ADVENTURES OF A SOLDIER
WRITTEN BY HIMSELF.
BEING
THE MEMOIRS
OF
EDWARD COSTELLO, K.S.F.
FORMERLY A NON-COMMISSIONED OFFICER IN THE RIFLE BRIGADE,
LATE CAPTAIN IN THE BRITISH LEGION, AND NOW ONE OF THE WARDENS OF
THE TOWER OF LONDON;
COMPRISING
NARRATIVES OF THE CAMPAIGNS IN THE PENINSULA UNDER THE
DUKE OF WELLINGTON,
AND THE SUBSEQUENT CIVIL WARS IN SPAIN.
What, must I tell it thee?
As o’er my ev’ning fire I musing sat
Some few days since, my mind’s eye backward turn’d
Upon the various changes I have pass’d—
How in my youth with gay attire allur’d,
And all the grand accoutrements of war,
I left my peaceful home: Then my first battles,
When clashing arms, and sights of blood were new:
Then all the after-chances of the war;
Ay, and that field, a well-fought field it was.
COUNT BASIL.
Second Edition.
LONDON:
COLBURN AND CO., PUBLISHERS,
GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET.
1852.
LONDON:
Printed by Schulze and Co., 13, Poland Street.
TO
GENERAL SIR A. F. BARNARD, K.C.B, K.C.H.
&c. &c. &c.
COLONEL OF THE RIFLE BRIGADE,
AND GOVERNOR OF CHELSEA COLLEGE,
THIS VOLUME
Is most respectfully Dedicated,
BY THE AUTHOR,
EDWARD COSTELLO.
PREFACE
TO
THE FIRST EDITION.
So many Lives of Soldiers have already been written, and by abler pens
than mine, and so many tales have arisen out of the chequered scenes of
the late Peninsular War, and the short existence of the British Legion,
that I dare not be very sanguine of creating for my work any great
degree of interest.
But every man’s life is a volume of change, felt and expressed according
to his peculiar dispositions and feelings, which are as varied under a
military as they can be under a civil life. Could the never to be
forgotten Tom Crawley but give his own detail!—could Long Tom of
Lincoln, once one of the smartest of our regiment, now the forlorn
bone-picker of Knightsbridge, but pen his own eventful track—could
Wilkie, Hetherington, Plunket, and many others of those humbler heroes,
conquerors in such well-contested fields as Rodrigo, Badajoz, Salamanca,
and Waterloo, &c., whose exploits form the principal attractions in this
volume, and whose stubborn spirits and perforated bodies formed
key-stones for the fame of our immortal Wellington, whose standard might
have found a sandy support but for the individual bravery of the
soldiers of his invincible divisions: could they but recount their
varied casts of fortune—who would fail to read their histories and help
to rear a cypress to their memories?
With these considerations, I send this volume forth, trusting that the
reader will bear in mind that he who wrote it was both actor and
spectator in the scenes he has narrated, and feels assured that by their
perusal, he will be enabled to guess at what is generally felt and
experienced by the individual soldier.
In the British Legion I held a medium rank. I saw not only what its
soldiers were, but caught a glance at their officers: with them my
military career flickered out its last moments of existence. Its
brighter fortunes, short as they were, however, gave me sufficient
opportunity to value those unfortunate men—my humbler comrades, and to
be convinced by their deeds, that the British soldier, with sickness,
oppression, the lash, and other distresses, still possessed his old
spirit, and was as fitted to reap laurels as he had been in more
glorious times.
EDWARD COSTELLO.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I.
Introduction of myself to the reader—To the service—Who would not be a
Soldier?—A recruit—Wilkie—Cupid’s Row-dow—The service endangered by
another—Arrival at Liverpool—I am made prisoner, but not by the
French—Recaptured by our sergeant—Lichfield round-house—St. Paul’s—I
join my regiment, and the regiment joins us—Great numbers of rank and
file burnt alive 1
CHAPTER II.
I join Captain O’Hare’s company—He falls in a passion—The “fair” and
“unfair” appointment—Disappointment—Things of a private nature—Tom
Crawley—An example—The Hero—How to catch “flats” in “squads”—New way
to tap a barrel—A Rifleman’s plan for sweeping chimneys and
tap-rooms—Pipe-clay and parade—The regiment embark for Portugal 6
CHAPTER III.
