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[Illustration: WHIPPING AT GIBRALTAR. PAGE 47.]
THE
MILITARY ADVENTURES
OF
CHARLES O’NEIL,
WHO WAS A SOLDIER IN THE ARMY OF LORD WELLINGTON DURING THE
MEMORABLE PENINSULAR WAR AND THE CONTINENTAL
CAMPAIGNS FROM 1811 TO 1815;
INCLUDING FULL HISTORIES OF
THE BLOODY BATTLE OF BAROSSA,
AND
THE MEMORABLE SIEGE OF BADAJOS;
TOGETHER WITH A GRAPHIC DESCRIPTION OF THE
BATTLE OF WATERLOO,
TERMINATING WITH THE OVERTHROW OF NAPOLEON;
IN ALL OF WHICH HE WAS AN ACTOR.
ILLUSTRATED BY SIX SPLENDID ENGRAVINGS.
WORCESTER:
PUBLISHED FOR THE AUTHOR BY EDWARD LIVERMORE.
1851.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1851,
BY CHARLES O’NEIL,
In the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of the District of
Massachusetts.
Stereotyped by
HOBART & ROBBINS;
NEW ENGLAND TYPE AND STEREOTYPE FOUNDERY,
BOSTON.
PREFACE.
The history of times and events, of men and their characters, must
ever be replete with interest and instruction. Chronicles of the great
and wise, the noble and the learned, are often presented to the world;
and the military hero and chieftain finds everywhere his biographer.
We read of campaigns that his mind has traced out, of battles which
his plans have won; and we forget, in our admiration of his skill and
power, those by whom the heroic deeds were done, the victory gained.
Generals, says one author, “often calculate upon men as though they
were blocks of wood, or movable machines.” Yet every one of these
nameless soldiers has feelings as acutely alive to suffering and to
honor as those who look upon them thus.
It is well sometimes to turn away from the glare and tinsel of rank,
from the glitter of arms and the pageantry of war, to follow the common
soldier in his partings and wanderings, to cast the glance of pity upon
his sufferings, and allow the heart to be moved with compassion while
regarding the temptations which must ever beset his path. It is only
thus that a true knowledge of the evils and miseries of war can be
obtained; and only when this knowledge is spread far and wide, that
we may hope to see the banner of peace unfurled, and the olive-branch
waving in quiet, where now the sword spreads its desolation, and the
vulture feasts on the unburied dead.
Thoughts like these may, perhaps, lend interest to the unpretending
narrative of one who now presents himself and the scenes of his times
before an indulgent public, with none of the advantages of rank, or
birth, or fame, to recommend him to its notice. Simply one of the
rank and file, he was an actor and participator in the scenes he has
endeavored faithfully to represent.
It is his ardent wish, by this little volume, to awaken more interest
in this class of his fellow-beings, so often forgotten in the lustre of
that halo which rarely fails to surround the victor’s name.
The work, such as it is, he cheerfully commends to the _public_,
looking with unshaken trust to its kindness and sympathy for the
success and encouragement which he hopes it may be his lot to meet.
WORCESTER, JULY 4, 1851.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I.
Introductory Remarks.--The Author’s Birth.--Parentage.--Prevalence
of the Military Spirit.--Two of his Brothers enlist, and are killed in
the Service.--Author apprenticed to a Carpenter.--His Desire for a
Military Life.--Leaves Home without the Consent of his
Parents.--Reaches Belfast, and enlists.--Dissatisfied with his new
Position.--Deserts, and returns to his Native Village.--Again enlists,
at Navan.--Still dissatisfied, and again deserts.--Enlists a third
Time.--Marches to Dublin, and thence to Cork.--Departs for
England.--Incidents of the Voyage.--Sails for the Peninsula.--The Ship
on Fire.--A Terrific Storm.--Arrives in Spain.--Gibraltar.--A
Flogging, 7
CHAPTER II.
Origin of the War in the Peninsula.--Siege of Saragossa.--Murderous
Character of the War.--Success of the French in Portugal.--Battle of
Rolica.--Battle of Vimiero.--Convention of Cintra.--The French
evacuate Portugal.--Preparations of Napoleon for another Campaign.--He
subdues the Country, and enters Madrid.--Address to the Spanish
People.--Napoleon recalled by the War with Austria.--Soult and
Ney intrusted with the Command of the French Army in Spain.--Retreat
of Sir John Moore.--Battle of Corunna.--Death of Sir John
Moore.--The British Army sail for England, 50
CHAPTER III.
Joseph Bonaparte again King of Spain.--His Difficulties with
Soult.--Second Siege of Saragossa.--Another English Army, under Sir
Arthur Wellesley, lands at Lisbon.--Battle of Talavera.--The English
retire into Portugal.--Siege of Gerona.--Principal Events of the
Campaign of 1810.--The English Troops make a Stand at Torres
Vedras.--Retreat of Massena.--Siege of Cadiz.--Escape of French
Prisoners.--Opening of the Campaign of 1811, 99
CHAPTER IV.
The Author, with his Regiment, leaves Gibraltar, for
Tarifa.--Dissensions between the Spanish and English Officers.--Battle
of Barossa.--Retreat of the French.--Suffering of the Pursuing
Army.--Guerillas.--Don Julian Sanchez.--Juan Martin Diaz.--Xavier
Mina.--Continued Privations of the British Army.--Adventures of the
Author in Search of Food.--Arrival of the Commissariat with
Provisions.--Extravagant Joy of the Troops.--Departure of the British
Army for Badajos, 123
CHAPTER V.
Badajos.--Its Capture by the French.--Attempts to retake it by the
English.--Wellington invests it in Person.--Assault upon Fort
Christoval.--Storming of the Town.--Terrific Conflict--The place
sacked by the Victors.--Disgraceful Drunkenness and Debauchery of the
Troops.--The Main Body of the Army depart for Beira, 160
CHAPTER VI.
Romantic Adventures of Sir Colquhoun Grant.--The Author ordered,
with a Convoy, to Brussels.--Description of the Route.--The Pass of
Roncesvalles.--Memorable Defeat of the Army of Charlemagne there.--A
sudden Attack and Repulse.--The Author arrives at Brussels,
and joins the Garrison of that Place, 199
CHAPTER VII.
Brief Summary of Events for Four Years preceding the Battle of
Waterloo.--Author’s Narrative resumed at that Period.--Preparation of
Troops for the Battle.--Skirmishing preceding its
Commencement.--Reception of the News at Brussels.--Departure of the
English for the Field of Battle.--Disposition of the Forces.--Attack
upon Hougomont.--Progress of the Battle.--Arrival of the Prussian
Reinforcements.--Charge of the Old Guard.--Flight of the French.--The
Author wounded, and left upon the Field.--Rescued by a
Camp-follower.--Carried to the Hospital, and thence taken to
England.--He quits the Service, and emigrates to
America.--Conclusion, 217
MILITARY ADVENTURES.
CHAPTER I.
