I RETURN WOUNDED TO IRELAND, AND TRAVEL IN A COACH OF THAT COUNTRY.
This memorable battle, which introduced the victorious British army
and their allies into France, commenced before daybreak and continued
until after dark. The enemy were beaten back from their strong frontier
position, losing fifty-one guns, two thousand prisoners, stores
incalculable and some thousands killed and wounded; the nature of
the ground prevented the number of these from being ascertained,--it
must have been immense. As to our regiment’s advance up the hill to
the attack, it may perhaps be alleged that I should not have urged
forward the colours so rapidly nor have been so far in front. Our
advance, considering the steepness of the hill, was certainly rather
rapid; but had we not thus rapidly advanced, as in a continued charge
through breastworks, we should have lost double the number of men; and
it certainly would not have fallen to the proud lot of our regiment
_alone_ to have stormed and carried the enemy’s great redoubt; and
this we did, as may be gathered from the remark made by Vincent and
L’Estrange about the 61st Regiment. But it is of little consequence
whether I kept up with the colours or the colours came on at my pace;
anyway it affords proud consolation to reflect that it was in front of
them I fell.
[Sidenote: WINNING A STEP IN THE SERVICE.]
Immediately before entering the redoubt, Montgomery, who carried
the king’s colour, furled the sheet round the staff, which he used
as a lance, and thus armed gallantly charged in amongst the foremost
bayonets. Being a powerful and athletic person (afterwards lieutenant
of Grenadiers), he made good use of his silk-bound weapon, and never
did blood-stained royal banner bear more honourable testimony of
personal prowess in war. I know not what became of the staff; it should
ever be kept with the regiment and accompany it into action. Besides
common promotion arising from casualties, one captain of the regiment
got the brevet rank of major; he was _not_ in the action, but I, who
was serving voluntarily and had a leg shattered while charging at the
head of the regiment, was neglected. Being subsequently asked if I did
not get the brevet step for my voluntary services and wound, I answered
no, but that I got a permanent step and that was a lame one.
From the Duke of Wellington’s despatch relative to the battle of the
Nivelle the following extract is copied: “While these operations
were going on in the centre, I had the pleasure of seeing the 6th
Division, under Lieutenant-General Sir Henry Clinton, after having
crossed the Nivelle and having driven in the enemy’s piquets on both
banks, and having covered the passage of the Portuguese division under
Lieutenant-General Sir John Hamilton on its right, make a most handsome
attack upon the right of the Nivelle, carrying all the intrenchments
and the redoubt on that flank.” In justice to the regiment I beg to
remark that if the attack of the division was most handsome, that
of the 36th Regiment must have been most beautiful, for it was this
regiment which managed to take the lead and single-handed carried the
redoubt.
Immediately after the redoubt was taken, under which I fell, another
fort on our right, not yet attacked, turned some of its guns against
the one just captured; and their shot and shell ploughing the ground
all around me nearly suffocated me with dust and rubbish. Those who
were not very severely wounded scrambled their way down the hill; but
I might as well have attempted to carry a millstone as to drag my
shattered leg after me. I therefore remained among the dead and dying,
who were not few. My situation was not enviable. After some hours
Assistant-Surgeon Simpson of the regiment appeared. I then got what is
termed a field dressing; but unfortunately there were no leg splints;
and so arm splints were substituted. Through this makeshift I suffered
most severely during my descent. Some of the band coming up, I was put
into a blanket and carried down the hill; but as we proceeded down this
almost perpendicular descent, the blanket contracted from my weight
in the middle, and then owing to the want of the proper long splints
the foot drooped beyond the blanket’s edge; it is almost impossible to
imagine the torture which I suffered. Having gained the base of the
hill towards dark, a cottage was fortunately discovered and into this I
was carried.
Up to the noon of this day I congratulated myself on my good fortune
in having served in the first and last battle fought in Spain, and
proudly contemplated marching victoriously through France. I recalled
too with pleasure and as if it were a propitious omen, that on this day
five years ago I first trod Spanish ground. On November 16th, 1808, we
marched into Fuentes de Oñoro, under the command of Sir John Moore.