Tom Plunket’s Military Career 11
CHAPTER IV.
Arrival in Portugal—Crauford’s forced marches—Teetotalism with a
vengeance—The effect of the opposite extreme—Spanish mode of keeping a
man from stealing wine—False reports—Talavera—We arrive the day after
the fight—A battle scene—Sir Arthur Wellesley—General Cuesta—Dough Boy
Hill—The fever—I am taken ill—Elvas hospital—How to cure a
fever—Convalescence—Burial scenes—Our Sextons—March to my regiment—The
Germans—Pig-skins in danger, our own also—Captain Pakenham—Hanging
matters—Two dozen of each—Not sham pain—German discipline 19
CHAPTER V.
Old Trowsers—Sleeping and waking—O’Hare again—Colonel Beckwith—Two upon
one—Meagher—Barba del Puerco—General Crauford taken by surprise—The
Portuguese incorporation with the light division—Rodrigo—Gallegos—The
Beacon night scenes on picquet—Lord Wellington—Napoleon’s
Marriage—Crauford’s stratagem—The French spy—We retreat to Fort
Conception 28
CHAPTER VI.
Villa de Mula—Night expedition to Villa de Puerco—Both parties
retire—Death of Colonel Talbot—A soldier’s grave—The effects of a
miscarriage—Fort Conception blown up—A mistake and no mistake—Another
mistake, a ball in the right knee—The bridge over the Coa—A friend in
need, a friend indeed—Charity abroad and at home—A surgeon’s advice—A
blessing—A cough, an uncomfortable companion—Spanish apathy—We arrive
at Fraxedas 34
CHAPTER VII.
Mondego—The Coimbra—Figueras—The maggots—Lisbon—Battle of Busaco—Retreat
to Torres Vedras—Lord Wellington’s generalship—Belem—Jack ashore and
Jonathan also—Yankey and Lankey—Billy M’Nabb—The Highland kite and
Lowland tail—Josh. Hetherington—Sperum Poco—Portuguese
piety—Aruda—Doing what the enemy left undone—Tom Crawley again—In
state—A hot berth—Our enemies laugh at Tom in his glory 41
CHAPTER VIII.
The enemy retire upon Santarem—We retire upon Vallée—The bridge over the
Rio Mayor—The French out-lying sentries—Their camp ground—Comparative
quietude—The still—Escape from assassination—Tom Crawley’s
ghost-story—The “Death and Glory men”—The charms of a Brunswickian
appetite—Their desertions—Sergeant Fleming—His court-martial—We meet
our enemies on the water and contend—A comment on both sides 50
CHAPTER IX.
General Crauford leaves for England—Sir William Erskine takes the
command—Mounseer Strauss—We enter Santarem—Scenes of horror—Mile
posts of the “grande armée”—Retaliations of the Portuguese—Two
upon one—Pombal—Smart work—German gallantry—Auction—A new
division—Redinha—An accident—Long Tom of Lincoln—The deserter—A
return of favours 58
CHAPTER X.
Our march upon Condeixa—Tom Crawley again—Hot and cold—Affair of Casal
Nova—Death of Major Stewart—The French continue retreating—The two
brothers—Night scene—The French continue their havoc—The Caçadore—The
pet goat—Lord Wellington again—Our old Colonel—The promise of the
Staff—The Recruits—British enthusiasm inspired—The two French
prisoners—Particulars of Massena’s retreat and state of his troops—St.
Patrick’s Day—If I had a donkey—The river Caira—Our distressing
privations—O’Brien and the old Patrone—Arrival at Friexedas—Adjutant
Stewart killed—Sabugal—Carrying of the enemy’s position—Encomiums of
our Colonel—Death of Lieut. Arbuthnot—Disagreeable bed-fellow—A light
on the subject—Evacuation of Portugal by the French, Almeida
excepted—The British follow into Spain—Arrival at Gallegos—The enemy
active in Rodrigo—The skulker—Poor Burke—Expedition and disappointment
in search of a convoy 66
CHAPTER XI.
