The battle-field of Vimiero--Major Travers and his wig--A military
family--A scapegrace--Unpleasant surprise--Playing fast and loose with
fortune--General Napier--Boney's invincibles--Firing cold steel at the
enemy--Church plunder--A haphazard shot.
It was just at the close of the battle of Vimiero: the dreadful turmoil
and noise of the engagement had hardly subsided, and I began to look
into the faces of the men close around me, to see who had escaped the
dangers of the hour. Four or five days back I had done the same thing
at Roliça. One feels, indeed, a sort of curiosity to know, after such
a scene, who is remaining alive amongst the companions endeared by good
conduct, or disliked from bad character, during the hardships of the
campaign. I saw that the ranks of the Riflemen looked very thin; it
seemed to me one half had gone down. We had four companies of the 95th,
and were commanded that day by Major Travers. He was a man much liked
by the men of the Rifles, and, indeed, deservedly beloved by all who
knew him. He was a tight hand; but a soldier likes that better than a
slovenly officer.
I had observed him more than once during this day, spurring here and
there, keeping the men well up, and apparently in the highest spirits.
He could not have enjoyed himself more, I am sure, if he had been at
a horse-race, or following a good pack of hounds. The battle was just
over; a flag of truce had come over from the French; General Kellerman,
I think, brought it. We threw ourselves down where we were standing
when the fire ceased. A Frenchman lay close beside me; he was dying,
and called to me for water; which I understood him to require more
from his manner than his words (he pointed to his mouth). I need not
say that I got up, and gave it him. Whilst I did so, down galloped the
major in front, just in the same good spirits he had been all day;
plunging along, avoiding, with some little difficulty, the dead and
dying, which were strewed about. He was never a very good-looking man,
being hard-featured and thin; a hatchet-faced man, as we used to say.
But he was a regular good 'un,--a real English soldier; and that's
better than if he had been the handsomest ladies'-man in the army.
The major just now disclosed what none of us, I believe, knew before;
namely, that his head was bald as a coot's, and that he had covered
the nakedness of his nob, up to the present time, by a flowing Caxon,
which, during the heat of the action, had somehow been dislodged, and
was lost; yet was the major riding hither and thither, digging the
spurs into his horse's flanks, and just as busy as before the firing
had ceased. "A guinea," he kept crying as he rode, "to any man who will
find my wig!" The men, I remember, notwithstanding the sight of the
wounded and dead around them, burst into shouts of laughter at him as
he went; and "a guinea to any man who will find my wig," was the saying
amongst us long after that affair.
Many a man has died in crossing a brook, it is said, who has escaped
the broad waves of the Atlantic half-a-dozen times; the major had
escaped the shot and shell of the enemy in many a hard-fought field,
and came off with credit and renown; but it is somewhat singular that
Punch and Judy were the individuals who were destined by the Fates to
cut his thread of life, for his horse was startled one day, as he rode
through the streets of Dublin city, by the clatter those worthies made
with their sticks in one of their domestic quarrels, and, swerving to
one side, that noble soldier was killed.
THE FAMILY OF THE COMYNS.