Introductory Remarks.--The Author’s Birth.--Parentage.--Prevalence
of the Military Spirit.--Two of his Brothers enlist, and are
killed in the Service.--Author apprenticed to a Carpenter.--His
Desire for a Military Life.--Leaves Home without the Consent of
his Parents.--Reaches Belfast, and enlists.--Dissatisfied with his
new Position.--Deserts, and returns to his Native Village.--Again
enlists, at Navan.--Still dissatisfied, and again deserts.--Enlists
a third Time.--Marches to Dublin, and thence to Cork.--Departs for
England.--Incidents of the Voyage.--Sails for the Peninsula.--The
Ship on Fire.--A Terrific Storm.--Arrives in Spain.--Gibraltar.--A
Flogging.
People advanced somewhat in life, and surrounded by a family of
children, often find great pleasure in retracing scenes of their own
childhood,--in living over, again and again, the hours which have
been to them so productive of happiness or misery; and the events of
those bygone days present to their minds scenes of far deeper and more
thrilling interest than the present can ever do. The thrice-told tale
is as new, and as glowing with interest, as though its occurrences were
but of yesterday. This is true in the case of most whose lives have
been diversified by the changes of varied condition and prospects. But
how much more true is this of the old soldier,--one who, in early
life, became inured to the hardships of war and the severe duties of
camp life. Scenes in the camp, and on the bloody field of martial
combat, where death, in its most terrific forms, is met by many,--the
horrors of the siege, and the consequences to the vanquished,--the
sufferings, the writhings and groans, of the distressed and the
dying,--too deeply impress the mind to be ever erased; and, in our
times of peace, should serve to enhance the value of the blessings we
enjoy. It is, perhaps, with something like these feelings, that the
author of the following sketch presents his narrative to the public.
He can claim no titled ancestry, nor lordly birth, to throw around him
a fictitious glory. This tale draws its interest from the wild scenes
of war, and the wilder passions of men’s souls, which it has been his
fortune to encounter. It is his hope both to instruct and amuse the
young, that they may better prize the blessings of peace; and learn
that war, with all its glory, is to be dreaded, not sought for,--that
it is productive of far more evil than good, even to the successful
party, and that it should ever be, to all nations, only a last resort
from the most flagrant oppression.
[Sidenote: PREVALENCE OF THE MILITARY SPIRIT.]
[Sidenote: BROTHER KILLED IN BATTLE.]
I was born in Dendolk, in the county of Lowth, Ireland, in June,
1793. I was the youngest of eleven children, six of whom were sons,
and five daughters. My father’s name was Charles O’Neil, and my
mother’s maiden name was Alice McGee. My father was a carpenter by
trade, and he supported his large family by daily toil. He was an
industrious and active laborer, and in other times would gladly have
seen his family settle around him, pursuing the peaceful avocations
of husbandry, or engaged in some of the useful mechanic arts. But it
was our fortune--or misfortune, I should say--to live when all Europe
resounded to the din of arms, and the glory of martial life, amid the
confusion and carnage of battle. Napoleon, the mightiest of heroes and
conquerors, was then rapidly ascending to the zenith of his glory;
and all the crowned heads of Europe, terrified by his growing power,
and anxious to save themselves and their thrones, began to prepare
themselves for resistance. Recruits were sought for in every village
and hamlet. The honors of the soldier’s life, and the glory of the
military profession, were everywhere, and by all classes of people,
the topics of conversation. Fathers and mothers were careful to instil
into the minds of their children the glory and honor of a military
life, and the fair young damsels of our own dear island--for Ireland
has charming and beautiful girls--were scarcely willing to regard any
young man as honorable or brave, who did not enlist, and aim to deserve
well of his country. He is a soldier, he has fought in such a battle,
he belongs to his majesty’s regiment, &c., were a sure passport to
society and respectability. All other occupations were considered tame
and spiritless, fit only for the aged, infirm, and for cowards. My
father caught the spirit of the times, and although too old to engage
in such an enterprise himself, gave his ready permission to Arthur, my
oldest brother, who early sought to distinguish himself on the field
of battle. My mother’s consent was not so readily given, but even she
did by no means object to his new enterprise; and when he presented
himself before his parents, in his new uniform, for their parting
blessing, she felt proud that her son was possessed of such a noble,
courageous soul. She cheerfully gave him her hand, saying, “Go, my son;
cover yourself with glory in the service of your country, and when you
are old, you will be honored, respected, and provided for.” But, alas!
how little did my mother think that the first news she would hear from
her first-born son, after this blessing, would fill her own heart with
grief unutterable. He enlisted into the navy, and was placed upon a
seventy-four gun-ship, named the “Terrible;” and terrible, indeed, it
proved to him, for he was killed by a cannon-ball, a few months only
after enlisting, in an engagement which took place in 1807, near the
coast of Holland, between his majesty’s fleet and the French naval
force. His death was a severe affliction to my parents, and completely
damped my father’s desire for military honor for his children. It
was, therefore, with deep regret that they saw in my brother James’
mind a growing dislike to the quiet duties and occupations of home,
and an earnest longing for those warlike scenes which had been so
fatal to Arthur. This desire soon grew so strong that entreaties and
persuasions were alike useless from my dear and aged parents; and in
less than two years from Arthur’s death, he enlisted in the royal army
of George IV., in the 96th regiment of foot. It was a sorrowful day
in our little home, when the news came that his regiment was ordered
abroad, into the foreign service. My father gave him much good advice,
with many directions for the attainment of that honor he hoped to see
him enjoy, at some distant day. But my poor mother could only weep, and
express her deep regret that Jimmie would not be contented to live at
home, at the same time reiterating her confident prediction that she
should see his face no more. Since the melancholy death of Arthur, the
glory and honor of military life all gave place to the carnage, the
slaughter, and the dreadful sufferings of the battle-field, where no
kind hand could minister the slightest consolation, and where agony
unmitigated might be the fate--and to her mind undoubtedly would
be--of her son. She wept aloud, and would not be comforted. But the
die was cast; Jimmie was resolved, at all hazards, to be a soldier. He
thought not of danger, and did not fear death. He only thought of the
excitement of martial strife, the joy and honor awaiting the victor,
and the subsequent reward. Alas! for him the bright future never
dawned. My mother’s fears were but too well founded; for he, too, fell
dead upon the field of battle, while fighting bravely for his country,
in his first engagement, in the bloody battle of Talavera.
It was my father’s wish that I should become a carpenter; and he, early
in life, put me an apprentice to his own trade. But the quiet habits,
constant labor,--destitute of an exciting or romantic incident,--of
a mechanic’s life, ill suited the tastes I had already formed. There
resided near us an old soldier, who found great pleasure in relating
the adventures of his past life; and I was never weary of listening to
them. My imagination was excited, and the romantic scenes he related
to me, with the thrilling incidents of a soldier’s life, made a deep
and permanent impression upon my mind. Alas for me, that I ever fell in
company with this old soldier! My peace was destroyed; I was uneasy,
and determined not to remain in my employment, as a carpenter’s
apprentice. Each interview with him strengthened my desire for a
participation in those scenes which, I was sure, would be so delightful
and interesting.