Our advance videttes, and the French cavalry—Manœuvring in front of
Villa Formosa—The Suttler and the Dragoons—Sergeant-Major
Sharp—Morning of the 5th May—General Crauford returns—Portuguese
welcome—Fuentes d’Onor—French Dragoon challenges to single
combat—Retreat on Navez d’Aver—Charges of cavalry—A deep game by the
French—Squaring it with the enemy—The 79th Highlanders—A prisoner
against his will—The French sentry and General Crauford—The Light
Dragoons again—Sergeant-Major Sharp again—Scene of discipline—That
lash disappointed—The German fratricide 77
CHAPTER XII.
Almeida closely invested by the fifth division, but not close
enough—Evacuation by the French—Suicide of the Colonel of the
4th—Sabugal—We cross the Coa—The comet—Much ado about nothing—Tom
Crawley’s fears—March through Castello Branco—Portalegre, &c.,
to Campo Mayor—Tom Crawley poisoned—Blockade of Ciudad
Rodrigo—Atalaya—Hunting excursion with the Staff—Our third battalion
joins us—Colonel Barnard—Tommy Searchfield—Middy ashore—Deficiency of
rations—A new arrival—His adventure—Spanish spite—The pigs—Rodrigo
relieved by the French—Our division—We rejoin the army—Battle of El
Bodon—We return to Guinaldo—Again invest Rodrigo—January, 1812—Fort
Piquerine stormed—The stripping of the prisoners by the Portuguese—Tom
Crawley again—Cure for a skulk 86
CHAPTER XIII.
Cold reception—Preparation to storm Rodrigo—I join the
“Forlorn-Hope”—The breaches—General Crauford killed—Uniacke mortally
wounded—Major Napier wounded—Taking of the town—A rough
customer—Wilkie again—Death of Wilkie—A gift—The left breach after the
battle—Wilkie’s grave—Horrors of a storm—This is my niece, Sir—The
right breach—Captain Uniacke—The Light Division leave Rodrigo in
disguise—Who the devil are those fellows?—We enter El Bodon 94
CHAPTER XIV.
Burial of General Crauford—Anecdote of Ladrone! Ladrone!—Corporal
Miles—Burial of Uniacke—A French seat of honour in jeopardy—A wolf! a
wolf!—Deserters shot—Scene of execution—March to Castello de Vide
across the Tagus—Execution of Corporal Arnal for desertion—Badajoz—A
man dreaming of his head being off with his head on; singular
fulfilment—Tom Crawley’s dislike to conchology—His alarms—The Duke of
Wellington saluted by the enemy—Remarkable feature of the case—A
French curative or an ill-wind, &c. 102
CHAPTER XV.
Storming of Badajoz—I join the Forlorn-Hope again—Presentiments of Major
O’Hare and Captain Jones—Their deaths—The stormers—The Ladder-men—I am
wounded—The French prisoner—O’Brien—Sacking of the town—Scene of
horror—Reflections—The Duke of Wellington and his men—Johnny Castles
introduced with a rope round his neck—The drummer-boy—A firelock goes
off, and so does a Corporal—I return to the camp—Casualties at
Badajoz—The French prisoner and a new acquaintance—His account of the
evacuation of Almeida—His opinion of the British soldiers 114
CHAPTER XVI.
I recover from my wounds and rejoin my regiment at Ituera—“Nine
holes”—March for Salamanca—Sergeant Battersby—The grenadier and
the murder of his wife, &c., &c.—Marmont out-manœuvred—Assault
of Fort St. Vincent—Retreat of the enemy—We arrive at Rueda—The
wine-vaults—My descent into one—Fright, &c.—Manœuvring of the
two armies—Skirmishing—A gallant Frenchman—Pratt and his
prisoner 126
CHAPTER XVII.
Battle of Salamanca—My wounds break out afresh—I go into the Hospital at
Salamanca—The Germans and their prisoners—A recognition—Michael
Connelly—His death and burial—Josh. Hetherington again—A new
acquaintance—His accounts of the Guerillas, &c.—A keepsake for a
sweetheart—The Guerilla—The army retrace their steps to
Salamanca—Proceed to Rodrigo—Heavy wet—Spanish payment;
acknowledgment—A dry coat—Lord Charles Spencer and his acorns—We
continue our march—The babes in the wood—Hard skirmishing with the
enemy’s advanced-guard—A woman in distress—Pepper—Hunger, cold, and
fatigue—Finish of the Burgos retreat 133
CHAPTER XVIII.