In the band of the first battalion of the Rifles, we had a father
and seven sons, of the name of Comyns. The elder son, who was called
Fluellyn, was the best musician of them all, and on the regiment
going on service to Portugal, he was made band-master. Whilst
fighting against Massena, Fluellyn Comyns, one night, took offence at
a man named Cadogan, also belonging to our band, and, catching him
at advantage, beat him so severely that he left him for dead. The
transaction having been seen by some of the soldiery, Fluellyn Comyn
was fearful of the consequences, and, supposing he had committed
murder, fled to Marshal Massena's army, where he was received kindly,
and, in consequence of his musical knowledge, promoted to a good
situation in the band of one of the French regiments. After a while,
however, he made some mistake or other _there_, and, the French army
being no safe place for him any longer, he once more changed service,
and returned amongst his old companions, the Rifles, where he found, to
his surprise, Cadogan in the ranks, sound and well again. This species
of inconstancy not being approved of by our leaders, he was tried by
court-martial, and sentenced to be shot. Two or three other men, who
had also committed heavy crimes, were under orders at the same time, I
recollect, to undergo the same punishment. Colonel Beckwith was at that
time our lieutenant-colonel, and, having a great respect for Comyn's
father, made application to the Duke of Wellington for a pardon for his
son Fluellyn. Accordingly, when he was brought forth amongst the other
criminals, it was notified to him that, taking into consideration the
interest made by his lieutenant-colonel, he should be forgiven: but the
Duke, I understand, desired it to be expressly stated to him, that if
he ever detected him in that country again, in the garb of a soldier in
the British service, nothing should save him from punishment. Comyn,
therefore, left Spain, without the good wish of a single man in our
corps, for he was pretty well known to be altogether a bad subject.
Meanwhile, the news had reached his friends in England that he had been
shot, and his wife, having quickly found a substitute, was married
again, when he thought proper, somewhat tardily, to seek his home. At
first the meeting was rather a stormy one, and the neighbours thought
that murder would ensue, for Comyn found himself provided, not only
with a _locum tenens_, but also with a little baby, neither of whom he
could possibly have any great liking for.
However, matters were eventually amicably arranged, and Fluellyn Comyn
having made out his claim, and satisfied the second husband that he had
never had a musket-ball in his body, broke up the establishment, and
took his wife off to Hythe, in Kent, where he again enlisted in the
_third_ battalion of the Rifles, and joined them at Shoreham Cliff.
In the third battalion he once more displayed his art, and, from his
excellence as a musician, was made master of the band. Not satisfied
with his good fortune, he again misconducted himself, and was once more
reduced to the ranks. After a while he succeeded in getting exchanged
to the eighty-fifth regiment, where he likewise managed to insinuate
himself into the good graces of the commanding officer, and by his
musical talents, also, once more, into the situation of master of
the band. Here he might even yet have retrieved himself, and lived
happily, but he began to cut fresh capers, and his ill-disposition and
drunken conduct were so apparent the moment he got into an easy way
of life, that it was found impossible to keep him in the situation,
and he was again reduced, and eventually entirely dismissed, as _too
bad for anything_. One of his brothers had, meanwhile, obtained the
situation he held in the first battalion of the Rifles, and was greatly
respected for his good conduct. He was killed, I remember, at Vittoria,
by a cannon-ball striking his head from his shoulders. The other five
Comyns, as far as I ever knew, lived and prospered in the service. The
old father was eventually discharged, and received a pension. What was,
however, the ultimate fate of the bad sheep of this flock (Fluellyn
Comyn), and whether he ever succeeded in becoming a band-master in the
service of any other country, or whether he ultimately reached a still
more elevated situation, I never heard, but should think from all I
knew and have related, that it was not likely he ever came to good.
GENERAL NAPIER.
I remember meeting with General Napier before the battle of Vimiero. He
was then, I think, a major; and the meeting made so great an impression
on me, that I have never forgotten him. I was posted in a wood the
night before the battle, in the front of our army, where two roads
crossed each other. The night was gloomy, and I was the very out-sentry
of the British army. As I stood on my post, peering into the thick wood
around me, I was aware of footsteps approaching, and challenged in a
low voice. Receiving no answer, I brought my rifle to the port, and
bade the strangers come forward. They were Major Napier, (then of the
50th foot, I think,) and an officer of the Rifles. The major advanced
close up to me, and looked hard in my face.
"Be alert here, sentry," said he, "for I expect the enemy upon us
to-night, and I know not how soon."
I was a young soldier then, and the lonely situation I was in, together
with the impressive manner in which Major Napier delivered his caution,
made a great impression on me, and from that hour I have never
forgotten him. Indeed, I kept careful watch all night, listening to
the slightest breeze amongst the foliage, in expectation of the sudden
approach of the French. They ventured not, however, to molest us. Henry
Jessop, one of my companions in the Rifles, sank and died of fatigue on
this night, and I recollect some of our men burying him in the wood at
day-break, close to my post.
