into the ditch as quickly as possible,
to unkennel any garrison of that kind very<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_323" id="Page_323">323</a></span>
cleverly, unless there be other obstacles than
their bayonets to contend against.</p>
<p>From field works I return to our work in the
field, to state that after several days march
under a broiling hot sun, and on roads of
scorching dust, which makes good stiff broth in
winter, we found ourselves on the banks of the
Tormes, near the end of the bridge of Salamanca;
but as the gatekeeper there required
change for twenty-four pound shot, and we had
none at the moment to give him, we were obliged
to take to the stream.</p>
<p>I know not what sort of toes the Pope keeps
for his friends to kiss, but I know that after a
week's marching in summer I would not kiss
those of the army for a trifle; however, I suppose
that walking feet and kissing ones wear
quite different pairs of shoes. The fording of
the clear broad waters of the Tormes at all
events proved a luxury in various ways, and
considerably refreshed by that part of the ceremony,
we found ourselves shortly after in the
heart of that classical city, where the first<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_324" id="Page_324">324</a></span>
classics which we were called upon to study,
were those of three forts, of a class of their own,
which was well calculated to keep their neighbours
in a constant supply of hot water. They
were not field works such as I have been treating
of in the last few pages, but town ones, with
walls steep enough and ditches deep enough to
hold the army, if packed like herrings. For
ourselves we passed on to the front, leaving the
seventh division to deal with them; and a hard
bargain they drove for a time, though they
finally brought them to terms.</p>
<p>I rode in from the outposts several times to
visit them during the siege, and on one occasion
finding an officer, stationed in a tower, overlooking
the works and acting under rather particular
orders, it reminded me of an anecdote
that occurred with us in the early part of the
war. One of our majors had posted a subaltern
with a party of riflemen in the tower of a
church, and as the place was an important one,
he ordered the officer, in the event of an attack,
never to quit the place alive! In the course<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_325" id="Page_325">325</a></span>
of the evening the commanding officer went to
visit the picquet, and after satisfying himself on
different points, he demanded of Lieut. ——
what dispositions he had made for retreat in the
event of his post being forced?—To which the
other replied, "None." "None, Sir," said the
commanding officer, "then let me tell you that
you have neglected an important part of your
duty." "I beg your pardon," returned the
officer, "but my orders are never to quit this
spot alive, and therefore no arrangements for
retreat can be necessary!" It may be needless
to add that a discretionary power was then extended
to him.</p>
<p>In a midnight visit which I paid to the same
place in company with a staff friend, while the
batteries were in full operation, we were admiring
the splendour of the scene, the crash of
the artillery, and the effect of the light and
shade on the ruins around, caused by the perpetual
flashes from the guns and fire-balls,
when it recalled to his remembrance the siege
of Copenhagen, where he described a similar<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_326" id="Page_326">326</a></span>
scene which was enacted, but in a position so
much more interesting.</p>
<p>The burying-grounds in the neighbourhood of
that capital, were generally very tastefully laid
out like shrubberies with beds of flowers, appropriate
trees, &c., and intersected by winding
gravel-walks, neatly bordered with box. One
of the prettiest of these cemeteries was that
at the Lecton suburb, in which there was a
profusion of white marble statues of men and
women—many of them in loose flowing drapery,
and also of various quadrupeds, erected in commemoration
or in illustration of the habits and
virtues of the dead. These statues were generally
overshadowed by cypress and other <i>lugubrious</i>
trees.</p>
<p>Closely adjoining this beautiful cemetery, two
heavy batteries were erected, one of ten-inch
mortars, and the other of twenty-four pound
battering guns.</p>
<p>In passing alone through this receptacle of
the dead, about the hour of midnight, the rapid
flashes of the artillery seemed to call all these<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_327" id="Page_327">327</a></span>
statues, men, women, and beasts, with all their
dismal accompaniments, into a momentary and
ghastly existence—and the immediate succession
