Battle of Vimiero--Presentiments--The cobbler and the cannon
ball--Value of a handicraft--A lubberly artilleryman--A bad shot and a
good one--Conversation during the heat of action.
It was on the 21st of August, that we commenced fighting the battle of
Vimiero.
The French came down upon us in a column, and the Riflemen immediately
commenced a sharp fire upon them from whatever cover they could get
a shelter behind, whilst our cannon played upon them from our rear.
I saw regular lanes torn through their ranks as they advanced, which
were immediately closed up again as they marched steadily on. Whenever
we saw a round shot thus go through the mass, we raised a shout of
delight.
One of our corporals, named Murphy, was the first man in the Rifles
who was hit that morning, and I remember more particularly remarking
the circumstance from his apparently having a presentiment of his
fate before the battle began. He was usually an active fellow, and up
to this time had shewn himself a good and brave soldier, but on this
morning he seemed unequal to his duty. General Fane and Major Travers
were standing together on an early part of this day. The general had
a spy-glass in his hand, and for some time looked anxiously at the
enemy. Suddenly he gave the word to fall in, and immediately all was
bustle amongst us. The Honourable Captain Packenham spoke very sharply
to Murphy, who appeared quite dejected and out of spirits, I observed.
He had a presentiment of death, which is by no means an uncommon
circumstance, and I have observed it once or twice since this battle.
Others besides myself noticed Murphy on this morning, and, as we
had reason to know he was not ordinarily deficient in courage, the
circumstance was talked of after the battle was over. He was the first
man shot that day.
Early on the morning of the battle, I remember being relieved from
picket, and throwing myself down to gain a few hour's repose before the
expected engagement. So wearied was I with watching that I was hardly
prostrate before I was in a sound sleep,--a sleep, which those only
who have toiled in the field can know. I was not, however, destined
to enjoy a very long repose before one of our serjeants, poking me
with the muzzle of his rifle, desired me to get up, as many of the
men wanted their shoes repaired immediately. This was by no means an
uncommon occurrence, and I would fain have declined the job, but as
several of the Riflemen who had followed the serjeant, soon afterwards
came round me and threw their shoes and boots at my head, I was fain to
scramble on my legs, and make up my mind to go to work.
On looking around, in order to observe if there was any hut or shed in
which I could more conveniently exercise my craft, I espied a house
near at hand, on the rise of a small hill. So I gathered up several
pairs of the dilapidated boots and shoes, and immediately made for it.
Seating myself down in a small room as soon as I entered, I took the
tools from my haversack and prepared to work; and as the boots of the
Captain of my Company, were amongst the bad lot, and he was barefooted
for want of them, I commenced with _them_.
Hardly had I worked a quarter of an hour, when a cannon-ball (the
first announcement of the coming battle) came crashing through the
walls of the house, just above my head, and completely covered the
Captain's boot (as it lay between my knees) with dust and fragments
of the building. There were only two persons in the room at the time,
an old and a young woman, and they were so dreadfully scared at this
sudden visitation, that they ran about the room, making the house echo
with their shrieks, till at length they rushed out into the open air,
leaving me alone with the boots around me on the floor.
For my own part, although I was more used to such sounds, I thought it
was no time and place to mend boots and shoes in, so, being thus left
alone in my glory, I shook the dust from my apron, gathered up the
whole stock-in-trade from the floor, and hastily replacing my tools in
my haversack, followed the example of the mistress of the mansion and
her daughter, and bolted out of the house. When I got into the open
air, I found all in a state of bustle and activity, the men falling
in, and the officers busily engaged, whilst twenty or thirty mouths
opened at me the moment I appeared, calling out for their boots and
shoes.--"Where's my boots, Harris, you humbug?" cried one. "Give me
my shoes, you old sinner," said another. "The Captain's boots here,
Harris, instantly," cried the Serjeant. "Make haste, and fall into the
ranks as fast as you can."
There was, indeed, no time for ceremony, so, letting go the corners of
my apron, I threw down the whole lot of boots and shoes for the men
to choose for themselves; the Captain's being amongst the lot, with
the wax-ends hanging to them (as I had left them when the cannon-ball
so unceremoniously put a stop to my work), and quickly shouldering my
piece, I fell into the ranks as I was ordered.
Just before the battle commenced in earnest, and whilst the officers
were busily engaged with their companies, shouting the word of command,
and arranging matters of moment, Captain Leech ordered a section of our
men to move off, at double quick, and take possession of a windmill,
which was on our left. I was amongst this section, and set off full cry
towards the mill, when Captain Leech espied and roared out to me by
name to return.--"Hallo! there, you Harris!" he called, "fall out of
that section directly. We want you here, my man." I, therefore, wheeled
out of the rank, and returned to him. "You fall in amongst the men
here, Harris," he said. "I shall not send you to that post. The cannon
will play upon the mill in a few moments like hail; and what shall we
do," he continued, laughing, "without our head shoemaker to repair our
shoes?"