Mingled with a desire to see foreign countries, and be a sharer of
those actions to whose thrilling narration I had so often listened
with so much interest, came an ardent thirst for revenge on those whom
I regarded as the murderers of my brothers. About this time, one of
my cousins, to whom I was warmly attached, resolved to enlist in a
regiment that was then being formed at Belfast. He was very anxious
that I should accompany him. It did not require much persuasion to
induce me to determine so to do. But I remembered how difficult it
had been for my brother James to gain my parents’ consent, and being
anxious to avoid a scene which must be so painful to all, I resolved to
leave without their knowledge.
[Sidenote: REFLECTIONS ON LEAVING HOME.]
[Sidenote: JOURNEY TO BELFAST.]
This was a most wicked resolution, and deeply do I regret such an
unkind and unwise act. It was not without many misgivings and fears
that I left the home of my childhood. O, that I never had stifled that
voice which so clearly bade me not to go under such circumstances!
There were many things to call up these misgivings, and to hold me back
from such a cruel purpose. The uniform kindness of my parents, the
severe trials to which they had already been subjected,--for, beside
the loss of my brothers, they had buried four of their children, in
early childhood,--their known wishes that I should pursue my father’s
calling, the affection I still felt for home and my dear parents,--all
these made me hesitate, as I stood at our little gate, with my earthly
all in the small bundle I held in my hand. There, on the one hand, were
my dear parents and brothers and sisters, all quietly asleep, wholly
unconscious that I had formed such a wicked purpose, and by stealth
packed my few clothes, and whatever else I could call my own, in my
little bundle; there was the home of my childhood, the hallowed scene
of my early sports and joys, under the smiles and watchfulness of
the kindest of parents; there were the early associates of my boyish
days, and all necessary to render me happy and quiet;--and, on the
other, were the glories of the military profession, and the unreal
pleasures I had anticipated in foreign countries,--scenes and events
pictured in my imagination from the stories of that old soldier. The
realities of home, and all that was dear on earth, opposed to the
more heated imaginations of scenes in other countries, and upon the
field of carnage,--I almost resolved to go back, and become what my
parents wished. I hesitated, at that solemn and still hour of the
night, for some time, before I could break away. Had I only gone back,
and done what I knew I ought to have done, it would have been right;
and I caution all my young readers never to stifle such convictions,
or break away from such restraints. But the thought of my cousin, who
was waiting for me, and the glowing scenes which my imagination had
painted in the countries beyond the sea, to which I hoped soon to go,
drowned the earnest pleadings of the good spirit, whose still small
voice was heard in my soul. I, with sudden violence, sundered these
unpleasant reflections, and madly resolved, come what would, to go
ahead. I rushed, with the utmost rapidity, from my home, and drowned
every conviction and thought that would come up in my soul, of all that
I had left behind. I soon found my cousin, and we pursued our way to
Belfast, with the utmost rapidity. How little did I then think that so
many years would elapse before I should again see that well-known spot,
and those dear friends who, in spite of my wildness and disobedience,
had loved me through all, and were unceasingly seeking my best good!
But I was now to enter another sphere of life, and be subjected to far
other influences than those to which I had been accustomed from early
childhood. I was at this time only seventeen years of age,--1810. My
comrade, like myself, was quite young. Our ideas of the happiness of
a soldier’s life were much the same; and we amused each other, on our
lonely way, by relating all the adventures either of us had ever heard,
of what was then to be our future profession. When morning came,--that
morning in which there was to be so much grief in our quiet homes,
and when the tears of my dear mother, and her groanings, were to be
again heard, for an absent son, who had stolen away,--we feared to
be recognized, by some one who might be passing, if we continued our
journey. So we stopped in an old, deserted hut, and making our simple
meal of the bread we had brought with us, we lay down and slept. About
four o’clock in the afternoon, not seeing any one near, we pursued our
way, and travelled all night. The next morning found us far from home,
among scenes and people entirely strange, and greatly fatigued by our
night’s march. We found a teamster, who was going to Belfast, and, by
much persuasion and entreaty, succeeded in persuading him to carry us
to that city. Right glad were we to rest our weary legs, and amuse
ourselves by gazing at the new and strange objects which met our eyes
as we passed along the road. We reached Belfast about sunset. Neither
of us had ever before seen so large a place as this; and we thought, as
we rode through some of its principal streets, that we never should be
weary of gazing upon its churches and public buildings, which appeared
to us so grand and beautiful.
This city is one of the principal seaports of Ireland. It lies about
ninety miles north of Dublin, on the banks of the river Lagan. With a
population of forty thousand, and all the advantages which it possesses
for trade, it may well be imagined that we found in its busy streets
and crowded thoroughfares enough to rally again all the excitement and
glowing visions which our fatigue was beginning, in some degree, to
dim. But when our driver stopped at a small inn, in one of the back
streets of the city, a good supper and bed seemed too inviting to be
resisted, and we were soon asleep. At early dawn, however, we were
awakened by the roll of the drum, and were soon in the street, gazing,
with wondering eyes, at the many strange sights we saw. Near our hotel
a canal came in, which connects the little lake of Lough Neagh with the
Bay of Belfast. The canal-boats attracted our attention, and my cousin
proposed visiting them; but, far over the tops of the houses, I could
see the tall masts of the vessels which lay moored in the harbor, and I
could not restrain my curiosity longer. So we were soon on our way to
the port. The harbor is an excellent one. It is constantly filled with
shipping, as vessels drawing thirteen feet of water can easily anchor
here. We had scarcely reached the wharf, when I was surprised to hear
a familiar voice calling my name. Turning hastily, I discovered an old
playmate, who had left Dendalk about three years since, for the sea. He
belonged to one of the large vessels now in port. Nothing could have
been more opportune for us, as he was acquainted with the place, and
showed us the ship where he was, which we should not otherwise have had
an opportunity of visiting.
[Sidenote: A RECRUITING OFFICER.]
To him we confided our object in leaving home, and he promised to aid
us in finding the officer. Soon after leaving the wharf, we passed
a large building, which, my friend informed us, was a manufactory
for Irish linen, which is one of the staple exports of the place.
I afterwards learned that no less than eight hundred looms found
continual employment in the production of this valuable commodity.
But much as I should have enjoyed a visit to this place, a scene now
presented itself which had, in my eyes, far greater attractions. Near
the centre of a small open place stood a covered cart, embellished
with flaming handbills, giving a description of the success of the
British troops on the peninsula. On its top stood a neatly-dressed
soldier, who was haranguing, with much earnestness, the motley group
that surrounded him, and calling loudly for recruits to engage in
such glorious service. Judging from the description we heard, our
most sanguine expectations had fallen far short of the reality; and
of course this was an opportunity not to be lost. We eagerly pushed
our way through the crowd, which we had some difficulty in doing; but
the eagle eye of the officer soon rested on us, and, perceiving our
eagerness, he called out, “Make way, make way there, my lads! that’s
right, that’s right,--fine soldiers you’ll be, my hearties, I warrant!”
Of course, all eyes were directed to us; and if any idea of retreating
had occurred, the loud hurrah for the new soldiers, which ran around
the crowd, would at once have decided the question. But no such idea
came to disturb our peace, and our names were handed in. Being asked
how long we would serve, each of us answered, without a moment’s
hesitation, “For life.” “For life, then, are you soldiers of his
majesty,” the officer replied.