of the deep gloom of midnight produced an
effect which, had it been visible to a congregation
of Scotch nurses, would in their hands have
thrown all the goblin tales of their ancestors into
the shade, and generations of bairns yet unborn
would have had to shudder at the midnight view
of a church-yard.</p>
<p>Even among the stern hearts to whose view
alone it was open, the spectacle was calculated
to excite very interesting reflections. The crash
of the artillery on both sides was enough to
have awakened the dead, then came the round
shot with its wholesale sweep, tearing up the
ornamental trees and dashing statues into a
thousand pieces,—next came the bursting shell
sending its fragments chattering among the
tombs and defacing every-thing it came in contact
with. These, all these came from the
Danes themselves, and who knew but the hand
that levelled the gun which destroyed that statue<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_328" id="Page_328">328</a></span>
was not the same which had erected it to the
memory of a beloved wife? Who knew but
that the evergreens which had just been torn by
a shot from a new-made grave, were planted
there over the remains of an angelic daughter,
and watered by the tears of the man who fired
it? and who knew but that that exquisitely
chiseled marble figure, which had its nose
and eye defaced by a bursting shell, was not
placed there to commemorate the decease of a
beauteous and adored sweetheart, and valued
more than existence by him who had caused its
destruction!</p>
<p>Ah me! war, war! that</p>
<div class="poem-container">
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="iq">"Snatching from the hand<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Of Time, the scythe of ruin, sits aloft,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Or stalks in dreadful majesty abroad."<br /></span>
</div></div>
</div>
<p>I know not what sort of place Salamanca
was on ordinary occasions, but at that time
it was remarkably stupid. The inhabitants were
yet too much at the mercy of circumstances<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_329" id="Page_329">329</a></span>
to manifest any favourable disposition towards
us, even if they felt so inclined, for it was far
from decided whether the French, or we, were to
have the supremacy, and therefore every one
who had the means betook himself elsewhere.
Our position, too, in front of the town to cover
the siege was anything but a comfortable one—totally
unsheltered from a burning Spanish sun
and unprovided with either wood or water, so
that it was with no small delight that we hailed
the surrender of the forts already mentioned,
and the consequent retreat of the French army,
for in closing up to them, it brought us to a
merry country on the banks of the Douro.</p>
<p>Mirth and duty there, however, were, as they
often are, very much at variance. Our position
was a ticklish one, and required half the division
to sleep in the field in front of the town each
night fully accoutred, so that while we had every
alternate night to rejoice in quarters, the next
was one of penance in the field, which would
have been tolerably fair had they been measured
by the same bushel, but it could not be, for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_330" id="Page_330">330</a></span>
while pleasure was the order of the evening we
had only to close the window-shutters to make
a summer's night as long as a winter's one—but
in affairs of duty, stern duty, it told in an inverse
ratio; for our vineyard beds on the alternate
nights were not furnished with window-shutters,
and if they had been, it would have made but little
difference, for in defiance of sun, moon, or stars,
we were obliged to be on our legs an hour before
day-break, which in that climate and at that
season, happened to be between one and two
o'clock in the morning.</p>
<p>Our then brigadier, Sir O. Vandeleur, was
rigorous on that point, and as our sleeping, bore
no proportion to our waking moments, many
officers would steal from the ranks to snatch a
little repose under cover of the vines, and it became
a highly amusing scene to see the general
on horseback, threading up between the rows of
bushes and ferreting out the sleepers. He netted
a good number in the first cast or two, but they
ultimately became too knowing for him, and had
only to watch his passing up one row, to slip<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_331" id="Page_331">331</a></span>
through the bushes into it, where they were
perfectly secure for the next half hour.</p>
<p>I have already mentioned that Rueda was a
capital wine country. Among many others there
was a rough effervescent pure white wine, which
I had never met with any where else, and which
in warm weather was a most delicious beverage.
