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.
IN the month of February, General Crauford went to England on leave, and
the command of the light division, during his absence, devolved upon
Major-General Sir William Erskine.
On the night of the 5th of March we were suddenly ordered to fall in, as
intelligence had reached us that the French were evacuating Santarem.
This was soon ascertained to be the fact, and we immediately commenced
an advance, crossing the bridge in our front at three o’clock on the
morning of the 6th.
Ours being the senior captain of the regiment, the company, as was
usual, were in the advance, when some of the front files suddenly came
within a few yards of what appeared to be a French sentinel, leaning
against a wall that ran along from the bridge. One of our fellows fired,
but perceiving no movement made, we all rushed up, and discovered him to
be, what our money-changers at home have so great a horror of, “a man of
straw,” or a piece of sacking stuffed and accoutred. This afforded a fit
theme for joking, as we carried our “prisoner” with us until we came to
Santarem.
Our march was uninterrupted, and over a bold thickly wooded country,
much cut up, however, by the retreating enemy; about mid-day we entered
Santarem, where a sight of a most horrifying description offered itself.
The streets and houses presented a mass of desolation and filth, which,
in some degree, contaminated the air around, while to add to the
picture, numbers of half-starved looking Frenchmen were grouped about in
knots, and exhibiting the loathsome appearance of disease. The faces of
many of these poor fellows were dreadfully swollen and white. Our men
were moved to pity at the scene, and threw them biscuits as we passed
through the town.
Massena had not the means of conveyance for the whole of his sick, and
had been obliged to leave these to their fate. This, indeed, would have
been soon decided had the Portuguese first come up with them.
At every mile the enemy, on their retreat, had fixed finger posts with
directions to the road the “grande armée” had taken, they sufficiently
directed us also. But after all, these were of little service, for
straggling groups of the unfortunate enemy strewed the road as we
advanced over it. The poor fellows, at first, would greet the English
with a faint hope of protection, and turned up their swollen and pallid
countenances to us with expressions that needed not words to explain
them. But we were obliged to pass on and leave them, for aught I know,
to be butchered by the inhabitants, who fearfully retaliated for all the
scenes we had witnessed. At night we encamped on the outskirts of a
small village, the name I do not recollect, but the sights within it I
never can forget.
In searching for a stream from which I might procure water, I fell upon
a small fountain, close to which lay two or three murdered Portuguese;
their brains and blood, which seemed freshly to have oozed from their
mangled remains, had even streamed into the spring, and turned me away
with disgust from the water. Proceeding onward, I observed a gaunt
ghastly figure in a cloak stealing towards a group of cadaverous looking
Frenchmen—on his getting a little nearer to them, he suddenly spat in
his hands and throwing his cloak aside, produced a heavy club, with
which, I suppose, he was going to beat their brains out. Struck with
horror, I instantly seized the stick from his half-famished grasp, drove
him away, and assisted by one or two comrades got the poor men into a
house, and pursued my search.
As I, however, approached into the Plaza, the desolation thickened; all
the havoc that can possibly be imagined in so small a compass lay before
me—murdered and violated women—shrieking and dying children—and, indeed,
all that had possessed life in the village, lay quivering in the last
agony of slaughter and awful vengeance.
These became every-day scenes until we overtook the French rear-guard at
Pombal, which we did on the 11th, my company had been hurried forward by
the cavalry, each dragoon mounting a rifleman behind him on his horse—a
method of riding peculiarly galling to the infantry, but which we
frequently had to experience during the war. From the friction alone
produced on the legs and seat by the dragoon’s saddle-bags, it was some
time before the foot-soldier, when placed upon his legs, could move with
anything like dispatch. Besides, this method of riding was generally
attended by the loss of the men’s mess-tins, which became shaken off by
the jolting. There were, indeed, few of our men who would not have
preferred marching twice the distance on foot to being thus carried.[7]
We first got sight of the enemy about two miles from the town of Pombal.
They had possession of a wood, from which, however, we soon managed to
drive them. They retired in great disorder in the direction of the town.
