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.
THE second day after the storming of Rodrigo our brave General Crauford
died of his wound, and the chief part of the officers of the Rifles went
to pay the last tribute to his remains. He was borne to the grave by
four Sergeant-Majors of his own division, and was buried in the breach
where he fell. The Duke of Wellington attended the funeral of the
gallant veteran; who, though most strict in discipline, was averse to
punishment, and was beloved by the men for his justice and care for
them, as well as for his bravery. The following incident, of which I was
an eye-witness, will serve to show his character.
I happened to be on guard one day, when General Crauford came riding in
from the front with his orderly dragoon, as was his usual custom, when
two of our men, one of them a corporal, came running out of a house with
some bread which they had stolen from the Spaniards; they were pursued
by a Spanish woman crying lustily, “Ladrone! Ladrone!”—thief! thief!
They were immediately pursued by the General and his orderly; the bread
was given back to the woman, and the men were placed in the guard-house.
The next day they were tried by a brigade court-martial, and brought out
to a wood near the town for punishment. When the brigade was formed, and
the Brigade-Major had finished reading the proceedings of the
court-martial, General Crauford commenced lecturing both men and
officers on the nature of their cruelty to the harmless inhabitants, as
he called the Spaniards. He laid particular stress on our regiment, who,
he said, committed more crimes than the whole of the British Army.
“Besides, you think,” said he, “because you are riflemen, and more
exposed to the enemy’s fire than other regiments, that you are to rob
the inhabitants with impunity; but, while I command you, you shall not:”
then turning round to the corporal, who stood in the centre of the
square, he said, with a stern voice, “Strip, Sir.”
The corporal, whose name was Miles, never said a word until tied up to a
tree, when turning his head round as far as his situation would allow,
and seeing the General pacing up and down the square, he said, “General
Crauford, I hope you will forgive me.” The General replied, “No, Sir,
your crime is too great.” The poor corporal, whose sentence was, to be
reduced to the pay and rank of a private soldier, and to receive a
punishment of one hundred and fifty lashes, and the other man two
hundred, then addressed the General to the following effect:
“Do you recollect, Sir, when you and I were taken prisoners, when under
the command of General Whitelock, in Buenos Ayres? We were marched
prisoners, with a number of others, to a sort of pound surrounded with a
wall.—There was a well in the centre, out of which I drew water with my
mess-tin, by means of canteen straps, I collected from the men, who were
prisoners like myself.—You sat on my knapsack; I parted my last biscuit
with you. You then told me you would never forget my kindness to you. It
is now in your power, Sir. You know how short we have been of rations
for some time.”
These words were spoken by the corporal in a mild and respectful accent,
which not only affected the General, but the whole square. The bugler,
who stood waiting to commence the punishment close to the corporal,
received the usual nod from the Bugle-Major to begin. The first lash the
corporal received the General started, and turned hurriedly round, said,
“What’s that, what’s that; who taught that bugler to flog? Send him to
drill—send him to drill! He cannot flog—he cannot flog! Stop! stop! Take
him down! take him down! I remember it well—I remember it well!” while
he paced up and down the square, muttering to himself words that I could
not catch; at the same time blowing his nose, and wiping his face with
his handkerchief, trying to hide the emotion that was so evident to the
whole square.
While untying the corporal a dead silence prevailed for some time, until
our gallant General recovered a little his noble feeling, when he
uttered, with a broken accent, “Why does a brave soldier like you commit
these crimes?” Then beckoning to his orderly to bring his horse, he
mounted and rode off. It is needless to say that the other man also was
pardoned, and in a few days the corporal was restored to his rank. On
the death of Captain Uniacke, Captain Smith, now the celebrated Sir
Harry Smith, was appointed Captain of my company. He being on the staff,
his brother, Lieutenant Thomas Smith, now Barrack Master at Chatham,
took command.