Head-quarters at Grenalda—Don Julian Sanchez, the celebrated Guerilla
Chief—Weakness of our numbers—Incorporation of Spaniards into our
regiments—A thief—Punishment of, and opinion of the men—General orders
for a collection among the men and officers to relieve Russian
losses—A ball, in which thousands were present—Campaign of 1813
commenced—The Life Guards and the Blues join us—The French retreat to
Burgos—Secret expedition for bread—Our surprise—Retreat—General Sir
Lowry Cole—His temple spectacles made use of to reconnoitre—Our
escape—A few remarks—Three alternatives—A cavalry affair on the 18th
June—German brotherhood again 144
CHAPTER XIX.
We encamp near Puebla, on the road to Vittoria—Battle of Vittoria—A man
obliged to hold his jaw—Affair of Bayonets—The 88th—Blanco—Daly—French
defeated—A prisoner rescued—The carriage of Joseph Napoleon—His wife,
&c.—His bâton—A prise—Attempt to rob me—Sergeant Lee—Night scenes
after the battle—The sale of the spoils—I distribute my money for
safety—We march on Salvatierra—Halt at Pampeluna—Another brush
wanted—Lesaca—The enemy on the heights of Santa Barbara dislodged—The
French attempt to relieve Pampeluna—The Bidassoa—The French too late
for the “fare”—We also—A race back by way of “hurry”—The Regiment’s
birth-day—Sergeant Fawfoot’s loss and re-instalment—My treasure—My
comrade—His good faith—Siege and storm of San Sebastian—The four
hundred gallant Frenchmen—Their charge and escape—The 52nd and their
badges—Remarks, &c. 153
CHAPTER XX.
We encamp on the banks of the Bidassoa—Scenes on the water-edge—A narrow
escape with a lady in question,“Ah, there’s the rub”—Tom Crawley and
the biscuits—Our third battalion carry the heights of Vera—The French
camp, “the last of the French”—The Pyrenees—The mountain father—Up
hill and down dale—The battle of the Nivelle—Manly and Spanish
affection—Blanco again—His gallantry—Tom Crawley—A hug from a granny
dear—The last struggle—Crawley’s departure—A tear for Tom—A reel—St.
Jean de Lus—The French endeavour to make a stand—Colonel Sir Andrew
Barnard wounded—Death messengers fly fast 168
CHAPTER XXI.
9th December—Our picquets driven in—We are nearly outflanked—We retire—A
rally under the eye of Wellington—Lieutenant Hopwood and Sergeant
Brotherwood killed—Excellent feeling between the French and English
soldiers—Consequent General Order—Johnny Castles in the
advance—Picquet-house—Murder at Tarbes—Blanco again—Collection made
for the widow—Battle of Toulouse—“Amende Honorable”—We encamp on the
banks of the Garonne—“Fall in”—The Spaniards make a mistake—General
Picton rectifies it—The enemy retreat into Toulouse—They evacuate the
town—French leave—Theatre of Toulouse—“A Rifleman on the look
out.” 176
CHAPTER XXII.
We continue to pursue the enemy on their retreat—Halted on the second
day—A carriage brings Soult and peace—French troops disbanded—Friendly
intercourse with our men—Castle Sarazin—Our men prefer the ground for
a bed, in preference to a feather one—The French sergeant—The
invitation—Parade—The dinner—Farewell to the Spaniards and
Portuguese—Cupid enlisting deserters—Poor Blanco—Embarkation for
England—The ‘Ville de Paris’—The sergeant in hope of a wife—Arrival at
Portsmouth—The sergeant in search of a wife—Their meeting and
parting 182
CHAPTER XXIII.