The long straight road that led to Pombal became filled for some hundred
yards, with the confused masses of the French; but their distress was
still further increased by the arrival of Brigade-Major Mellish, who
came up, at the time, with a couple of Ross’s guns, and commenced
playing upon them. It soon became a complete rout with the enemy, and
they pressed pell-mell over the bridge of the river between us and the
town. They suffered considerably in this business—the ground was strewed
with their dead, and as we followed we found several poor fellows at the
bridge badly wounded by the rifles, and many dissevered legs and arms,
the latter, no doubt, caused by Ross’s two pieces.
It was during the preceding skirmish that, for the first time, I heard
the words that afterwards became so common in our regiment, “kill a
Frenchman for yourself.” Its origin was as follows: Two men of known
daring, named Palmer and Tracey, during our approach to the bridge,
seeing a French sergeant fall, ran up to claim the meed of conquest, by
relieving him of any valuables he might be possessed of. They were
quarrelling as to the appropriation of the spoil, when Palmer, who was a
known excellent shot, told Tracey to go “and kill a Frenchman for
himself,” as he had shot this man.
This circumstance afterwards gave birth to a little gasconade in the
regiment, that every rifleman could and ought to kill a Frenchman in
action. From the period of the above occurrence, Palmer received the
nick-name of the “man-killer,” until a singular circumstance, that
occurred at the siege of Badajoz, gave him a new title. In relieving
picquet in the trenches, many of our men, instead of going quietly
through the trenches or parallels in front of the walls of the town,
used to show their contempt of danger by jumping out of them and running
across in the face of the enemy’s fire. In executing this feat one day
with some others, a cannon-shot fired by the French, struck the ground
first, and then hit Palmer on the back, and he fell, as we thought,
killed upon the spot. To our surprise, however, in a moment he jumped up
unhurt, the ball having glanced off his knapsack. In commemoration of
this event, he was afterwards known by the appellation of “the bomb
proof man.”
It must be borne in mind, that my own company only were present here,
and we had to sustain, at a great disadvantage, a smart fire from the
different houses, occupied by the rear-guard of the enemy. As soon as we
crossed the bridge we took possession of the houses opposite those held
by the French, from which we kept up a brisk fire out of the windows.
Tired however, with this cross work, several of our men dashed into one
of the French holds and found it crowded with the enemy, who to the
number of thirty or forty quietly surrendered themselves prisoners. I
recollect Sergeant Fleming, who was the first to mount the stairs,
bundling them neck and crop over the staircase. Lieutenant Hopwood,
however, fell severely wounded in the thigh on entering the house. We
maintained the conflict until the remainder of the regiment came up, and
then drove the enemy entirely out of their cover.
In the eagerness of pursuit, however, we had suffered severely: as our
men followed the enemy a considerable distance out of the town, galling
them terribly in the street, when perceiving how few our numbers were,
being supported by a single troop only of our German Hussars, they
turned round and made it a hard matter for us to escape the consequences
of our temerity. Several of the men were out-flanked, and taken
prisoners, and for myself, I had to run a great risk, and should
certainly have been killed or captured, but for the gallantry of a
German dragoon, who riding up, dragged me behind him, and galloped away
amidst a volley of shots, unhurt.
At night, the French, who had posted themselves partly under cover of a
wood, threw shells into the town of Pombal, of which we had possession,
and succeeded in setting it on fire in several places. We nevertheless
remained for the night, and sold by auction among the officers and men
some baggage which we had taken, snugly packed on a grey horse, from one
of their Generals; among other valuables it contained, were two
beautiful gold medals, which we presented to our old Captain; we divided
the proceeds, which amounted to six dollars to each man of the company.
In the morning, the French continued their retreat, and we were again in
pursuit. After crossing a well wooded hill, we came up with them at
Redinha, a small town situated in the hollow of rather a difficult
pass,—the company ascending a hill covered with pine-trees, on the right
of our battalion.
From its eminence, I remember to have seen one of the finest views of
the two armies I ever witnessed. The rifles were extended in the
distance for perhaps two miles, and rapidly on the advance to the
enemy’s position. These were followed by our heavy columns, whose heads
were just emerging from a wood about a quarter of a mile in our rear.
Everything seemed conducted with the order and regularity of a field
day. Meanwhile the rear columns of the French were slowly retiring, but
in a few minutes the scene became exceedingly animated by our artillery
opening their fire upon the retreating forces.