On the fourth day, after we had taken the town, the company received
orders to pay the last tribute to our Captain, Uniacke. We marched under
the command of Lieutenant Smith, and arrived at Gallegos about twelve
o’clock. The men having plenty of money, which they had obtained at
Rodrigo, got drinking, and actually while conveying the body to the
grave, stumbled under the weight of the coffin, and the lid not having
been nailed down, out rolled the mangled remains of our brave Captain,
to the consternation of a number of French officers, _en parole_
(prisoners from Rodrigo). One more careless than the rest viewed the
occurrence with a kind of malicious sneer, which so enraged our men,
that one of them taking the little tawny-looking Italian by the nape of
the neck, kicked his hind-quarters soundly for it.
I could not, at the time, help remarking the very undersized appearance
of the Frenchmen. They were the ugliest set I ever saw, and seemed to be
the refuse of their army, and looked more like Italians than Frenchmen.
On our return to El Bodon, one of the men overpowered with liquor, laid
himself down to sleep in the wood that separates the road from Gallegos.
Poor fellow, it was his last sleep, for on the roll being called, a
party was sent in search of him, and discovered his body under a tree,
torn to pieces by the wolves, which greatly infested that part of Spain.
I now have to relate one of those melancholy incidents peculiar to a
soldier’s life, that occurred while we remained at El Bodon. On taking
Rodrigo we had captured, among others, ten men who had deserted from our
division. These were condemned to be shot. The place of execution was on
a plain near Ituera, where our division was drawn up, forming three
sides of a square; the culprits, as usual, being placed in front of a
trench, dug for a grave, on the vacant side.
Two of the deserters, the one a man of the same company as myself, named
Hudson, and a very handsome fellow who had been persuaded into the rash
step, were pardoned on the ground. The other a corporal, named Cummins,
of the 52nd regiment, and who had been mainly instrumental, I believe,
in getting the others to desert with him, was placed on the fatal ground
in a wounded state. He had been particularly noticed at Rodrigo in one
of the breaches, most actively employed, opposing our entrance, and
cheering on the besieged to resist us. This man was pardoned also. Why
he was pardoned I cannot say.
As this was the first military execution I had ever witnessed, I felt
not a little curiosity to see the forms pursued. A large trench had been
dug as a grave for the wretched men who were to suffer. Along the summit
of the little heap of mould that had been thrown up from the pit, the
deserters were placed in a row, with their eyes bandaged, so that on
receiving the fatal volley they should fall forward into the trench.
Some of the poor fellows, from debility, were unable to kneel, and lay
at their length, or crouched up into an attitude of despair, upon the
loose earth.
The signal to the firing party was given by a motion of the provost’s
cane, when the culprits were all hurried together into eternity, with
the exception of one man of the 52nd, who, strange to say, remained
standing and untouched. His countenance, that before had been deadly
pale, now exhibited a bright flush. Perhaps he might have imagined
himself pardoned; if so, however, he was doomed to be miserably
deceived, as the following minute two men of the reserve came up and
fired their pieces into his bosom, when giving a loud scream, that had a
very horrible effect upon those near, he sprang forward into his grave.
To prevent unnecessary suffering, a reserve firing party was brought up,
who continued to fire wherever the slightest sign of life exhibited
itself in the bodies, the provost himself winding up the tragedy by
discharging a pistol-shot through the head of each corpse.
After this very solemn and impressive scene, we were marched in column
of companies round the dead, so that the spectacle might be witnessed by
every man in the division.
About the 26th of February we broke up our cantonments in the environs
of Ciudad Rodrigo, and crossing the Tagus, marched southward for six or
seven days, at the expiration of which our division took up their
quarters in and about the town of Castello de Vide. The country around
the town was the most fruitful and luxuriant I had ever beheld. It was
bounded with the most delightful hills and valleys, that produced in
abundance the finest fruits, such as grapes, pomegranates, oranges, and
lemons. As may be supposed, the men were delighted with such a paradise.
The wine was so plentiful, that our fellows, while they remained here,
made it an invariable custom to boil their meat in it.
Another unhappy criminal was here doomed to pay the forfeit of the crime
of desertion. When we took Rodrigo, he made his escape from the town,
and on his way to join the French at Salamanca was captured by some of
the Spanish troops, and brought back to the regiment a prisoner. The
fate of this man (Arnal by name), who had been a corporal in our
battalion, excited much commiseration. I knew him well: he was an
exceedingly fine-looking fellow, and up to the period of his unhappy
departure from duty, noted for possessing the best qualities of a
soldier. Some harshness on the part of an officer was the cause of
Arnal’s desertion; but from the circumstance of his previous good
character and the fact of his having been marched as a prisoner for many
days together during our march from Rodrigo, it was commonly thought he
would be pardoned.