Then I was strong hale and joyous, with the glorious prospects of war
favourably presented to view; but the afternoon of this, the fifth
anniversary, proved a sad reverse. On this day I was carried out of
Spain, borne in a blanket, broken in body and depressed in mind, with
all my brilliant prospects like myself fallen to the ground. Such is
glorious war.
[Sidenote: DRESSING A WOUND.]
After the field dressing Simpson departed in search of other wounded
persons; and on his report of my wound two or three other medical
officers sought me, fortunately in vain, that they might remove the
limb. On the 4th day I was conveyed to a place where a hospital was
established; but the inflammation of the leg was then so great (it was
as big as my body) that no amputation could be attempted. A dressing
took place which was long and painful, for I had bled so profusely
while in the cottage that a cement hard as iron was formed round the
limb, and before my removal it was absolutely necessary to cut me out
of the bed on which I lay. After a considerable time passed in steeping
with tepid water, the piece of mattress and sheet which I carried away
from the cottage were removed; and now began the more painful operation
of setting the leg. Staff-Surgeon Mathews and Assistant-Surgeon Graham,
31st Regiment, were the operators. Graham seized me by the knee and
Mathews by the foot. They proposed that four soldiers should hold me
during the operation; to this I objected, saying with a kind of boast
that I was always master of my nerves. They now twisted and turned and
extended my leg, aiming along it like a spirit level. The torture was
dreadful; but though I ground my teeth and the big drops of burning
perspiration rapidly chased each other, still I remained firm, and
stifled every rising groan. After all was concluded I politely thanked
Mathews, carelessly remarking that it was quite a pleasure to get
wounded to be so comfortably dressed. This was mock heroism, for at
the moment I trembled as if just taken from the rack; however, it had
a strange effect upon Mathews, who told Lavens that he feared I was
somewhat deranged from the great loss of blood and agonising pain which
I suffered. Lavens, Assistant-Surgeon of the 28th Regiment and an old
messmate, only laughed and offered to be responsible for the soundness
of my intellect if no other cause than bodily pain interfered. Some
time afterwards Mathews told him that the inflammation had much
subsided and he thought that amputation might safely be performed;
yet I appeared so strong, doing so well and in such good spirits, he
felt some little inclination to give the limb a chance, if he could
believe that my good spirits would continue. Lavens, whom I saw every
day, replied that he need not dread low spirits on my part under any
circumstance, and as to the difference between the loss of life and
that of a limb he felt convinced it would be no great matter to me. If
therefore he thought the preservation of the limb depended on corporeal
or mental constitution, he recommended the trial. Mathews told all this
to me, when I willingly concurred in the attempt to save the leg. It
had served me well during many a long and weary march, in many a lively
skirmish and some hard-fought battles, particularly whilst in the 28th
Light Company; I therefore felt extremely unwilling to part with it.
One feels regret at losing even a favourite walking-stick; what then
must the feeling be at losing a faithful leg? The trial was decided on;
but in justice to Dr. Mathews I feel called upon to declare that he
most fully pointed out the imminent danger attending the experiment.
Thus far I have entered into detail in consequence of a remark made to
the General Medical Board, Drs. Weir, Franklin and Car, who said, when
I appeared before them in London, that the medical officer who saved
my leg was in no way borne out in making the attempt, for there were
ninety-nine chances to one against my life. It is true that the wound
was as severe as could possibly be inflicted; the tibia and fibula were
both shattered, and the orifice made seemed the entrance to a quarry of
bones, five-and-thirty pieces of which exfoliated and kept the wound
open for several years.
[Sidenote: A GENEROUS SPANIARD.]
