STORY OF RESTON.
From Kilkenny the regiment removed to Dublin, where, being quartered
in a barrack outside the town, the dull sameness of our duty was
broken in upon by little worthy of relation. One incident, however,
I may relate, that will not only support opinions advanced in
this work, but also give me an opportunity of doing justice to an
individual, which inadvertence only caused me to delay so long.
While in Kilkenny we got a musician from a militia regiment to teach
our band. He was a first-rate performer; but in saying so, I sum
up all his good qualities, for a more ignorant mulish blockhead I
never met with. Our officers, listening only to the sweet sounds
which he elicited from the various instruments, thought he could not
fail to make our band as good musicians as himself, and proud of his
acquirements, they granted him every indulgence; but he had no more
art in communicating his knowledge of the science to others, than
the clarionet on which he played; and his morose, overbearing temper
actually kept the regiment in a constant broil. Not a day passed,
nay, scarcely an hour, without a complaint from him, against some one
or another; and as those complaints were sometimes listened to, and
the individuals complained of punished in some shape to please him,
the life of a musician in the regiment was no enviable one. Among
them was a young lad of the name of Reston, whose growing talent, in
spite of every obstacle, threatened to outdo his master—this roused
his jealousy, and he prohibited him, on various pretences, from the
use of both music and instruments, by which he might have improved
himself; but, not content with this, he tormented him by all the
nameless methods which a superior in the army can, I am sorry to say,
too often do with impunity. Poor Reston was known to the officers
and his comrades as a boy of remarkably precocious talent, not in
music alone, but in every thing; and naturally of a proud spirit, he
could ill brook the insult and oppression which was heaped upon him,
and seeing that his enemy was supported in every thing that he did,
his mind was wrought up to desperation, and he deserted—taking his
passage in a vessel from Dublin to Glasgow, where his parents resided.
On his arrival there, instead of endeavouring to palliate his
offence, they represented it to him in the most heinous light,
urged him, as the only way to amend his fault, to return to his
regiment immediately; and lest anything might deter him, his mother
accompanied him to Dublin, and gave him up to the commanding officer.
Reston was pardoned, and re-commenced his duty; but the spirit of
his oppressor was in no way altered—he took every opportunity of
provoking him. Reston’s feelings were keen in the extreme; but he
suffered patiently for a length of time, until one morning, when the
regiment was going out to drill, provoked beyond measure by taunts
and insults, he replied in terms that were construed into something
resembling mutiny—this was immediately reported by the fellow who
had aggravated him—the consequence was, that he was tried by a court
martial on the field, and punished. He did not receive more than
twenty-five lashes, when he fainted and was taken down—his back was
little hurt, but the scourge had entered his soul—he never recovered
it. He begged his friends strongly to purchase his discharge, and
they made the necessary application at head-quarters, but it was
resisted at the regiment. Seeing this, his mother travelled to London
herself, and petitioned His Royal Highness for her son’s discharge,
representing her own services to urge its being granted; but the
usual official routine being gone through, the required permission
was again combated at the regiment, and declined at head-quarters.
The consequence was, that poor Reston was driven to despair, and
seeing no hope of being relieved by any other means from the
oppression under which he groaned, he again deserted, and has never
since been heard of.
Thus, a young man of genius, and abilities of no common kind, was
ruined, to keep in countenance one of the veriest blockheads that
ever appeared in human shape, who at length sunk into well-merited
disgrace, but not before many good men were punished, and otherwise
unjustly used for his sake.
I have alluded to his mother representing her services to the
commander-in-chief—I shall now give her character, and then leave the
reader to judge whether she had not some claim upon the indulgence of
those in office at head-quarters.