Their wine cellars were all excavated in a sort
of common, immediately outside the town; and
though I am afraid to say the extent, they were
of an amazing depth. It is to be presumed
that the natives were all strictly honest, for we
found the different cellars so indifferently provided
with locks and keys, that our men, naturally
inferring that good drinkers must have
been the only characters in request, went to
work most patriotically, without waiting to be
pressed, and the cause being such a popular
one, it was with no little difficulty that we kept
them within bounds.</p>
<p>A man of ours, of the name of Taylor, wore a
head so remarkably like Lord Wellington's, that
he was dubbed "Sir Arthur" at the commencement
of the war, and retained the name until<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_332" id="Page_332">332</a></span>
the day of his death. At Rueda he was the
servant of the good, the gallant Charley Eeles,
who afterwards fell at Waterloo. Sir Arthur, in
all his movements for twenty years, had been as
regular as Shrewsbury clock; he cleaned his
master's clothes and boots, and paraded his
traps in the morning, and in the evening he got
blind drunk, unless the means were wanting.</p>
<p>In one so noted for regularity as he was, it is
but reasonable to expect that his absence at
toilet time should be missed and wondered at;
he could not have gone over to the enemy, for
he was too true-blue for that. He could not
have gone to heaven without passing through
the pains of death—he was too great a sinner for
that. He could not have gone downwards without
passing through the aforesaid ceremony, for
nobody was ever known to do so but one man,
to recover his wife, and as Sir Arthur had no
wife, he had surely no inducement to go there; in
short the cause of his disappearance remained
clouded in mystery for twenty-five hours, but
would have been cleared up in a tenth part of
the time, had not the rifleman, who had been in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_333" id="Page_333">333</a></span>
the habit of sipping out of the same favourite
cask, been on guard in the interim, but as soon
as he was relieved, he went to pay his usual
visit, and in stooping in the dark over the edge
of the large headless butt to take his accustomed
sip, his nose came in contact with that of
poor Sir Arthur, which, like that of his great
prototype, was of no mean dimensions, and who
was floating on the surface of his favourite
liquid, into which he must have dived deeper
than he intended and got swamped. Thus
perished Sir Arthur, a little beyond the prime
of life, but in what the soldiers considered, a
prime death!</p>
<p>Our last day at Rueda furnished an instance
so characteristic of the silence and secrecy with
which the Duke of Wellington was in the habit
of conducting his military movements, that I
cannot help quoting it.</p>
<p>In my former volume I mentioned that when
we were called to arms that evening, our officers
had assembled for one of their usual dances.
Our commanding officer, however, Colonel<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_334" id="Page_334">334</a></span>
Cameron, had been invited to dine that day with
his lordship, and in addition to the staff, the
party consisted of several commanding officers of
regiments and others. The conversation was lively
and general, and no more allusion made to probable
movements than if we were likely to be
fixed there for years. After having had a fair
allowance of wine, Lord Wellington looked at
his watch, and addressing himself to one of his
staff, said, "Campbell, it is about time to be
moving—order coffee." Coffee was accordingly
introduced, and the guests, as usual, immediately
after made their bow and retired. Our
commandant in passing out of the house was
rather surprised to see his lordship's baggage
packed, and the mules at the door, saddled and
ready to receive it, but his astonishment was
still greater when he reached his own quarter, to
find that his regiment was already under arms
along with the rest of the troops, assembled on
their alarm posts, and with baggage loaded in
the act of moving off, we knew not whither!</p>
<p>We marched the whole of the night, and day-light<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_335" id="Page_335">335</a></span>
next morning found us three or four leagues
off, interposing ourselves between the enemy and
their projected line of advance. It was the commencement
of the brilliant series of movements
which preceded the battle of Salamanca. Pass
we on, therefore, to that celebrated field.</p>
<p>It was late in the afternoon before it was decided
whether that day's sun was to set on a
battle or our further retreat. The army all stood
in position with the exception of the third division,
which lay in reserve beyond the Tormes.