I happened to be on guard over him the night prior to his execution. In
the evening the prisoner was playing at cards with some of the men, when
the provost of the division entered the guard-room, and gave him the
intelligence that he was doomed to suffer at ten o’clock the next
morning.
Sudden and utterly unexpected as the announcement was, Arnal’s face was
the only one that showed scarcely any emotion.
“Well,” he remarked to those around him, “I am quite ready.”
A short time afterwards he sent for the pay-sergeant of the company he
belonged to, from whom he received the arrears of pay that were due to
him. This he spent on wine, which he distributed among the men of the
guard. Noticing one man with very bad shoes, Arnal observed his own were
better, and taking them off he exchanged them for the bad pair, saying,
“They will last me as long as I shall require them.”
The morning turned out showery, the division formed in three sides of a
square, and the guard, headed by the band with Arnal in front, slowly
marched round; the muffled drum beat in dull time the “Dead March,” and
the swell of its solemn harmony, though it filled the eyes of every man
present, only seemed to strengthen the glance of the doomed. He led the
van of his funeral procession, like one who was to live for ever: his
step was as firm and more correct than any, and I thought at the time, a
finer soldier never stepped. Poor Arnal, I shall never forget when we
halted at his own grave, the heavy rains had filled it half with water,
which he noticed with a faint smile, and observed:
“Although a watery one, I shall sleep sound enough in it.” He then stood
upright in a fine military position, while the Brigade-Major read aloud
the proceedings of the court-martial. The provost came to tie the
handkerchief round his eyes, when he coolly remarked, “There is no
occasion—I shall not flinch.” Being told it was customary, he said,
“Very well, do your duty.” Before this last office was performed, he
turned round, and calling most of the guard by name, bade them farewell.
As I nodded to him in return, I fancied it was to a dead man, for in two
minutes he was no more. The intrepid and cool manner in which he met his
fate, drew forth a general feeling of admiration.
A few days after the execution we marched for Badajoz, in the environs
of which we arrived on the 17th of March. This celebrated city, of which
so much has been said and written, stands on an extended plain
equidistant three leagues from Elvas and Campo Mayor. The Guadiana which
hereabouts forms the boundary between Spain and Portugal, flows on one
side of the fortification, and connects with them by a bridge over its
surface, one or two forts on the opposite banks. The fortress on all
sides is surrounded by strong bastions to the number of thirteen or
fourteen, which with trenches and other forts and outworks rendered it
almost impregnable. In addition to these the Rivella a tributary stream
to the Guadiana flowed round and through the trenches in our front.
Our battalion on its arrival took up its encampment on the Spanish side
of the river, where we occupied a small hill, and for the first time
during our campaigns made use of small square tents, belonging to the
Portuguese.
The first night of our arrival we commenced laying siege, by breaking
ground within three or four hundred yards of the town, Fort St. Roch and
Fort Pumena rather on our left; we lost a man named Brooks, whose death
was connected with a very singular circumstance.
Brooks several days before his death, dreamt he saw the body of a
rifleman without a head: this apparition appeared three or four nights
successively in his dreams. Some days after we had taken one of the
forts from the enemy, our battalion was relieved in the trenches. On
this occasion, as was very customary with some of us, Brooks, another
man named Tracey, and myself, jumped out of the trench, exposing
ourselves to a fire from the walls of the town while we ran to the next
parallel. In executing this feat I was a little ahead of my comrades,
when I heard the rush of a cannon-ball, and feeling my jacket splashed
by something, as soon as I had jumped into the next parallel, or trench,
I turned round and beheld the headless body of Brooks which actually
stood quivering with life for a few seconds before it fell. His dream,
poor fellow! had singularly augured the conclusion of his own career.
The shot had smashed and carried away the whole of his head,
bespattering my jacket with the brains, while Tracey was materially
injured by having a splinter of the skull driven deep through the skin
behind his ear. This circumstance is well known to several now living in
London.