It is long since these transactions took place. But I remember the
words of the Captain as if they had been uttered but yesterday;
for that which was spoken in former years in the field, has made a
singular impression on my mind. As I looked about me, whilst standing
enranked, and just before the commencement of the battle, I thought it
the most imposing sight the world could produce. Our lines glittering
with bright arms; the stern features of the men, as they stood with
their eyes fixed unalterably upon the enemy, the proud colours of
England floating over the heads of the different battalions, and the
dark cannon on the rising ground, and all in readiness to commence
the awful work of death, with a noise that would deafen the whole
multitude. Altogether, the sight had a singular and terrible effect
upon the feelings of a youth, who, a few short months before, had
been a solitary shepherd upon the Downs of Dorsetshire, and had never
contemplated any other sort of life than the peaceful occupation of
watching the innocent sheep as they fed upon the grassy turf.
The first cannon-shot I saw fired, I remember was a miss. The
artilleryman made a sad bungle, and the ball went wide of the mark. We
were all looking anxiously to see the effect of this shot; and another
of the gunners (a red-haired man) rushed at the fellow who had fired,
and in the excitement of the moment, knocked him head over heels with
his fist. "D---- you, for a fool," he said; "what sort of a shot do you
call that? Let me take the gun." He accordingly fired the next shot
himself, as soon as the gun was loaded, and so truly did he point it at
the French column on the hill side, that we saw the fatal effect of the
destructive missile, by the lane it made and the confusion it caused.
Our Riflemen (who at the moment were amongst the guns), upon seeing
this, set up a tremendous shout of delight, and the battle commencing
immediately, we were all soon hard at work.
I myself was very soon so hotly engaged, loading and firing away,
enveloped in the smoke I created, and the cloud which hung about me
from the continued fire of my comrades, that I could see nothing for
a few minutes but the red flash of my own piece amongst the white
vapour clinging to my very clothes. This has often seemed to me the
greatest drawback upon our present system of fighting; for whilst in
such state, on a calm day, until some friendly breeze of wind clears
the space around, a soldier knows no more of his position and what is
about to happen in his front, or what _has_ happened (even amongst his
own companions) than the very dead lying around. The Rifles, as usual,
were pretty busy in this battle. The French, in great numbers, came
steadily down upon us, and we pelted away upon them like a shower of
leaden hail. Under any cover we could find, we lay; firing one moment,
jumping up and running for it the next; and, when we could see before
us, we observed the cannonballs making a lane through the enemy's
columns as they advanced, huzzaing and shouting like madmen.
Such is my remembrance of the commencement of the battle of Vimiero.
The battle began on a fine bright day, and the sun played on the arms
of the enemy's battalions, as they came on, as if they had been tipped
with gold. The battle soon became general; the smoke thickened around,
and often I was obliged to stop firing, and dash it aside from my face,
and try in vain to get a sight of what was going on, whilst groans and
shouts and a noise of cannon and musketry appeared almost to shake the
very ground. It seemed hell upon earth I thought.
A man named John Low stood before me at this moment, and he turned
round during a pause in our exertions, and addressed me: "Harris, you
humbug," he said, "you have got plenty of money about you, I know; for
you are always staying about and picking up what you can find on the
field. But I think this will be your last field-day, old boy. A good
many of us will catch it, I suspect, to-day." "You are right, Low," I
said. "I have got nine guineas in my pack, and if I am shot to-day,
and you yourself escape, it's quite at your service. In the meantime,
however, if you see any symptoms of my wishing to flinch in this
business I hope you will shoot me with your own hand." Low, as well as
myself, survived this battle, and after it was over, whilst we sat down
with our comrades and rested, amongst other matters talked over, Low
told them of our conversation during the heat of the day, and the money
I had collected, and the Rifles from that time had a great respect for
me. It is, indeed, singular, how a man loses or gains caste with his
comrades from his behaviour, and how closely he is observed in the
field. The officers, too, are commented upon and closely observed.
The men are very proud of those who are brave in the field, and kind
and considerate to the soldiers under them. An act of kindness done
by an officer has often during the battle been the cause of his life
being saved. Nay, whatever folks may say upon the matter, I know from
experience, that in _our_ army the men like best to be officered by
gentlemen, men whose education has rendered them more kind in manners
than your coarse officer, sprung from obscure origin, and whose style
is brutal and overbearing.
My observation has often led me to remark amongst men, that those
whose birth and station might reasonably have made them fastidious
under hardship and toil, have generally borne their miseries without
a murmur;--whilst those whose previous life, one would have thought,
might have better prepared them for the toils of war, have been the
first to cry out and complain of their hard fate.
And here let me bear testimony to the courage and endurance of that
army under trials and hardships such as few armies, in any age, I
should think, endured. I have seen officers and men hobbling forward,
with tears in their eyes from the misery of long miles, empty stomachs,
and ragged backs, without even shoes or stockings on their bleeding
feet, and it was not a little that would bring a tear into the eyes of
a Rifleman of the Peninsular. Youths, who had not long been removed
from their parents' home and care, officers and men, have borne
hardships and privations such as (in our own more peaceful days) we
have little conception of; and yet these men, faint and weary with
toil, would brighten up in a moment when the word ran amongst us that
the enemy were at hand.
I remember on the march from Salamanca seeing many men fail. Our
marches were long, and the weakly ones were found out. It was then
pretty much "every one for himself;" those whose strength began to fail
looked neither to the right nor the left, but, with glassy eyes, they
kept onward, staggering on as well as they could. When once down, it
was sometimes not easy to get up again, and few were inclined to help
their comrades when their own strength was but small. On this march,
I myself (strong as I was) felt completely done up, and fell in the
streets of a town called, I think, Zamora, where I lay, like one dead,
for some time.