Its commander, Sir Edward Packenham, along
with the other generals of divisions, attended
on the commander-in-chief, who stood on an
eminence which commanded a view of the
enemy's movements.</p>
<p>The artillery on both sides was ploughing the
ground in all directions, and making fearful
gaps in the ranks exposed—the French were
fast closing on and around our right—the different
generals had received their instructions,
and waited but the final order—a few minutes
must decide whether there was to be a desperate
battle or a bloody retreat; when, at length,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_336" id="Page_336">336</a></span>
Lord Wellington, who had been anxiously
watching their movements with his spy-glass,
called out, "Packenham, I can stand this no
longer; now is your time!" "Thank you,"
replied the gallant Packenham, "give me your
hand, my lord, and by G—d it shall be done!"
Shaking hands accordingly, he vaulted into his
saddle, and the result of his movement, as is
well known, placed two eagles, several pieces of
artillery, and four thousand prisoners in our
possession.</p>
<p>Packenham afterwards told a friend of mine
who was on his staff, that, while in the execution
of that movement, he saw an opportunity
in which, by a slight deviation from his original
instructions, he might have cut off twenty thousand
of the enemy, without greater risk to his
own division than he was about to encounter;
but he dreaded the possibility of its compromising
the safety of some other portion of the
army, and dared not to run the hazard.</p>
<p>I have, in the early part of this volume, in
speaking of individual gallantry in general,
given it as my opinion that if the merits of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_337" id="Page_337">337</a></span>
every victory that had been hotly contested
could be traced to the proper persons, it would
be found to rest with a very few—for to those
who know it not, it is inconceivable what may
be effected in such situations by any individual
ascending a little above mediocrity.</p>
<p>The day after the battle of Salamanca a brigade
of heavy German dragoons, under the late
Baron Bock, made one of the most brilliant
charges recorded in history.</p>
<p>The enemy's rear guard, consisting of, I think,
three regiments of infantry, flanked by cavalry
and artillery, were formed in squares on an
abrupt eminence, the approach to which was
fetlock deep in shingle. In short, it was a sort
of position in which infantry generally think
they have a right to consider themselves secure
from horsemen.</p>
<p>The Baron was at the head of two splendid
regiments, and, as some of the English prints,
up to that period, had been very severe upon
the employment of his countrymen in the British
service, he was no doubt burning with the desire<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_338" id="Page_338">338</a></span>
for an opportunity of removing the unjust attack
that had been made upon them, and he could
not have even dreamt of one more glorious than
that alluded to.</p>
<p>Lord Wellington, who was up with the advanced
guard, no sooner observed the dispositions
of the enemy than he sent an order for the
Baron to charge them. They charged accordingly—broke
through the squares, and took
the whole of the infantry—the enemy's cavalry
and artillery having fled.</p>
<p>Colonel May, of the British artillery, not satisfied
with being the bearer of the order, gallantly
headed the charge, and fell covered with wounds,
from which he eventually recovered; but
Lord Wellington, however much he must have
admired the action, cut him for a considerable
time in consequence, by way of marking his disapproval
of officers thrusting themselves into
danger unnecessarily.</p>
<p>In an attempt so gallantly made—so gloriously
executed—it would be invidious to exalt
one individual above another, and yet I have<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_339" id="Page_339">339</a></span>
every reason to believe that their success was
in a great measure owing to the decisive conduct
of one man.</p>
<p>Our battalion just rounded the hill in time to
witness the end of it; and in conversing with
one of the officers immediately after, he told
me that their success was owing to the presence
of mind of a captain commanding a squadron,
who was ordered to charge the cavalry which
covered a flank of the squares—that, while in
full career, the enemy's horse in his front, without
awaiting the shock, gave way, but, in place
of pursuing them, he, with a decision calculated
to turn the tide of any battle, at once brought up
his outward flank, and went full tilt against a face
of the square, which having until that moment