[Sidenote: DISCONTENTED WITH THE SERVICE.]
Each of us then received from him eighteen guineas, and were sent to
the barracks, as members of the 8th regiment of foot. Much elated with
what we considered our good fortune, we proceeded at once to make a
selection of our kit, as it is called. This consisted of two shirts,
two pairs of stockings, a plate, knife and fork, and a few other small
articles, the cost of which does not often exceed a guinea. A suit of
regimentals was then provided for us, by the officer of our mess, and
we soon found ourselves quite at home in our new situation. But we had
not been here long, when we began to find the old adage applicable in
our case, “All is not gold that glitters.” The drills to which we were
subjected were very tiresome to those as unaccustomed to any kind of
restraint as we were. In addition to this, as many of our troops had
deserted, we were so closely watched that we lost all the enjoyment
that I had anticipated in viewing the curiosities of the city. It
was hardly to be supposed that, unwilling as I had been to submit to
the quiet restraints of home, I should find a pleasure in the rigid
discipline of the parade-ground; and before one week had passed away,
I found myself pondering whether I could not, in some way, escape from
my regiment. Not that I intended to give up the military profession
entirely, for I still thought that in some other place I should find
the happiness I sought. Every night, after we had retired to our
quarters, I listened to the many tales my comrades were ever ready to
tell, of those who, weary of their lot as soldiers, had deserted,--of
their hair-breadth escapes, and the cruel punishment to which they
were subjected, when discovered. The very romance connected with the
undertaking, and the thrilling interest that existed in listening
to these adventures, strengthened in my mind my desire to share in
their experience. It also occurred to me that should I still wish to
continue in the service, I might go to another part of Ireland, where
I was unknown, and again receive the bounty-money offered to all
enlisting. Yet all these motives would have been insufficient, had not
an incident occurred which aroused all the independence and opposition
of my nature. I was unjustly accused of a breach of discipline, and,
in spite of my protestations of innocence, was punished for it. This
circumstance was sufficient to overcome any fear that might exist of
the consequences; and the very next day--only twelve days from the
time I had entered the service, with such glowing anticipations--an
opportunity occurred, which I determined not to lose. Close to the
parade-ground was a small shop where liquor was sold, and which was
much patronized by the soldiers. Into this shop I saw an old clothes
man enter, and immediately followed him. Having ordered a pint of
porter for him, I asked him if he would be willing to exchange his old
and ragged clothes for my new suit. He said he would, and informed me
that I might meet him under a bridge near, where we might make the
exchange. Observing that no one was near, I went under the bridge, and
soon reäppeared, dressed in his old clothes, and bearing his pack.
Thus disguised, I walked bravely onwards, even passing some of my old
comrades, who did not recognize me. The alarm was soon given, and
soldiers started in pursuit. They soon came up to me, and even stopped
to inquire if I had seen any one pass.
It was with no small degree of pleasure I saw them take another road
from the one I designed to pursue. As soon as they were out of sight,
I renewed my speed, feeling anxious to get as far as possible from
Belfast before another morning. At length, wearied out, I solicited
and obtained permission from a farmer to remain during the night. He
observed me, however, so closely, that my suspicions were aroused, and
I began to fear that he would attempt to inform against me, in order
to obtain the reward offered to those who deliver up a deserter. He
questioned me quite closely, as to where I had been, where I was going,
and, finally, asked me directly, if I had not been a soldier. I denied
it at first, but soon concluded that my best way would be to appeal
to the old man’s generosity. I did so, and was not disappointed. He
not only did not inform, but kindly offered to assist me on my way.
Before daylight we arose, and I dressed myself in a suit of clothes,
with which he furnished me, and taking my seat by his side, in his
market wagon, was once more on my way home. He talked to me long and
faithfully on our journey, nor did he leave me until he saw me alight
at my father’s door. Good old man! I shall never forget his kindness.
He has long since gone to his reward; yet at this distant day my heart
throbs with the recollection of it, and I shall never forget the old
farmer of the Downs.
[Sidenote: RETURNS TO DENDALK.]
My parents received their returning son with true parental affection,
and to them I gave what money still remained from my enlistment
bounty. When I first returned home, they earnestly hoped I should now
be willing to remain there; and I might, perhaps, have yielded to
their entreaties, could I have done so with safety. But soldiers were
often passing through Dendalk, and I was in great danger of being
recognized. This induced my parents to consent that I should leave home
a second time, and try my fortune again in the camp. There was no lack
of opportunity. A regiment was forming at Navan, and to this place I
directed my steps, and soon found myself enrolled as a member of the
64th regiment of foot, and again received eighteen guineas from the
service.
I had been here but three days, when we were summoned out to witness
the punishment of a deserter. He was an athletic young man, who had
been pressed into the service. He had left at home an old mother, a
sick wife and one child, dependent on his daily labor for support.
Finding all attempts to procure a discharge unsuccessful, he had
deserted, and been retaken, through the treachery of a pretended
friend, who, for the sake of a few pounds, could betray the distressed
son and husband to so cruel a punishment, and a still more cruel
separation from those so dearly loved. It would naturally be supposed
that the strong temptation which existed for desertion might have
mitigated the punishment; but this was not the case. War recognizes
none of those affections which make the happiness of the human heart.
It seeks only to crush out their life, or perhaps holds them up to
ridicule, as things of no moment. He was sentenced to receive three
hundred lashes. His sentence was executed, and we saw him taken down,
bleeding and mangled, and carried to the hospital almost insensible. It
was a long time before he recovered sufficiently to perform duty. He
did not again attempt desertion. A few days after, word was brought him
that his wife and child had died from want, and that his old mother was
in the parish workhouse. He was never seen to smile again. The soldiers
were all kind to him, but I learned afterward, that he soon sickened,
and died of a broken heart. The sight of this punishment filled me with
dread, and threw quite a damper on my exalted ideas of a military life.
Our commanding officer was very strict,--unnecessarily so, as we
thought,--in his rules, and rigorous in the execution of punishments.
He had been so long in his situation, and seen so much of misery,
that his heart was completely hardened. Every disobedience, even an
accidental variation from his orders, however trifling, was punished to
the extent of the law--often beyond it.
[Sidenote: ALARMING INTELLIGENCE.]
If I had found the discipline and restraint of Belfast unendurable,
this was far worse. Nor was I at all disposed to submit to it. I had
deserted once, without discovery. Why should I not do so again? I was
restless and uneasy, and came in for my full share of punishment. I
was thinking on this subject one day, when my attention was suddenly
arrested by a conversation between two officers near me. “How soon
is the regiment expected from Belfast?” said one. “In about three
days,” replied the other. “Do you know its number?” “The 8th regiment
of foot,” was the answer. It was the very one with which I had been
connected! Of course, I should be at once recognized, and not only
lose the bounty-money I had already received, but be punished as a
deserter. This dreaded prospect roused every energy of my spirit, and
I resolved to escape before their arrival, at all hazards. Fortune
seemed to favor my undertaking. The next morning, which was the 11th
of June, only twelve days from my second enlistment, I was sent out,
with a number of other soldiers, to bring back some horses which had
strayed from the camp, having broken from their pickets. On my way, my
attention was accidentally attracted to a large tree, which grew near
the road. The tree was hollow, and its entrance was completely screened
from observation by a luxuriant vine which twined itself around the
trunk. As we were searching for the horses, I succeeded in examining
it, without attracting observation, and found that I could be concealed
there for a short time.