During the battle, next day, I remarked the gallant style in which
the 50th, Major Napier's regiment, came to the charge. They dashed
upon the enemy like a torrent breaking bounds, and the French, unable
even to bear the sight of them, turned and fled. Methinks at this
moment I can hear the cheer of the British soldiers in the charge, and
the clatter of the Frenchmen's accoutrements, as they turned in an
instant, and went off, hard as they could run for it. I remember, too,
our feeling towards the enemy on that occasion was the north side of
friendly; for they had been firing upon us Rifles very sharply, greatly
outnumbering our skirmishers, and appearing inclined to drive us off
the face of the earth. Their lights, and grenadiers, I, for the first
time, particularly remarked on that day. The grenadiers (the 70th, I
think) our men seemed to know well. They were all fine-looking young
men, wearing red shoulder-knots and tremendous-looking moustaches.
As they came swarming upon us, they rained a perfect shower of balls,
which we returned quite as sharply. Whenever one of them was knocked
over, our men called out "There goes another of Boney's Invincibles."
In the main body, immediately in our rear, were the second battalion
52nd, the 50th, the second battalion 43rd, and a German corps, whose
number I do not remember, besides several other regiments. The whole
line seemed annoyed and angered at seeing the Rifles outnumbered by the
Invincibles, and as we fell back, "firing and retiring," galling them
handsomely as we did so, the men cried out (as it were with one voice)
to charge. "D--n them!" they roared, "charge! charge!" General Fane,
however, restrained their impetuosity. He desired them to stand fast,
and keep their ground.
"Don't be too eager, men," he said, as coolly as if we were on a
drill-parade in old England; "I don't want you to advance just yet.
Well done, 95th!" he called out, as he galloped up and down the line;
"well done 43rd, 52nd, and well done all. I'll not forget, if I live,
to report your conduct to-day. They shall hear of it in England, my
lads!"
A man named Brotherwood, of the 95th, at this moment rushed up to the
general, and presented him with a green feather, which he had torn out
of the cap of a French light-infantry soldier he had killed.--"God
bless you general!" he said; "wear this for the sake of the 95th." I
saw the general take the feather, and stick it in his cocked hat. The
next minute he gave the word to charge, and down came the whole line,
through a tremendous fire of cannon and musketry,--and dreadful was the
slaughter as they rushed onwards. As they came up with us, we sprang to
our feet, gave one hearty cheer, and charged along with them, treading
over our own dead and wounded, who lay in the front. The 50th were
next us as we went, and I recollect, as I said, the firmness of that
regiment in the charge. They appeared like a wall of iron. The enemy
turned and fled, the cavalry dashing upon them as they went off.
After the day's work was over, whilst strolling about the field, just
upon the spot where this charge had taken place, I remarked a soldier
of the 43rd, and a French grenadier, both dead, and lying close
together. They had apparently killed each other at the same moment, for
both weapons remained in the bodies of the slain. Brotherwood was lying
next me during a part of this day; he was a Leicestershire man, and was
killed afterwards by a cannon-ball at Vittoria. I remember his death
more particularly from the circumstance of that very ball killing three
of the company at the same moment, viz. Lieutenant Hopwood, Patrick
Mahone, and himself. Brotherwood was amongst the skirmishers with me
on this day. He was always a lively fellow, but rather irritable in
disposition. Just as the French went to the right-about, I remember
he d--d them furiously; and, all his bullets being gone, he grabbed a
razor from his haversack, rammed it down, and fired it after them.
During this day I myself narrowly escaped being killed by our own
dragoons, for, somehow or other, in the confusion, I fell whilst they
were charging, and, the whole squadron thundering past, just missed me,
as I lay amongst the dead and wounded. Tired and overweighted with my
knapsack and all my shoe-making implements, I lay where I had fallen,
for a short time, and watched the cavalry as they gained the enemy.