been protected, was taken by surprise, and he
bore down all before him!</p>
<p>My informant mentioned the name of the
hero, but it was a severe German one, which
died on the spot like an empty sound—nor have
I ever since read or heard of it—so that one who
ought to have filled a bright page in our history<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_340" id="Page_340">340</a></span>
of that brilliant field, has, in all probability,
<span class="locked">passed—</span></p>
<div class="poem-container">
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i4">"Nor of his name or race<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Hath left a token or a trace,"<br /></span>
</div></div>
</div>
<p class="in0">save what I have here related.</p>
<p>The baron, presuming that he had all the
merit due to a leader on that occasion, (for I
knew him only by sight,) shewed, in his own
person, what we frequently see, that to be a
bold man it is not necessary to be a big one. In
stature he was under the middle size, slenderly
made, and with a hump on one shoulder. He
lived through many a bloody peninsular field to
perish by shipwreck in returning to his native
country.</p>
<p>Throughout our many hard-fought and invariably
successful Peninsular fields, it used to be
a subject of deep mortification for us to see the
breasts of our numerous captives adorned with
the different badges of the Legion of Honour,
and to think that our country should never have
thought their captors deserving of some little<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_341" id="Page_341">341</a></span>
mark of distinction, not only to commemorate
the action, but to distinguish the man who
fought, from him who did not—thereby leaving
that strongest of all corps, the <i>Belem Rangers</i>,
who had never seen a shot fired, to look as
fierce and talk as big as the best. Many officers,
I see, by the periodicals, continue still to
fight for such a distinction, but the day has
gone by. No correct line could now be drawn,
and the seeing of such a medal on the breast of
a man who had no claim, would deprive it of
its chief value in the eyes of him who had.</p>
<p>To shew the importance attached to such distinctions
in our service, I may remark that, though
the Waterloo medal is intrinsically worth two or
three shillings, and a soldier will sometimes be
tempted to part with almost any thing for drink,
yet, during the fifteen years in which I remained
with the rifles after Waterloo, I never knew a
single instance of a medal being sold, and only
one of its being pawned.</p>
<p>On that solitary occasion it was the property
of a handsome, wild, rattling young fellow,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_342" id="Page_342">342</a></span>
named Roger Black. He, one night, at Cambray,
when his last copper had gone, found the
last glass of wine so good, that he could not
resist the temptation of one bottle more, for
which he left his medal in pledge with the
<i>aubergiste</i>, for the value of ten sous. Roger's
credit was low—a review day arrived, and he
could not raise the wind to redeem the thing he
gloried in, but, putting a bold face on it, he went
to the holder, and telling him that he had come
for the purpose of redemption, he got it in his
hands, and politely wished the landlord good
morning, telling him, as he was marching off, that
he would call and pay the franc out of the first
money he received; but the arrangement did not
suit mine host, who opposed his exit with all
the strength of his establishment, consisting of
his wife, two daughters, a well-frizzled waiter,
and a club-footed hostler. Roger, however,
painted the whole family group, ladies and all,
with a set of beautiful black eyes, and then
marched off triumphantly.</p>
<p>Poor Roger, for that feat, was obliged to be<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_343" id="Page_343">343</a></span>
paid in kind, very much against the grain of his
judges, for his defence was an honest one—namely,
that he had no intention of cheating
the man, but he had no money, "and, by Jove,
you know gentlemen, I could never think of
going to a review without my medal!"</p>
<p class="p2 center">THE END.</p>
<p class="p2 center">MARCHANT, PRINTER, INGRAM-COURT, FENCHURCH-STREET.</p>
<div class="p4">
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<span class="gesperrt large">COLONEL NAPIER'S</span><br />
<span class="larger">HISTORY OF THE WAR IN THE PENINSULA,<br />
AND IN THE SOUTH OF FRANCE;</span><br />
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given of that ill-fated and disgraceful expedition, and also to rescue the