Quartered in Dover—Receive our new clothing, &c.—May, 1815—Receive
orders to embark for Ostend—We arrive safe—Bruges—Ghent—Brussels—15th
of June—Belong to the fifth division under General Picton—Descend the
wood of Soignies to Waterloo—Duke of Wellington arrives from
Brussels—Battle of Waterloo—I receive a wound in my right hand,
shatters one of my fingers—Return to Brussels—The pretty
house-keeper—The child—Its dead mother—Genappe—Scenes on the road to
Brussels—Arrival at Brussels—Numbers of wounded in the
streets—Kindness and attention of the Brussels’ ladies—The fair
surgeon 189
CHAPTER XXIV.
Brussels’ hospitals—The British and French soldiers under amputation—I
lose my finger—Another loss also—I leave the hospital and am removed
to the Provost Guard—The Belgian marauders bared to the skin—The point
of honour—Sensation produced on their comrades—The Belgian regiment
under arms—Guard-house surrounded—Narrow escape—Removal of the
Belgians—Assassination of a French Count by a Cossack officer—Medals
sent from England—Consequent dissensions—Poor Wheatley—Quarters at
Mouvres—Augustine—An old acquaintance—A rival—Augustine leaves her
father’s house—Pursued—Her father’s despair—Removal to Cambray—The
regiment receives orders to embark for England—We part 197
CHAPTER XXV.
Disembark at Dover—Shorn Cliff Barracks—I am Invalided, and pass the
Board at Chelsea—Augustine’s arrival—Sixpence a day—Sir Andrew
Barnard—Sir David Dundas—My hopeless condition—Blood money—The
Honourable Doctor Wellesley—Mr. Walsford—Augustine returns with me to
France—I retrace my steps alone to Calais—To Dover—Dreadful extremes—A
new field for practice—A friend in need—Another “Forlorn-Hope”—Colonel
Ford—A Rifleman without an appetite—Death of Augustine 207
CHAPTER XXVI.
I enter the British Legion as Lieutenant—I raise a regiment of
Riflemen—Appoint the non-commissioned officers—Recruiting
districts—The peer and the dustmen—General Evans thanks—Embark at
Gravesend—Voyage across the Bay of Biscay—Arrival in Spain—We land at
Portugaletta—Pat’s logic—Spanish sentries shoot a man by mistake—A bad
omen—Men confined for not wearing that which they never had—Modern
rifle officers—Colonel de Rottenburgh—Legion officers classified—Fine
appearance of the men—Rifles march to Zorossa—Head quarters at
Bilboa—Bad quarters of the men—Severe drills—Bad beginning—The men
begin to droop through ill-treatment—“Cats” indiscriminately
used—Lieutenant Robinson drowned 213
CHAPTER XXVII.
Intention of the Spanish Government respecting our winter quarters—March
to Vittoria—Enemy oblige us to go round—The rear of the Legion
engaged—Baggage divided from it—Commencement of the plunder at
Bilboa—Arrival at Castro—Enemy supposed to be in the vicinity—We
remain at Castro—March the next day—Mountainous route—An accident—The
pass of Las Goras—March to Bonia—My company placed in the
advance—Orders to prepare for cavalry—Doubts and fears—A narrow
escape—Arrival at Breviesca—Breviesca—Head Quarters—My old
Patrone—Hints to revolutionists—System of regular drill begun—Riflemen
drilled collectively—I practice my company in sham fighting—Provosts
and hardship—Lay in a winter stock of sickness—Legion paid up to
November, 1835—Last payment—March of death—We march for Vittoria—Pass
of Pancorbo—The dead Patrone—Approach to Vittoria—My old
recollections—The 45th—Halt about three miles from the city—Spanish
troops come out to meet us—Triumphant entry into Vittoria—The veteran
Colonel 222
CHAPTER XXVIII.
Vittoria as it then was—A bad wind that blows nobody any good—Rifles
rather comfortable at first—Severe weather—Morning scenes and cries in
Vittoria—The flogging system—Men not starved—A comparison of
facts—Hospitals get crammed with sick—Singular economy—The old
Colonel’s two sons—The Chapelgorris decimated by order of
Espartero—The Rifles march to Matuca—The whole Legion assemble at
Matuca—Cordova engaged—A Carlist village—A confession—A night
retreat—Colonel’s anxiety—Arlaban—Change of looks both in the men and
the inhabitants—March to Trevina—Sharp winter of 1835 232
CHAPTER XXIX.