She was the individual who distinguished herself so nobly at
Matagorda, near Cadiz, while the French were besieging the latter
place in 1810. Her husband was then a sergeant in the ninety-fourth
regiment, and one of the detachment that occupied that fort, when the
French bombarded it with thirty piece of cannon. It may be easily
conceived what havoc would be created by so much artillery playing
upon a place not more than an hundred yards square, and it may also
be imagined that few women could have maintained ordinary courage or
self-possession in such a place: but from the commencement of the
action she behaved in a manner which it is scarcely in my power to
do justice to. The bomb-proofs being too small to contain the whole
garrison, some of the men had huts formed on the battery, and among
the rest was that of Mrs Reston. When the French opened upon us, she
was wakened out of her sleep by a twenty-four pound shot striking
the facine where her head lay; but nothing daunted, she got up, and
removing her child, a boy of four years old, down to the bomb-proof,
she assisted the surgeon in dressing the wounded men, who were fast
increasing on his hands, for which purpose she tore up her own linen
and that of her husband. Water being needed, one of the drum-boys
was desired to go and draw some from the well in the centre of the
battery; but he did not seem much inclined to the task, and was
lingering at the door with the bucket dangling in his hand.—‘Why
don’t you go for the water?’ said the surgeon.—‘The poor thing’s
frightened,’ said Mrs Reston, ‘and no wonder at it: give it to me,
and I’ll go for it.’ So saying, she relieved the drummer from the
perilous duty, and amid the dreadful discharge of artillery playing
upon the battery, she let down the vessel to fill it with water—she
had scarcely done so, when the rope was cut by a shot; but she
determined to get her message with her, and begging the assistance of
a sailor, she recovered the bucket, and brought it filled with water
down to the bomb-proof, where her attention to the wounded soldiers
was beyond all praise. In the intervals, she carried sand bags for
the repair of the battery, handed along ammunition, and supplied the
men at the guns with wine and water; and when the other two women
(who had been in hysterics in one of the bomb-proofs, from the time
the action had commenced,) were leaving the battery, she refused to
go. Next morning our ammunition being expended, we ceased firing,
and the French, seeing the dilapidated state of the fort, sent down
a strong force to take possession of the place; and our men were
mustered for their reception, when Mrs Reston was at her post with
the others, determined to share in the danger. It was a critical
moment, for had they got under the range of our guns, our efforts
would have been unavailing. Through the ruinous state of the fort,
three guns, all that we could bring to bear upon them, were crammed
with loose powder, grape, ball cartridge, &c., to the muzzle, ready
for a farewell shot, and when they came within two or three hundred
yards of the fort, we poured their contents into the very heart of
the column, and laid the half of them prostrate on the earth. Those
who survived took to flight—their batteries again opened, and a
fresh supply of ammunition having arrived for us, we returned their
salute; but the place being found untenable, the surviving part of
the garrison were withdrawn by the boats of our fleet.
Mrs Reston still exhibited the same undaunted spirit. She made three
different journeys across the battery for her husband’s necessaries
and her own. The last was for her child, who was lying in the
bomb-proof. I think I see her yet, while the shot and shell were
flying thick around her, bending her body over it to shield it from
danger by the exposure of her own person. Luckily she escaped unhurt,
and still lives, and is at present residing in Glasgow. But will it
be believed that she never received the smallest token of approbation
for her intrepid conduct, and the service which she rendered on that
occasion?
After her husband was some time discharged, she was induced, at the
instigation of officers who were well acquainted with her heroic
conduct, to make a representation to the commander-in-chief, who
warmly recommended her case to the Secretary at War; but the cold
reply was, that he had no funds at his disposal for such a purpose.
Generous, noble nation! surely the advocates for economy had little
to find fault with here.
Mrs Reston is now advanced in years,[21] and although her husband
enjoys the regulated pension for his services, he is unable to work
for his subsistence, and surely one shilling and tenpence a-day to
support two individuals, is no great excuse, as it has been made, for
not making any exertion in her favour.
The only instance of the kind, exclusive of that related, that I
witnessed in the course of my service, was in the person of a woman
who lived as the wife of a captain of one of the light companies
of our brigade. She accompanied him through the campaign, exposed
to all the dangers and privations attending on such a life, with
a devotedness that no legally-married woman could have surpassed.
At the battle of Vittoria, when the army was engaged, she was left
with the baggage; but hearing from some of the disabled men that
the captain was wounded, she mounted her horse, and galloped down
into the scene of action, regardless of the danger, to seek out
and relieve him wherever he might be. She found him when he had
breathed his last, and stopped by him until he was buried. This was
an appalling blow for her: she was left friendless in a strange
country; but those who paid her any little attention in the captain’s
lifetime, now felt no compassion for her. Her gold watch, her
favourite pony, and all that she formerly held through her protector,
were taken from her, and a short time after, I saw her struggling
through the mud on the line of march, with the shoes torn off her
feet. She soon after disappeared, but what became of her I do not
know.
FOOTNOTES:
[21] Since the publication of this work, her husband is dead, and she
is now living in the poor-house of Glasgow.