"It was in a stirring time of the Duke of Wellington's wars, after the
French had retreated through Portugal, and Badajos had fallen, and we
had driven them fairly over the Spanish frontier, the light division
was ordered on a few of their long leagues further, to occupy a line
of posts among the mountains which rise over the northern hanks of the
Guadiana. A few companies of our regiment advanced to occupy a village
which the French had just abandoned.
"We had had a brisk march over a scorched and rugged country, which
had already been ransacked of all that could have supplied us with
fresh provisions; it was many days since we had heard the creak of a
commissary's wagon, and we had been on very short commons. There was no
reason to expect much in the village we were now ordered to. The French,
who had just marched out, would, of course, have helped themselves to
whatever was portable, and must have previously pretty well drained the
place. We made a search, however, judging that, possibly, something
might have been concealed from them by the peasants; and we actually
soon discovered several houses where skins of wine had been secreted.
A soldier, sir, I take it, after hot service or fatigue, seldom thinks
of much beyond the comfort of drinking to excess; and I freely own that
our small party soon caused a sad scene of confusion.
"Every house and hovel was searched, and many a poor fellow, who had
contrived to hide his last skin of wine from his enemies, was obliged to
abandon it to his allies. You might see the poor natives on all sides
running away; some with a morsel of food, others with a skin of wine
in their arms, and followed by the menaces and staggering steps of the
weary and half-drunken soldiers.
"'Vino! vino!' was the cry in every part of the village. An English
soldier, sir, may be for months together in a foreign land, and have a
pride in not knowing how to ask for anything hut liquor. I was no better
than the rest.
"'Vino! quiero vino!' said I, to a poor half-starved and ragged native,
who was stealing off, and hiding something under his torn cloak;--'Vino!
you beggarly scoundrel! give me vino!' said I.
"'Vino no tengo!' he cried, as he broke from my grasp, and ran quickly
and fearfully away.
"I was not very drunk--I had not had above half my quantity--and I
pursued him up a street. But he was the fleeter; and I should have lost
him, had I not made a sudden turn, and come right upon him in a forsaken
alley, where I suppose the poor thing dwelt. I seized him by the collar.
He was small and spare, and he trembled under my gripe; but still he
held his own, and only wrapped his cloak the closer round his property.
"'Vino! quiero vino!' said I again; 'give me vino!'
"'Nada, nada tengo!' he repeated.
"I had already drawn my bayonet.--I am ashamed, sir, to say, that we
used to do that to terrify the poor wretches, and make them the sooner
give us their liquor.--As I held him by the collar with one hand, I
pointed the bayonet at his breast with the other, and I again cried,
'Vino!'
"'Vino no tengo--nino, nino es!'--and he spoke the words with such a
look of truth and earnestness, that, had I not fancied I could trace
through the folds of his cloak the very shape of a small wine skin,
I should have believed him.
"'Lying rascal!' said I, 'so you won't give me the liquor? then the dry
earth shall drink it!' and I struck the point of my bayonet deep into
that which he was still hugging to his breast.
"Oh, sir! it was not wine that trickled down--it was blood, warm
blood!--and a piteous wail went like a chill across my heart!--The poor
Spaniard opened his cloak--he pointed to his wounded child--and his wild
eye asked me plainer than words could have done,--'Monster! are you
satisfied!'
"I was sobered in a moment. I fell upon
my knees beside the infant, and I tried to
staunch the blood. Yes, the poor fellow understood
the truth: he saw, and he accepted
my anguish--and we joined our efforts to save
the little victim.--Oh! it was too late!
"The little boy had fastened his small clammy hands round a finger of
each of us. He looked at us alternately; and seemed to ask, alike from
his father and his murderer, that help which it was beyond the power of
one of earth to give. The changes in the poor child's countenance showed
that it had few minutes to live. Sometimes it lay so still I thought the
last pang was over; when a slight convulsion would agitate its frame,
and a momentary pressure of its little hands, would give the gasping
father a short vain ray of hope.
"You may believe, sir, that an old soldier, who has only been
able to keep his own life at the expense of an eye and two of his
limbs--who has lingered out many a weary day in a camp-hospital after a
hot engagement--must have learnt to look on death without any unnecessary
concern. I have sometimes wished for it myself; and often have felt
thankful when my poor, wounded comrades have been released by it from
pain. I have seen it, too, in other shapes. I have seen the death-blow
dealt, when its effects have been so instant, that the brave heart's
blood has been spilt, and the pulses have ceased to beat, while the
streak of life and health was still fresh upon the cheek--when a smile
has remained upon the lips of my brother-soldier, even after he had
fallen a corpse across my path. But, oh! sir, what is all this compared
with what I suffered as I watched life ebb slowly from the wound which
I had myself so wantonly inflicted in the breast of a helpless, innocent
child!--It was by mistake, by accident. Oh, yes! I know it, I know it
well; and day and night I have striven to forget that hour. But it is of
no use; the cruel recollection never leaves my mind--that piteous wail
is ever in my ears!--The father's agony will follow me to the
grave!"--_Legends of the Lib. at Lilies._
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