I observed a fine, gallant-looking officer leading them on in that
charge. He was a brave fellow, and bore himself like a hero; with his
sword waving in the air, he cheered the men on, as he went dashing
upon the enemy, and hewing and slashing at them in tremendous style. I
watched for him as the dragoons came off after that charge, _but saw
him no more_; he had fallen. Fine fellow! his conduct indeed made an
impression upon me that I shall never forget, and I was told afterwards
that he was a brother of Sir John Eustace.
A French soldier was lying beside me at this time; he was badly
wounded, and hearing him moan as he lay, after I had done looking at
the cavalry, I turned my attention to him, and, getting up, lifted his
head, and poured some water into his mouth. He was dying fast; but he
thanked me in a foreign language, which, although I did not exactly
understand, I could easily make out by the look he gave me. Mullins, of
the Rifles, who stepped up whilst I supported his head, d--d me for a
fool for my pains. "Better knock out his brains, Harris," said he; "he
has done _us_ mischief enough, I'll be bound for it, to-day."
After the battle, I strolled about the field, in order to see if
there was anything to be found worth picking up amongst the dead.
The first thing I saw was a three-pronged silver fork, which, as it
lay by itself, had most likely been dropped by some person who had
been on the look out before me. A little further on I saw a French
soldier sitting against a small rise in the ground or bank. He was
wounded in the throat, and appeared very faint, the bosom of his coat
being saturated with the blood which had flowed down. By his side
lay his cap, and close to that was a bundle containing a quantity of
gold and silver crosses, which I concluded he had plundered from some
convent or church. He looked the picture of a sacrilegious thief,
dying hopelessly, and overtaken by Divine wrath. I kicked over his
cap, which was also full of plunder, but I declined taking anything
from him. I felt fearful of incurring the wrath of Heaven for the
like offence, so I left him, and passed on. A little further off lay
an officer of the 50th regiment. I knew him by sight, and recognised
him as he lay. He was quite dead, and lying on his back. He had been
plundered, and his clothes were torn open. Three bullet-holes were
close together in the pit of his stomach: beside him lay an empty
pocket-book, and his epaulette had been pulled from his shoulder.
I had moved on but a few paces, when I recollected that perhaps the
officer's shoes might serve me, my own being considerably the worse
for wear, so I returned again, went back, pulled one of his shoes off,
and knelt down on one knee to try it on. It was not much better than
my own; however, I determined on the exchange, and proceeded to take
off its fellow. As I did so I was startled by the sharp report of a
firelock, and, at the same moment, a bullet whistled close by my head.
Instantly starting up, I turned, and looked in the direction whence the
shot had come. There was no person near me in this part of the field.
The dead and the dying lay thickly all around; but nothing else could I
see. I looked to the priming of my rifle, and again turned to the dead
officer of the 50th. It was evident that some plundering scoundrel had
taken a shot at me, and the fact of his doing so proclaimed him one
of the enemy. To distinguish him amongst the bodies strewn about was
impossible; perhaps he might himself be one of the wounded. Hardly had
I effected the exchange, put on the dead officer's shoes, and resumed
my rifle, when another shot took place, and a second ball whistled past
me. This time I was ready, and turning quickly, I saw my man: he was
just about to squat down behind a small mound, about twenty paces from
me. I took a haphazard shot at him, and instantly knocked him over. I
immediately ran up to him; he had fallen on his face, and I heaved him
over on his back, bestrode his body, and drew my sword-bayonet. There
was, however, no occasion for the precaution, as he was even then in
the agonies of death.
It was a relief to me to find I had not been mistaken. He was a
French light-infantry man, and I therefore took it quite in the way
of business--he had attempted my life, and lost his own. It was the
fortune of war; so, stooping down, with my sword I cut the green string
that sustained his calibash, and took a hearty pull to quench my
thirst.