Return to Vittoria—The mortality and state of the hospitals—Deaths among
the medical officers—Scenes in the wards—Legion supposed to be
poisoned—Don José Elgoez—His first ordeal—A discovery—Execution of the
two bakers—Description of the “Garotta”—Legion march and
counter-marches—Mode of warfare adopted by General Evans—Frequent
desertion 238
CHAPTER XXX.
Sudden and unjust dismissal of the officers—Copies from General
Orders—Spanish compliments to the French and British Legions—Cordova
between two fires—Some French officers resign—Difference betwixt the
British and French Legion—Parting moments between a French Colonel and
his men—Legion receive orders to proceed to San Sebastian—The sick
left behind to guard the sick—March through the country to
Santander—Arrival at the Convent of Carbon—New clothing—Recruits,
&c.—My opinion of the Legion 244
CHAPTER XXXI.
Embark for San Sebastian—A thirty-two-pounder, and no mistake—A bloody
force—Brains where they were wanted, unfortunately—A prize—Arrival at
San Sebastian—Anticipated attack—Colonel de Rottenberg taken ill—Major
Fortescue—Opinions—His maiden speech—Two companies broke up the others
of the regiment—5th of May—Attack on the lines of San Sebastian—A
hullabaloo—6th Scotch taken for enemies—Helter-skelter—I receive a
severe wound—Am carried into San Sebastian—My letter to my
wife 250
CHAPTER XXXII.
The loss of my company in the late action—Apprehensions about my
leg—Medal and pewter—A candidate for Knighthood—Captain Plunkett—His
death, &c.—A Rifleman assassinated—Fire-eaters—Sketch of San
Sebastian—Lord John Hay’s battery—Ramble towards Passages—Something
serious—Awkward squads—Singular decline of Spanish Bigotry—A Sectarian
alarmed 256
CHAPTER XXXIII.
Disorganised state of the Legion—Three months’ pay—A holiday—The 6th and
8th Scotch lay down their arms—Reasons—My wishes to retire from the
Legion—I give up the command of the company—A reflection—I embark for
Santander—Report myself to Colonel Arbuthnot—My new command—The
convent of Carbon—Short description—Inhabitants of—First sample—A
speculation—A Quarter-master’s conscience—I place him under arrest—A
horse! A horse! 263
CHAPTER XXXIV.
An orderly dragoon puts us all in confusion—A stir—Retreat upon
Santander—The dangers of forgetfulness—Cure for a fever—We return to
our old quarters—Captain Shields and Major Clark’s visit—An appeal—A
new mode of raising “Volunteers”—Glory or death by famine—One hundred
and twenty men are starved into the service again—Scene in
Santander—British soldiers and subjects—More assassinations—A
cold-blooded Spaniard—A peace-loving Commandant—Captain Oakley and his
“cats”—Continued horrors of the convent—Assassination—A relief from
purgatory—A conclusion 268
ADVENTURES
OF
A SOLDIER.
CHAPTER I.
To give a young gentleman right education,
The army’s the only good school in the nation.
SWIFT.
Introduction of myself to the reader—To the service—Who would not be a
Soldier?—A recruit—Wilkie—Cupid’s Row-dow—The service endangered by
another—Arrival at Liverpool—I am made prisoner, but not by the
French—Recaptured by our sergeant—Lichfield round-house—St. Paul’s—I
join my regiment, and the regiment joins us—Great numbers of rank and
file burnt alive.
IT has ever been the fashion in story telling to begin, I believe, with
the birth of the hero, and as I do not forget, for a moment, that I am
my own, I can only modestly say with young Norval I am,
... ... ... of parentage obscure
Who nought can boast, but my desire to be
A soldier.
I was born at the town of Mount Mellick, Queen’s County, Ireland, on the
26th October, 1788. When I was seven years old my father removed to
Dublin, where he had been appointed to the situation of tide waiter. As
soon as I became a good sized youth, my father bound me apprentice to a
cabinet-maker, in King William Street, in the aforesaid city; but urged
by a roving and restless spirit, I soon grew tired of my occupation,
which I left on morning early “without beat of drum.”