When I was carried out of the field my whole fortune consisted of one
crusado novo, a Portuguese silver coin value three shillings. This I
had much difficulty in persuading the poor cottagers to accept, not
from a consideration that the sum was an inadequate remuneration for
the mutilation of their mattress and whatever food they supplied, but
solely from pure motives of generosity. They wept at my parting, and
prayed to every saint in heaven or elsewhere for my speedy and perfect
recovery. On my arrival therefore in hospital, I possessed not a single
farthing; and in my situation other nourishment was required than that
of a ration pound of bread and beef. My host, Don Martin D’Echiparre,
continually sat by my bedside. Looking upon him as a generous and
liberal person, I, after a few evenings, candidly confessed my
pecuniary embarrassments, requesting him to lend me a few dollars and
offering him my gold watch until I should receive a remittance from the
paymaster. He replied, “Do you take me for a Jew? I never lend less
than a hundred guineas; these you may have when you please.” This I
considered a bombastical evasion and declined his offer. Next morning
he made his usual visit and approaching close said in a low voice,
“You refused last night to take a hundred guineas; take at least these
fifty,” and he held them forth. I told him that so large a sum was both
superfluous and useless; however, after a good deal of controversy, he
consented to lend me so small a sum as ten guineas.
After a lapse of three months an order was received to remove the
hospital depôt to St. Jean de Luz. What was to be done? I had received
no remittance; consequently I had no means of repaying the ten guineas,
six of which were already spent--one more was absolutely necessary to
defray the cost of my removal to St. Jean de Luz, which would take four
days. I was to be carried in a litter borne by inhabitants, to pay whom
would require the greater part of the guinea. To pay back the remaining
three would be but a poor return; but my truly noble and generous host
having entered the room, relieved me from my unpleasant dilemma. After
expressing his deep regret at my departure, he thus addressed me:
“Being aware that you have had no remittance from the army; and knowing
from the hospitable and generous manner in which you have entertained
the many officers who continually came to see you, in which hospitality
I nightly participated with pleasure, that you must want money, I put
these four farthings in my pocket for you,” presenting four Spanish
doubloons. “I offer you,” continued he, “this small sum because of your
obstinacy in refusing the hundred guineas; but if you will accept that
sum and another hundred in addition, you would please me much more. Do
not pay me from St. Jean de Luz nor from England, but only when you get
home to your friends in Ireland; and if you never pay, it will be of
no consequence whatever.” However I declined to accept either hundreds
or doubloons: and after mutual protestations of sincere friendship and
regard, we bade each other a final farewell and parted with unfeigned
regret. This anecdote I relate as highly honourable to the country in
which it occurred. D’Echiparre was a Frenchman by birth, but a Spaniard
by adoption, and in the Spanish language we always conversed. He was
a Valladolid merchant and had realised upwards of ten thousand pounds,
which in that part of the country was considered a handsome fortune.
[Sidenote: A POSTCHAISE, BUT NO ROAD.]
On my arrival at St. Jean de Luz I was so fortunate as to procure two
months’ pay (not in advance for we were seven months in arrear), when I
immediately sent the ten guineas to my generous host.
The time having arrived to get rid of the cumbrous sick and wounded
officers, we were removed to los Pasages and there embarked in a
transport bound for Portsmouth; but the wind proving contrary prevented
our entering the channel and we were compelled to put into Bantry Bay
in Ireland. Here we anchored close to a village, if I recollect right,
called Castletown, and put up at an inn kept by the widow Martin. The
wind continuing very boisterous and contrary, we resolved to travel
overland through Ireland. Enquiring for a postchaise, we were informed
that there was a postchaise, but that some miles of the road were
as yet unfinished, and consequently not carriageable. Upon this we
dropped down to the village bearing the name of the bay. Here having
learned that the road was perfectly good, we landed our baggage and
went ashore; but now to our great dismay we found that this village
had no postchaise. In this dilemma we decided to place our baggage on
pack-saddles and to travel as in Spain. The operation of packing had
commenced, when looking into the courtyard I discovered a hearse. Upon
enquiry the waiter said: “Please, your honour, it is an ould lady who
died here lately, and her friends thought they would bury her proudly;
so they sent to Cork for the hearse and it is going back to-day to
Bandon.” I sent for the driver and immediately concluded a bargain;
he engaged to carry us to Bandon in the hearse; and thence we were
to have two postchaises to take us to Cork for a sum agreed upon. The
pack-saddling was relinquished; and the whole party, consisting of
Captain Taylor, 28th, with a broken thigh, Captain Girlston, 31st, a
broken arm, Captains Bryan and Cone, 39th, sick leaves, and Captain
Blakeney, 36th, a broken leg, entered the hearse. Our first stage was
Dunmanway, where we made a tremendous meal; the innkeeper complimented
us by saying that he never saw travellers in a hearse make so hearty
a breakfast. Our appearance must have been extraordinary; for as we
moved along in the carriage of death, but not with its usual pace, the
country folk, abandoning their legitimate avocations, ran after us for
miles.