[Sidenote: RESOLVES TO ENLIST A THIRD TIME.]
Taking advantage of a moment when no one was near, I placed myself in
the tree, and, scarcely venturing to breathe, awaited the search which
I knew would be made for me. Once or twice, a soldier passed so near
that I could hear the leaves rustle against his coat. But their efforts
were fruitless. I was not discovered, and remained in my shelter until
the noise of their footsteps had died away. Then, creeping out, I ran
as fast as I could away from Navan, avoiding as much as possible the
highways, as I knew that my dress would betray me. It was necessary
that I should rid myself of it as soon as possible; but there was great
risk in doing it, as I should, of course, betray myself to the one with
whom the bargain should be effected;--and, where all were strangers,
I dared not run so great a risk. I did not wish to go home, as the
danger to which I was now exposed would be greater even than before,
and would be a source of keen distress to my mother. So I directed my
steps to my sister’s cottage, which was much nearer than my father’s.
Here I met with a kind reception, and a secure hiding-place for some
time, in return for which I bestowed the whole of my money on her. We
had many conversations as to my future course. She was very anxious
that I should give up my ideas of being a soldier, and go quietly home.
But to this I could not consent. I had, it is true, ascertained that
there were troubles in that life, as well as in others; but I still
thought that when I had once entered upon active service I should
find my lot quite different. I had as yet seen no foreign countries,
nor could I bear the idea of settling down to a steady employment. I
wanted a life of ease, excitement, and pleasure. I had heard far too
much of that intense excitement which pervades every breast when the
sound of the trumpet summons the soldier to combat, and of the glory
that follows the successful warrior, to feel willing to give it all
up. Beside, my condition was now irksome in the extreme. There was so
much danger of being recognized, that I could not feel myself safe
anywhere. A description of my person and appearance had been sent
all over the country, with the offer of the usual reward. I concluded
that, should I enlist in another part of the country, I should stand a
much better chance of not being recognized, as they would hardly look
for a deserter in the barracks. On the 3d of July, therefore, I bade
my sister a long farewell, and started out in pursuit of a regiment. I
walked all day, and at night found myself at a small town so far from
my home that I thought I might venture to stop at the inn, especially
as there seemed to be no troops near. I did so. I had eaten my supper,
and was about retiring, when I observed a list of deserters pasted up
in one of the rooms. Hastily running it over, I saw my own description
there too plainly to be mistaken. Of course, I could not remain there
for the night; and, walking leisurely to the door, I was just passing
out, when my attention was attracted to the conversation of two
persons near. “I am sure it must be he,” said one. “Did you read the
description?--the very same hair and eyes, I am sure,” said the other.
“We shall get the reward, no doubt. As soon as he has gone to bed,
we will send for the officer. But come, let us go in, and take care
that he does not suspect us.” As I had recognized my landlord’s voice,
I considered that such treachery was sufficient to justify a sudden
leave; and, thinking that he might take his pay for his supper from his
expected reward, I hastened away. Having travelled an hour or two, I
threw myself on a pile of straw, and rested till morning, determined
that I would trust myself in no one’s house until I was again enlisted.
It was, therefore, with pleasure that I heard, soon after sunrise, the
sound of martial music in advance of me. Two hours after, I was quietly
ensconced in my quarters, in the Lowth Militia, _en route_ for Dublin,
having the third time received my money from government.
[Sidenote: HIS REGIMENT IN DUBLIN.]
Our progress towards the capital was very slow, as we were constantly
looking out and receiving additions to our company from the peasantry
of the places through which we passed. The glowing descriptions of
our recruiting-sergeant, the thrilling sound of the martial music,
the very sight of so many well-dressed soldiers, presented strong
inducements to the ragged, half-clad, and half-starved children of poor
unfortunate Ireland, to leave her shores for at least a season. Then
there was the hope of returning with the pension, that would insure to
them, in their old age, a sustenance, of which they could be certain
from no other source. These inducements carried desolation to many a
home, but they filled our ranks; and, on the 20th of July, we were
in Dublin, with complete numbers. Here I enjoyed more liberty than I
had done at either of the other stations, and had more opportunity to
see the place. The barracks are situated in the west end of the city,
near the beautiful river which divides it into two equal parts. Not
far from them rises the noble hospital of Kilmainham, destined for the
reception of disabled and superannuated soldiers. The visits of these
old soldiers was a source of great pleasure to us, as we were never
weary of hearing them recount their tales of war and of hard-fought
fields; while, in listening to our anticipations, and in seeing us go
through the exercises required, they almost seemed to renew their own
youth. Preparations were now rapidly being made for our departure to
England; and, as the time drew near, my thoughts naturally reverted
to my own dear home, and I felt it would be a great privilege if I
could once more see my parents. I therefore wrote to them, giving
them a full account of my wanderings, my place of destination, and
begging them at least to write to me before I left, and say that I
was forgiven for all the trouble and anxiety I had cost them. The
return mail brought me a letter from them, assuring me of their love
and forgiveness, and promising to visit me before we left. I may as
well state here that I did not see my dear parents again. They came
to Dublin, as they had promised; but we had left the day before, for
Cork. They would have followed me there, immediately, had they not
been informed, at the barracks, that I had left directly for England.
It was the policy of our officers to prevent these meetings as often
as possible, on account of their effect upon the soldiers. And no one,
in whose heart lingered a particle of kindness, could look unmoved on
the spectacles of misery which it was almost daily my lot to witness,
when the time approached for us to leave. Of the thousands collected
there, waiting to be transferred to a foreign shore, how few would
ever return! and, of those few, how many would come back, with ruined
health and broken hearts, only to find desolation and death where they
had hoped for love and sympathy! Many of these had enlisted while under
the influence of liquor, or else had been brought in by the press-gang;
and, in thus leaving their families, they were deprived of every means
of subsistence, and must either soon perish from want, or linger out
a more protracted, but scarcely less miserable existence, in the
workhouse. O! why must Ireland suffer so much from her poverty, with
her fertile soil and many productions?--that deep poverty, which has
forced so many of her sons abroad to die, and which still continues to
force them abroad, to ask that assistance and aid which it were worse
than useless to expect at home!
[Sidenote: AN AFFECTING SCENE.]
Of these partings, to which I have referred, the long course of years
has scarcely dimmed the painful impression they made upon my memory.