I next went to live with an uncle, a shoemaker, who employed several men
to work in his business. Among these was an old soldier, who had lost a
leg, fighting under Sir Ralph Abercrombie, in Egypt. From this old
blade, I think it was, I first acquired that martial ardour that so
frequently infects young men in time of war. There was, indeed, no
resisting the old pensioner’s description of glory. I became red hot for
a soldier’s life, and although rejected as too young for the regulars, I
“listed,” as it is technically called, in the Dublin Militia on the 17th
of June, 1806.
At the latter end of the following year, our regiment was stationed at
Londonderry, in the north of Ireland, where I volunteered into the 95th,
since made the “Rifle Brigade.” It was rather singular, but I remember I
was the only volunteer from the regiment who joined the rifles.
After receiving my bounty of the eighteen guineas (£4 of which were
deducted for my kit, which I was to have on joining), the sum allowed at
that time to those who volunteered from the militia, I took the mail
coach for Dublin, where I found a recruiting party of my new regiment,
consisting of one sergeant, a corporal and six privates. I must say I
felt highly delighted with the smart appearance of the men, as well as
with their green uniform. The sergeant proposed that I should remain in
Dublin, being as it were, almost a native of that city, from which
circumstance he thought I might materially assist in raising recruits.
Recruiting, on the pay of a private soldier, is anything but pleasant,
and particularly if he be confined to the mere shilling a-day, doled out
to him once a-week, for he not unfrequently spends it all the first
night he receives it. I myself had woefully experienced this, having
been frequently for days without food, through my irregularities and my
unwillingness to acquaint my friends that I was so near them.
I was crawling about one day in this manner, heartily tired of my first
sample of military life, garbed in an old green jacket of the
sergeant’s, when I was accosted by a smart young fellow. After eyeing me
rather shrewdly from head to foot for several seconds, “I say, green
boy,” said he, “do you belong to the Croppies? D—— me, but I like your
dress. What bounty do you give?”
“Eighteen guineas,” replied I.
“Come then,” said he, “tip us a shilling. I’m your man.” Unfortunately
for me, I had not a farthing, for I had eaten nothing for that and the
whole of the previous day. However, knowing that we received two pounds
for every recruit, I hurried into a public-house near at hand, and
requested of the landlord to lend me a shilling, telling him the use for
which I wanted it. This he very kindly did, and I handed it over to the
recruit, who, chucking it instantly on the counter, called for the worth
of it in whiskey. While we remained drinking, the sergeant, whom I had
sent for, arrived, and supplying us with money, the recruit passed the
doctor and was sworn in for our corps.
His name was Wilkie, he was an Englishman; his father having been sent
for from Manchester to superintend a glass manufactory in Dublin,
accounted for his being here. He was a fine young fellow of about five
feet eight inches in height, and possessed all the genuine elements of a
soldier, that is, was quarrelsome, generous and brave, of which
qualities he gave us a specimen the evening he enlisted, by quilting a
pair of coal-heavers. After a few days, he introduced me to his family,
consisting of his parents and a sister, a remarkably pretty girl of
about seventeen. Had war not claimed me with her iron grasp as her
proselyte, I, no doubt, should have interwoven my destinies with the
silken web of Cupid, who, very naturally, when my youth and early
passions are considered, for I was but nineteen, tapped me very
seriously on the shoulder.
I, however, went on recruiting, and the two pounds I received for
enlisting Wilkie, I handed over to my landlady in advance for future
food, which my last misfortune had taught me to value. This precaution,
as is generally the case, was now no longer necessary, for in a short
time after, we enlisted so many recruits, that money became very
plentiful, and I was enabled to get coloured clothes. While we remained
in Dublin, I became a constant visitor at the house of Wilkie’s father,
and the young lady I have alluded to, not disapproving of my advances, a
serious attachment followed. But my stay threatened to be speedily
terminated, as the sergeant and his party received orders to join his
regiment immediately, then at Colchester,
Mars and Cupid _beat to arms_,
and placed me in the predicament of the donkey betwixt the hay stacks. I
became bewildered as to which to take, both being, as it were, necessary
to the calls of my nature.
At last, the time for parting arrived, which took place after a little
private snivelling and simpering, and the usual vows of eternal
fidelity, passion and remembrance—which last I have kept to this day.