This was the signal for us to set to work. We instantly moved down from
our lofty station, and were soon engaged skirmishing and endeavouring to
out-flank and drive in their light troops, which, after a hard struggle,
we at length accomplished, but not before many men had fallen on both
sides. The enemy, however, although they slowly retired, continually
turned, making temporary stands, whenever the ground seemed favourable.
One affecting circumstance that took place in this action, made a deep
impression on my memory. A French officer whom we had observed very
conspicuously cheering on his men, had fallen by a rifle-shot through
the thigh, when two of our buglers ran forward for the purpose of easing
him of his money. This, I must observe, the French generally kept
concealed in a kind of belt round their waists. As soon, therefore, as
the buglers came up to him, they commenced quarrelling as to which of
them should possess his property. The more readily to disencumber him of
his belt, each of them had fallen on his knees over the poor Frenchman,
and one of the buglers had drawn a knife to cut the strap that secured
the hoped-for treasure, when the other endeavouring to restrain him
brought on a scuffle, during which, I am sorry to relate, the knife
entered the body of the wounded man, and he expired on the spot. I had
arrived just in time to perceive the occurrence, and could with
difficulty restrain myself from shooting the owner of the knife on the
spot, until he told me it was purely accidental.
After pursuing the enemy through the town, where we took a number of
prisoners (among whom were some of my own company, taken the day before)
in a water-mill, we encamped at night on the side of an extensive hill.
The country, here also, was well wooded and watered, and exceedingly
picturesque, as was also the position occupied by the enemy. We were
encamped on a range of heights, while the French lay below in a
beautiful valley; the outlying sentries of both armies being not more
than two hundred yards apart.
This night our company, with Captain Belvard’s, formed the outlying
picquet. As we had had no rations for two days previous, we were soon
busily employed in cooking what we had taken from the prisoners; during
this ceremony, a man of the name of Humphrey Allen, a tall powerful
fellow, whom we had also nick-named “Long Tom of Lincoln,” came up from
the rear, where, during the preceding skirmish, he had been employed
taking the wounded. On asking to be allowed to join one of the messes,
he was immediately refused, on account of his having gone out of action
with the wounded, when the care of them devolved upon the buglers or
bandsmen alone. This, I must remark, was at first a common excuse for
getting from under fire, and soon became marked with indignation by the
braver men; at length, during the latter part of the campaign, no good
soldier would venture, under so frivolous a pretence, so to expose
himself to the indignation of his comrades, excepting for any very
extreme cases. In the preceding instance, however, Allen proved himself
more daring than humane.
Taking up his rifle, very coolly observing that he would soon get
something to eat if a Frenchman had it: walked quietly down to our
outlying picquets, and taking deliberate aim, shot one of the French
sentries on the spot: in an instant he was across the field to where he
fell, and having hoisted him on his shoulders, was in the act of bearing
him back to our line, which the French perceiving, not only fired, but
pursued him, and compelled him to drop his prize.
A general alarm, meanwhile, was occasioned by this firing, and before it
could be checked, Colonel Beckwith came down, and having traced its
origin, sent for Allen.
“Why, Zur,” replied Tom, to the inquiry of the Colonel “I arn’t had
nought to eat these two days, and thought as how I might find summut in
the Frencher’s knapsack.”
Although he had been guilty of a cruelty which no law of arms could
justify, he managed to escape with a severe reprimand.[8]
In the course of an hour after, being on sentry at our advance posts, I
was leisurely sauntering up and down, occasionally looking about me, and
stooping to cull some flowers that grew in the field which divided us
from the enemy. It was just at the close of the evening, or between the
lights. The French sentry, who advanced occasionally seemingly for the
same purpose, at last came so near, that I feared he was up to some
manœuvre, or about to fire at me; with this, I instantly cocked my
rifle, and was awaiting his approach, when he suddenly rushed towards
me, bellowing out in French, “Déserteur! Déserteur!” Of course at the
words I allowed him to approach, which he did, exclaiming, “Je suis
allemand,” and instantly turning on his quondam comrades, fired into
them. The report of his fire caused the picquets of both parties to fall
in, and the whole line of sentries again to be engaged. However, he
stuck by me all the time, shaking his fist at them, and loading and
firing with all the jaw-breaking oaths that the French and his native
German could supply him with.
Colonel Beckwith, a second time alarmed, was soon amongst us swearing
also, at what he supposed to be another Lincoln job, but he returned
rather pleased, chatting to the deserter.