One of those oftenest recalled was that of a young man who was bidding
adieu to his aged parents. He was an only son, and his most diligent
care and labor scarcely sufficed to supply them with the common
necessaries of life. Their lease had recently expired, and to renew it
again a sum of money was required which was utterly beyond their simple
means. Nothing could save them from immediate ejectment unless the
lease was renewed, and this faithful son determined to secure a home
for his parents in their old age by gaining the bounty-money offered
to volunteers. To do this, however, he must submit to a separation
which he could not hope could be otherwise than final; for who would
care and labor for them when he was gone? And those parents, accustomed
as they had been to his presence and kindness, how could they live when
the sunlight of their existence had set? Never have I seen agony more
strongly depicted on the human countenance than it appeared on his,
as he turned away from their farewell clasp. Poor fellow! he deserved
a better fate than afterwards befell him; for he died by the hands of
a guerilla, on the hills of Spain. What became of his aged parents
I never knew. We could only hope that the angel of death would be
merciful, and come soon to their relief.
Turning away from this sad scene, which brought tears into eyes all
unused to weep, it was only to meet another, which affected the heart
almost as deeply. A woman, pale and sickly-looking, worn to premature
old age by incessant toil and suffering, and the mother of five little
children, was bidding farewell to her husband. He had enlisted while
drunk, and had spent or lost nearly all of his money before recovering
his senses. When he was able to realize his situation, his feelings
could scarcely be controlled; for he was the sole dependence of his
helpless family. But there was now no help for him. The money was
gone, he had pledged himself, and he must go, and leave his family to
starve or live on the bread of charity. But I will not dwell on this
parting scene. Suffice it to say, that, when our preparations were
complete, and our regiment ordered to Cork, I left Dublin, with all its
magnificence, without a regret.
[Sidenote: TREATMENT ON THE MARCH.]
We marched to Cork,--a distance of one hundred and sixty-two miles,--by
slow and easy marches. I believe the regulations of the service only
require ten miles’ march in the course of the day; but we almost always
went further than that before halting. From the time of leaving Dublin
we began to receive the usual pay of an English soldier, which is
one shilling per day, and two suits of clothes per year. Of this sum
the government retain one half, for furnishing bread and beef. With
the other sixpence the soldier is required to furnish himself with
whatever else he may wish for; or, if we preferred it, while marching
in Ireland, the whole sum was paid us, and then we purchased what we
chose. By being very abstemious, some of our men saved a few pence
daily, which was often transmitted to the suffering ones at home.
Whenever we halted for the night the soldiers were billeted upon the
inhabitants of the place, each family being required to accommodate
one, two, or more soldiers with lodgings and a supper. The number
of the house and the name of the street was given, on a ticket, to
each soldier, which he was required to present at the door, and the
family must either accommodate him, or furnish him with money to
procure lodgings elsewhere. This was often very unpleasant for the
inhabitants, and the alternative, of course, was frequently adopted,
especially by the more wealthy classes. We were not always treated
with kindness by those who were thus forced to receive us,--having
frequently to put up with the poorest accommodations that could be
furnished. But, as soldiers have never been noted for their forbearance
or mildness, such persons usually found themselves worse off, in the
end, than if they had pursued a different course. As a general thing,
when treated with kindness, it was returned with civility, especially
while we were in our own country. In the wars on the continent, in the
frequent passages of armies into the countries of their opponents, the
inhabitants often suffered severely from this custom; and reprisals
were frequently made, when opportunity offered, which, if not justified
by the law of right, were most certainly by that of camps. An incident,
illustrating this, which occurred while I was on the continent, and
which afterwards appeared in the newspapers of the day, may be given
here, as I shall not again have occasion to allude to this subject.
[Sidenote: ANECDOTE.]
A Prussian officer, on his arrival at Paris, particularly requested
to be billeted on the house of a lady, in the Faubourg St. Germain.
His request was complied with, and, on his arriving at the lady’s
house, he was shown into a small but comfortable sitting-room, with
a handsome bed-chamber adjoining it. With these rooms he appeared
greatly dissatisfied, and desired that the lady should give up to him
her own apartment, on the first floor, which was large and elegantly
furnished. To this the lady made the strongest objections; but the
officer insisted, and she was under the necessity of retiring to the
second floor. He afterwards sent a message to her, by one of the
servants, saying that he destined the second floor for his aid-de-camp.
This occasioned still stronger remonstrances from the lady, but they
were totally unavailing and unattended to by the officer, whose only
answer was, “Obey my orders!” He then called the cook, and informed
him he must prepare a handsome dinner for six persons, and desired
the lady’s butler to supply the table with the best wines the cellar
could afford. After dinner, he sent for his hostess. She obeyed the
summons. The officer then said to her, “No doubt, madam, you consider
my conduct indecorous and brutal in the extreme.” “I must confess,” she
answered, “that I did not expect such treatment from an officer; as,
in general, military men are ever disposed to show a great degree of
respect and deference to our sex.” “You think me, then, a most perfect
barbarian? Answer me, frankly.” “If you really desire my undisguised
opinion on the subject,” said the lady, “I must say that I think your
conduct truly barbarous.” “Madam,” was the answer, “I am entirely of
your opinion; but I only wished to give you a specimen of the behavior
and conduct of your son, during _six months_ that he resided in my
house, after the entrance of the French army into the Prussian capital.
I do not intend, however, to follow so bad an example. You have full
liberty, therefore, to resume your apartment to-morrow, and I will seek
lodgings at some public hotel.” The lady retired, quite satisfied that
the officer was, after all, an honorable man.
While passing through a small village, not far from Cork, it was my
fortune to be billeted, with two of my comrades, in a house where the
eldest daughter was that evening to be married. The company had already
assembled, when, knocking at the door, we presented our billets. The
master of the house came to meet his unwelcome guests. He offered us
quite a large sum to seek some other place for the night; but, as we
had obtained an inkling of what was going forward, we declined. Of
course, no alternative remained but to receive us with as good a grace
as he could. I am happy to say, however, that we did not forget what
was due to our hosts, in the way of decorum, although we joined in the
merry dance, and saluted the bride with soldier-like freedom. Money
was often made by the soldiers, when they chose to do so, as they
would frequently receive three, five, or even ten shillings, for their
tickets, and then furnish themselves with cheaper lodgings elsewhere.
[Sidenote: SEA-SICKNESS.]
We arrived in Cork in September. This large city is next in size to
Dublin, and lies one hundred and sixty-two miles to the south-west of
it. It was originally built upon an island, but in process of time it
was extended to both sides of the river. Its harbor is nine miles
from the city. It is a beautiful harbor, very safe and capacious. Here
we remained until the middle of October, when we were ordered to sail
for England. The transport Lunar was sent to convey us, and, having
received her complement of men, she was soon under way. Almost all
on board were new recruits, who were leaving Ireland for the first
time, and it was with various and deep emotions that we watched her
fast-receding shores. Mingled with many sad recollections of parents,
and home, and friends, came dreams of future glory, the thirst for
martial fame, and anticipations of the happiness we should enjoy in
scenes far away, whose very distance and indistinctness added, far
more than exact reality could have done, to the brightness of our
hopes. But, however golden might have been the visions that filled our
minds, we were certainly destined to realize none of them on that day.
Sea-sickness soon sent us all to our berths, and a more miserable,
woebegone looking set than our company presented could not easily be
found. But though none of us felt inclined to laugh, a looker-on might
have found much amusement, in the grotesque attitudes, the comical
grimaces, and the unavailing complaints, that resounded on every side.