She and her mother accompanied Wilkie and myself towards the Pigeon
House, Ringsend, and in something more than twenty-four hours, we found
ourselves cheek by jowl with the quays of Liverpool. It was past
midnight when _we_ cast anchor. We were ordered to remain on board; but
Wilkie’s and my own anxiety to see the place took advantage of a loop
hole in the waterman’s pocket, and we got ashore in our coloured
clothes; from the lateness of the hour, however, we were obliged to take
lodgings in a cellar. We had not been long settled and asleep below
stairs, before I was awoke by the bright glare of a bull’s eye lanthorn
staring me full in the face, and some five or six rough sailors all
armed to the teeth, standing before us.
The first thing they did was to feel our hands, which, finding to be
rather soft, one remarked to the other, that we had never been sailors,
though nevertheless they took us as lawful prey. Wilkie, at first,
wanted to fight with them, but was persuaded by half a dozen _bull
dogs_, and some cutlasses to walk quietly to the tender, in which we
most probably should have taken a voyage, but, for one thing, we had
been _sea-sick_ and were _sick of the sea_, and on being examined by the
officer on board the next morning, we gladly sent for our sergeant, who,
claiming us, accordingly, we were liberated.
Our party continued their march, and Wilkie, whom for more reasons than
one I was growing exceedingly attached to, was always my companion and
many a scrape he got me into. He was continually in hot water; on
several occasions and particularly at Lichfield where we were caged, for
kicking up disturbances amongst some Irish recruits in which, however, I
supported my friend, we were detained for want of means to pay for the
damage done to a public-house, the scene of riot. Sergeant Crooks (for
that was our sergeant’s name) had not unfortunately the means to satisfy
this demand, having nothing but the men’s bare allowance to carry us to
London. Meanwhile, we remained in the cage, which was in a very
conspicuous part of the market-place.
The fact of an Irishman being there, seemed to have aroused all the
little brats and blackguards of the neighbourhood, (my countrymen were
not so plentifully scattered then as they are now), and every minute of
the day we were annoyed by, “I say Paddy, Hilloa Paddy, which way does
the bull run?” Taking both of us for Irish, the young devils kept
twirling their fingers on their noses, even through the bars of the
cage. The poor sergeant, who was a mild good fellow, arranged matters,
after all, with the magistrates; the money was to be sent to the injured
parties as soon as we joined the regiment, and deducted from our
pay—which was done accordingly.
Wilkie, however, continued his pranks, and once while in London when on
a visit to St. Paul’s Cathedral, stopped the pendulum of the clock, and
set the bells ringing; for this we were again imprisoned, but escaped
this time, by paying a fine of five shillings for being drunk, after
which nothing occurred till we arrived at Colchester. Here I joined the
1st battalion, then under the command of Colonel Beckwith, afterwards
known as General Sir Sidney Beckwith, and was attached to Captain
Glass’s company.
Shortly after my arrival, the regiment was ordered to Spain, the
campaign having then commenced. But not being perfect in my exercises, I
was left behind as depôt, until time and practice had made me a greater
proficient in Light Infantry duty. Although this was a necessary
consequence to a mere recruit, at that time, I felt not a little
mortification at being prevented sharing in the glory, which I believed
the regiment about to reap.
As it was, however, I had no great reason to complain. I became an adept
in my drill, and a tolerable shot along with some other recruits, before
the regiment returned. This took place in the month of January, 1809, at
Hythe, where we were at that time stationed, the depôt having moved from
Colchester.
The Rifle regiment, it is well known, had distinguished itself, and had
suffered severely, especially in the retreat to Corunna under the
gallant Moore. From thence, they had embarked for England, where, on
their landing, they presented a most deplorable sight. The appearance of
the men was squalid and miserable in the extreme. There was scarcely a
man amongst them, who had not lost some of his appointments, and many,
owing to the horrors of that celebrated retreat, were even without
rifles. Their clothing, too, was in tatters, and in such an absolute
state of filth as to swarm with vermin. New clothing was immediately
served out and the old ordered to be burnt, which order was put into
execution at the back of our barracks amid the jests of the men, who
congratulated each other on thus getting effectually rid of those
myriads of enemies, that had proved such a source of personal discomfort
to them abroad.