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change for the better, but things have gradually become worse and worse, in
short, things have now taken that turn, and they present such a prospect for
the future, that I not only think it advisable for many good people to emigrate,
but I think it my duty to give them all the information I can to serve
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<p class="center"><span class="larger"><span class="smcap">By</span> LIEUTENANT COLONEL I. LEACH, C.B.</span><br />
Late of the Rifle Brigade.<br />
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conflicting statements. Though professedly merely a history of the services
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'what glorious and well-foughten field' can we record the absence of
German chivalry? The work is not like others we could name—a mere
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source of information unexplored; and the access he obtained to manuscript
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comprehended and easily remembered. For the greater encouragement of
the learner, I have studied brevity; but not in a degree to have prevented
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<p class="center smaller">Containing Notices of some Districts very little known; of the Manners of<br />
the People, Government, Recent Changes, Commerce, Fine Arts,<br />
and Natural History.</p>
<p class="center vspace"><span class="larger">BY CAPTAIN S. E. COOK, R.N. K.T.S. F.G.S.</span><br />
<span class="smaller">Two vol. 8vo. price 21<i>s.</i></span><br />
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<p>"The value of the book is in its matter and its facts. If written upon
any country it would have been useful, but treating of one like Spain, about
which we know almost nothing, but of which it is desirable to know so
much, Captain Cook's Sketches must be considered an acquisition to the
library."—<i>Spectator.</i></p>
<p>"These volumes, the work of a gentleman of high and varied accomplishments,
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by far the best account of Spain that has yet issued from the press.</p>
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<p class="center larger gesperrt">BY H. LEE.</p>
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<span class="i8">Vir neque silendus,<br /></span>
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<p>"Quelques parcelles de tant de gloire parviendront-elles aux siècles à
venir, ou, le mensonge, la calomnie, le crime, prévaudront-ils?"—<i>Napoleon
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<p class="p1 center smaller"><i>Vol. I. with a Portrait of Napoleon, price 18s.</i></p>
<p>"It is exceedingly curious and interesting. It has been much less talked
of than it deserves to be. He has produced a portion of a singularly
interesting work. As soon as another volume appears, we propose to give
our readers a fuller account of this new Life. In the meanwhile, we recommend
this one to notice."—<i>Tait's Magazine.</i></p>
<p>"The life of Bonaparte now reads like a connected story, where we can
trace each successive step. We shall be glad to see the future volumes."—<i>Spectator.</i></p>
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</div>
</div>
<div class="transnote">
<h2 class="p0"><a name="Transcribers_Notes" id="Transcribers_Notes">Transcribers' Notes</a></h2>
<p>Punctuation and spelling were made consistent when a predominant
preference was found in this book; otherwise they were not changed.</p>
<p>Simple typographical errors were corrected; occasional unbalanced
quotation marks retained.</p>
<p>Ambiguous hyphens at the ends of lines were retained.</p>
<p>Text uses "Padré", "Padrè", and "Padre".</p>
<p>Advertisement at front: "déjá" was printed with those accent marks.</p>
<p>There are two "CHAPTER VII"'s in the Contents and in the body.</p>
<p>Page <a href="#Page_11">11</a>: "remarkable" has been changed to "remarkably" as indicated
in the book's "Erratum".</p>
<p>Page <a href="#Page_89">89</a>: "bill-kooks" probably should be "bill-hooks".</p>
<p>Page <a href="#Page_200">200</a>: the "œ" ligature in "sacre bœuftake" may have been printed
incorrectly or transcribed incorrectly; the "t" was in the original.</p>
<p>Page <a href="#Page_247">247</a>: "fiery tale" probably should be "fiery tail".</p>
<p>Page <a href="#Page_281">281</a>: closing parenthesis added in "to win or to die,) thrust".</p>
<p>Page <a href="#Page_293">293</a>: "to day" was printed that way, with a space, without a hyphen.</p>
</div>
<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 44965 ***</div>
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