But, however much the old tars on board might have been disposed to
make themselves merry at our expense, the next day gave them sufficient
occupation in attending to their own affairs. The morning that we
left the beautiful harbor of Cork was fair and cloudless. The gentle
breeze, directly in our favor, carried us out into the channel with an
easy, gliding motion, that promised us a short and pleasant voyage.
But when, just at night, weary of the confinement and confusion in
our cabin, I crept on deck, I saw the captain and mate conversing in
low and hurried accents, while the sailors were watching the dark,
portentous clouds, that lay piled up against the horizon, gilded by the
last rays of the sun, which made their darkness seem still blacker. The
wind, which had been directly in our favor, now tacked to the opposite
quarter, and was blowing with great fury, which increased before
midnight to a perfect hurricane. Our vessel, with its closely-reefed
sails, flew over the mountain waves, like a bird before the storm. For
two days and two nights the storm continued, and our vessel seemed as
a mere plaything of the waves. On the third morning it became almost
unmanageable, and we had little hope of reaching land in safety; but,
as we came in sight of the white cliffs of England, the storm subsided,
and our hopes again rose. Our captain tried hard to reach our point of
destination, but all his efforts were fruitless, as the ship was almost
a wreck. Giving up this point, therefore, he succeeded in reaching the
little port of Pill, about four miles from Bristol, where we landed in
safety. I shall never forget the emotion of joy which thrilled my heart
when I found myself once more on land; and I presume there were none
on board who did not, in some degree, share the feeling. From Pill we
proceeded to Bristol, where we remained a short time. We enjoyed our
stay in Bristol very much, as there were many things that were new to
us to attract our attention, and we were not as closely watched as we
had been in Ireland. Our pay, while in England, was one and sixpence
daily,--the amount being increased, as provisions were dearer than in
Ireland.
From Bristol we were ordered to Plymouth, to undergo the necessary but
wearisome task of being drilled,--a task not much more agreeable to our
officers than to ourselves. It would have indeed required the patience
of a Job to mould those raw recruits, unaccustomed to confinement, and
totally unused to that subordination so positively necessary in an
army, into skilful and obedient soldiers. It was, indeed, a tiresome
task; and it was with no small degree of pleasure that we learned that
our time had expired, and that we were soon to embark for the Peninsula.
[Sidenote: SAILS FOR THE PENINSULA.]
[Sidenote: A FIRE AT SEA.]
The day at length arrived when we were actually to sail. The last
preparations had been made,--the last stores taken in. Each ship (there
were eleven in the whole) received its living load, and then, one after
another, their white sails were spread, and soon the fast-receding
shores of England seemed but a dim line, and then a mere speck on
the horizon. It was on the first day of January, 1811, that we bade
our long, and so many of us our last farewell, to the shores of old
England. On our own ship there were twelve hundred of us,--a jovial,
merry set. For the first fourteen days nothing worthy of special notice
occurred, but then an accident happened which came near costing us all
our lives. It is the custom, on board ships-of-war, to serve out every
day spirit rations to the men. On our ship, this was done at eleven
o’clock in the morning. A cask of liquor was rolled on deck, the head
knocked out, and the officer whose duty it was served out to each of
the mess a measure of raw spirit. They usually came up, one by one,
received their measure, and then retired, either to drink it themselves
or to dispose of it to others, who could always be found willing to
purchase, which was often done, when any of us had more than usual
need of money. On the morning to which I have alluded, the 14th of
January, one of the soldiers walked up to the cask for his allowance
with a lighted pipe in his mouth, the coal from which he dropped
accidentally in the liquor. Almost in a moment the whole deck was
enveloped in flames. The alarm was soon given, and every man on board
did his utmost to extinguish them; but the large quantity of tar and
other combustibles made this a task not easily accomplished. The deck
was soon flooded with water, but the flames leaped up the ropes, and
caught on the rigging. In spite of all our efforts, they still gained
ground, and so rapidly that the most daring of our number began to fear
that we were lost. As a last resource, each of the soldiers caught
their blankets, and throwing them wet on the fire, and keeping them
so, it was at length extinguished. When this was completed, we gathered
the remains of our charred and ruined blankets, and, throwing them
into the sea, we retired to our naked berths, grateful that, though
suffering with cold, our lives had been spared. It has often been my
lot, in the crowded city, to witness the raging flames, as they leaped
from house to house, carrying ruin and desolation in their progress; I
have gazed on the ashes of palaces, beautiful but yesterday in their
magnificence, to which the ruthless torch of the midnight incendiary
had been applied; and I have often, often been startled from the deep
sleep of night, by that fearful cry, which, in its very name, is the
token of suffering and sorrow;--but never--never do I remember anything
that thrilled to the depths of my soul like that cry of fire, on the
wild waste of waters, where, unless it could be subdued, scarcely a
hope remained for the safety of those twelve hundred human beings,
confined in the ship’s narrow space. On land, there must be at least
a hope of escape; and then we know that the warm sympathies of active
friends are enlisted in the sufferers’ behalf, and that all that man
can do, to aid or save, will be done. But when, far away on the sea,
the red flames are seen leaping from mast to mast, no summoning bell
tolls out its warning voice on the midnight air,--no friendly crowds
rush to the rescue; but the little band of devoted ones on board must
toil and labor, with all that energy which the human spirit will
summon up when life or death hang on the passing moment, until the die
is cast. Then, if all is at last in vain, it but remains to choose a
death by fire or flood, or, too often, in the few that may escape by
the boats, a more lingering, but not less to be dreaded fate, is met in
death by starvation. But such was not our destiny; and among all the
narrow escapes which it has been my lot in life to encounter, there are
no deliverances I remember with more gratitude than the quenching of
that fire on board our man-of-war.
In referring to this incident of my life, I have often wondered that a
custom so full of danger as that of serving spirit out daily to such
a body of men should be continued. The frequent accidents to which I
allude are but a very small part of the evil; yet even this is well
worthy of being taken into consideration, when we remember not only the
pecuniary loss involved, but the vast amount of human life which is
thus needlessly sacrificed. The moral evil is of far greater magnitude.
When I left home, I had never formed the habit of drinking,--the taste
of liquor was positively disagreeable to me; and it was in compliance
with this custom that I first found a relish for it. I can recall many,
who now fill a drunkard’s grave, who might trace back the commencement
of this sinful and ruinous habit to the same practice. It is my humble
opinion that much of the disobedience and disrespectful language from
the men might be avoided, and consequently many of the punishments
dispensed with, if this custom were wholly discontinued. Besides, is
it not encouraging this ruinous habit, thus to place, as it were, the
national seal upon its usefulness and necessity, by thus furnishing it
to those employed, and especially just before a battle? as if _that_
were in any way necessary to infuse a true spirit of courage! It is
much to be hoped that a decided reform will soon be effected here;
and that, while philanthropists are striving with such earnestness
to do away with much of the corporal punishment formerly in vogue in
both army and navy, they will not forget the exciting cause which so
often operates to destroy entirely the force of moral restraint, thus
rendering physical coercion not only advisable, but often absolutely
necessary.