On our arrival at Bandon thousands of the inhabitants followed and
impeded our way. I recollect that a regiment of militia quartered
there ran like others to see the novel show, when hundreds of the
runabout crowd cried out to them: “Get ye out of the way! What have ye
to do with the honours of war? Look there!” and they pointed to our
crutches, which stuck out from the open hearse in all directions, like
escutcheons emblasoning the vehicle of death. At length we got safe to
our inn, attended as numerously as if the hero of the Peninsula himself
had been present. Here I called upon a lady who lived close to our
inn--a Mrs. Clarke. She had two sons in the army, with both of whom I
was intimately acquainted, particularly the eldest; he was a brother
officer of mine in the 28th Regiment and was afterwards removed to
the 5th Regiment, in which he lost a leg. To him we are indebted for
that valuable publication, _The United Service Journal_. The other I
knew in the 77th Regiment; he also had been severely wounded in the
leg, so that the lady had seen both her sons on crutches. When she saw
the rough crutches which I carried, or rather which carried me, she
offered me a pair more highly finished, belonging to one of her sons;
but since mine were made of the halberts of two sergeants who lost
their lives charging into the redoubt under which I fell, I declined
the lady’s very polite offer.
[Sidenote: A ROAD, BUT NO POSTCHAISE.]
Next morning we set out for Cork; and being actually enclosed within
postchaises we contrived to screen our honours of war from public
notice and therefore were not cheered to our hotel. At Cork the party
separated, each making his way to England as best he could. On my
arrival in London, I waited on Sir Henry Torrens, military secretary
to His Royal Highness the Commander-in-chief. I mentioned to the
secretary my intention of memorialising the Duke of York for promotion
by brevet, in consideration of my voluntary services and severe wounds
received whilst so serving. Sir Henry after hearing my statement
said that I was perfectly right, but at the same time advised me to
procure testimonials of my services from my different commanding
officers in support of my memorial. With this advice I willingly
complied, conscious of my having on every occasion endeavoured to
perform my duties to the fullest extent of my abilities. After such
encouragement from so high an authority as the Commander-in-chief’s
secretary and firmly relying on the nature of the testimonials which
I should receive, I considered my promotion certain. I immediately
wrote to Colonel Cross, commanding 28th Regiment at Fermoy, and to
Colonel Browne (late 28th), commanding 56th Regiment at Sheerness.
With their replies and a memorial to His Royal Highness, I waited
on the secretary; but on presenting them, he, without even opening
them, said: “Recollect, Captain Blakeney, that I did not promise you
promotion. I cannot give away majorities.” I replied that I did not
apply for a majority; I only asked for the rank by brevet, which was
throughout the army considered as a reward for meritorious officers
when regimental promotion might be attended with difficulty. I received
no answer. Chagrined and disappointed because, when the secretary had
told me that I was right in making a memorial and had advised me to
get my commanding officer’s testimonials, he now opposed that memorial
before he even submitted it to the Commander-in-chief, I retired with
strong impressions, which I now decline to state. In a short time I
received an answer to my memorial stating that I could not at the
present moment be promoted by brevet, but that I should get a majority
when a favourable opportunity offered. Unbounded confidence was not
inspired by this promise from the Horse Guards, particularly after what
had passed on the subject. How far this diffidence was justified may be
seen in the sequel.
The above statement may appear extraordinary; but between the time of
my first interview with Sir Henry Torrens and the arrival of those
testimonials from my various commanding officers, which the secretary
had suggested, the star of Napoleon had begun to set. His abdication
soon followed; war was no longer contemplated; and the claims of
officers, of whatever nature, were abandoned to a heartless neglect.