[Sidenote: A TERRIFIC STORM.]
While passing through the Bay of Biscay, we encountered a terrific
storm, which entirely scattered our little fleet. Most of the time,
since leaving home, we had remained within hailing distance of each
other, messages often passing and repassing; but when the storm burst
upon us with so much fury, the rest of the ships were quickly driven
away. Only one vessel remained in sight. It was the smallest of our
fleet, and we watched it with much anxiety, as we could plainly see
that it had undergone serious injury. It was on the evening of the
second day that we heard the distant booming of her guns, through the
wild roar of the waters, announcing their perilous situation, and
imploring, if possible, aid. But what could human arm avail, in a
time like this? Our own ship lay at the mercy of the waves. No boat
could live for one moment in those foaming and raging waters; and so,
with aching hearts, we were compelled to look idly on, and see our
countrymen and fellow-soldiers about to be engulfed in a watery grave.
Night closed in; we could see that their condition was hopeless; and,
before nine, their last light was extinguished, nor did we ever hear
from them again. In all probability, the whole crew of six hundred men
were lost.
The next morning the sun rose bright and beautiful, and the moaning
waves lashed themselves to rest as peacefully as though their bright
waters hid no dark secrets, to be veiled from human view until the sea
shall give up its dead. The wind passed into a favorable quarter, and
the gentle breeze soon wafted us on, until the high lands of Spain
rose full on our view. Accustomed to the level shores of Ireland, I
had never imagined scenery so beautiful as that which appeared all
along the coast, presenting a view said to be the finest in the world.
Our fleet, slowly collecting together, now rounded the cape, and we
soon found ourselves in the Bay of Gibraltar. This bay is eight miles
long, and five wide. Every eye was on the alert for the first view of
that great rock, so deservedly famous in English history; and we soon
saw it, rising, as it does, fifteen hundred feet out of the sea, and
extending over three miles. It is one of the strongest fortifications
in the world. It is owned by the British government.
[Sidenote: MONKEYS AT GIBRALTAR.]
As our fleet dropped their anchors in this noble harbor, we were
welcomed at the fort by martial salutes and loud huzzas, which were
heartily returned. It was with much pleasure that we found ourselves
at last in that land of which we had heard so much, and where we
hoped to witness, and participate in, many deeds of glory. After
marching, with flying colors and beating drums, into the town, we
were at liberty to go where we pleased; and I soon found myself, with
a party of my countrymen, on the famous rock. Rising perpendicularly
out of the sea, it slopes towards the shore, and is level for a few
feet on the top. On this level space are placed the cannon, which
command the whole entrance into the Mediterranean. The dim outline of
the African shore is distinctly visible from its top. We were much
annoyed by the monkeys, that inhabit the rock in great numbers. They
are said to come over from Africa, by a subterranean passage, under the
Straits. They were regarded almost as sacred by the inhabitants, and a
fine is imposed on any one who injures or kills them. They sometimes
attack their assailants with stones, but oftener prefer stratagem to
valor,--running rapidly before their pursuers until, by a sudden turn
on some dizzy edge, they secure themselves, and leave their pursuers to
be dashed to pieces on the rocks. They are often quite troublesome to
the soldiers and sentries, pelting them with stones, and always ready
to retaliate.
Gibraltar is called the key of the Mediterranean, because no force
could possibly effect an entrance without permission from the British
government. They have now mounted there over eight hundred guns, and
are intending to increase the number to one thousand. The English
territory in the south of Spain is about four miles in extent. They
obtained possession of it only after severe struggles; but can probably
never be dispossessed by open force.
The Sabbath after we landed, the whole company of men were paraded for
church. We were all ordered to attend the service of the Church of
England. As I had been brought up a strict Catholic, and as there was
a church of that persuasion in the place, to which I intended going, I
did not respond to the call, but remained in my quarters. I had been
here but a short time, when the sergeant came in, and asked why I did
not go to church. I told him I could not attend the service of his
church while there was one of my own denomination in the place. He
replied that it was a rule of the army, and I must submit to it. But
I still declined to go, when he went out and reported to the adjutant
that I had refused to obey orders. The adjutant then came in, and
asked me the same question. I told him that I was not a member of the
Church of England, but a Catholic. If I could be permitted, I would
gladly attend my own church, but could not be present at the service.
At this the adjutant was very angry, and ordered me into confinement.
Here I had leisure to reflect on the probable consequences of the
step I had taken. Punishment of some kind was certain; and, judging
from the angry appearance and words of the adjutant, I certainly had no
reason to think it would be a light one. But what right has England,
I asked myself, to compel those who fight her battles to worship as
she worships? My conscience told me that she had none. I felt that my
cause was just, and I determined to persevere, whatever might be the
result. The next day I was summoned before a court-martial, tried,
and sentenced to receive three hundred lashes on the succeeding day.
As, perhaps, some of my young readers have not much idea of this
punishment, I will describe it to them.
[Illustration: WHIPPING AT GIBRALTAR.]
[Sidenote: A FLOGGING.]
A triangle was erected, composed of three poles, fastened at the top
with an iron bolt. To two of these the legs and hands of the sufferer
are designed to be fastened, while a board is placed across for the
breast to lean upon. The troops were then marched out, and formed
a large hollow square around the place of punishment. I was then
brought to the place, under guard of a file of soldiers, commanded
by an officer. My clothes were so far removed as to leave me naked
to the waist, and I was bound to the triangle. Turning to the first
soldier on the file, the officer directed that he should proceed to
duty. He laid aside his coat, and applied twenty-five lashes, with
the cat-o’-nine-tails, to my back. These blows were counted by the
officer. After twenty-five had been applied, I was asked if I would
give up; I answered, “No!” The blood was already flowing freely from
my back, yet I resolved to die rather than submit to what appeared to
me so unjust a requirement. The next soldier then took the lash, and
struck twenty-five times. Again the officer asked if I would yield,
and received the same reply; and this was continued until the whole
three hundred had been inflicted. I was then taken down, more dead
than alive, and sent to the hospital to be cured of my wounds,--a
process usually requiring from six weeks to three months. The cat--the
instrument with which this punishment is inflicted--is composed of nine
small cords, twisted very hard, and having three knots on each cord;
sometimes the ends of these are bound with wire. The whip is usually
about eighteen inches long, and the handle fifteen.
As soon as I was able, I wrote to his Royal Highness the Duke of York,
stating my case, and requesting permission for those who preferred
attending their own churches to do so. I was much gratified to learn
that his Highness took the matter into consideration; and, soon after,
sent an order that the soldiers should be permitted to attend church
where they pleased. I have always had the consolation, when looking
back on that scene of severe and unjust suffering, of thinking that it
was instrumental in procuring liberty of conscience to many who might
never have enjoyed it without.
[Sidenote: SUFFERING.]
I remained at the hospital until our troops were ordered to march,
which was only three or four weeks. Of course, the wounds were only
partially healed, and I was obliged to shoulder my knapsack while they
were still raw and sore. This constant irritation prevented their
healing, and the suffering I endured from this cause I considered
nearly as great as that from the punishment itself.