About the 22nd of March, a party was ordered to proceed to Elvas for the
purpose of conducting some heavy artillery from that strong fortress for
our own use against the walls of Badajoz; after placing six or eight
large guns on things resembling sledges, the weather being exceedingly
wet, it took twelve bullocks to draw each gun. On arriving at the
pontoon bridge that crosses the Guadiana river, which separates Badajoz
from Elvas, a distance of about three leagues, the bridge was so damaged
that the guns could not pass over, so we were obliged to bivouac for the
night amongst a party of sappers, stationed there for the purpose of
repairing the pontoons.
After the bullocks were unharnessed, they began jumping and frisking
about, to the no small amusement of our men, but to their danger, as it
afterwards proved. The French seeing the bullocks grazing, commenced
firing on them, as well as occasionally sending a twenty-four-pounder at
our little party then stationed on a rising ground, amusing ourselves at
the random twenty-four-pound shots as they hopped about. At night,
placing our advanced picquet near the town, the remainder of the party
turned into the tents of the sappers for the night, but their slumbers
were not so sound as they anticipated, for at the dead but not silent
hour of night, a round-shot came whirling through one of the tents,
striking the pole, and brought it down on those within. Their cries
having awoke those of the adjoining tent, they immediately flew to their
assistance, and having relieved them from this new-fashioned man-trap,
rats never flew with more agility than did the poor sappers from their
lair. I could not forbear laughing at the scene, although attended with
bad consequences, as one man had his thigh broke, and another his leg
taken off at the calf. While helping to raise the tents every eye was
intent, looking out for another French visitor in the shape of a
twenty-four-pounder, but the drollery of a countryman of mine gave some
zest to their serenity; instead of bolting like the rest, he coolly
said, “Where the devil are you all scampering to? Sure you don’t think
the French took aim? I wished they did, for if they had, by Jasus they
wouldn’t hit our tent in a week! You may be easy then, for they never
hit twice in the same place.” The two poor fellows thus dangerously
wounded were comrades, and natives of Coventry, one named Green, and the
other Gea. The next morning the sappers having put the pontoons to
rights, the guns passed over, and we arrived safe at our own camp.
The greatest annoyance we experienced during the siege arose from the
shells thrown at us from the town. Our works effectually screened us
from the round-shot; but these dangerous missiles, falling into the
trenches where we worked, and exploding, frequently did great mischief.
Immediately a shell fell, every man threw himself flat upon the ground
until it had burst. Tom Crawley, I remember, though tolerably fearless
with reference to other shot, had a most inveterate dislike to those
deadly visitors. His fears made him believe, that more of them were
thrown where he chanced to be, than in any other part of the trenches.
At night in particular, Tom was always on the _qui vive_: as soon as he
beheld a shell coming he would call out, “Here’s another brute—look
out!” and instantly fall on his face. This, however, did not always
protect us, for the head was no sooner on the ground, than its presence
was again required, to watch the falling splinters. These, from their
composing large portions of the metal of the missile, descended with
great violence, and were sometimes of themselves sufficient to crush a
man into the earth.
Lord Wellington used occasionally to pay us a visit during the work, to
make observations, and to examine the trenches, &c.
One day when Crawley and myself were working near each other in the
trenches, a shell fell inconveniently close to us. Tom was instantly
half buried in mud, awaiting the explosion. Perceiving it had sunk
itself deep into the earth, the fuse being too long, I intended availing
myself of the opportunity, to play a trick upon Crawley, by throwing a
large lump of clay on his head directly the shell exploded, and so make
him believe himself wounded. To obtain the clod I sprang at the other
side of the trench, but exposed myself to a shot from the walls of the
town, which immediately came in the form of grape, splashing me with mud
from head to foot, and forcing me to throw myself back into the trench
upon Crawley, who, in his fears, made sure that a shell had fixed itself
upon his rear, and roared like a bull; in an instant, however, the
sunken missile really burst; on the smoke dispersing, who should I
behold but the Duke himself, crouched down, his head half averted, drily
smiling at Crawley and me. Shot and shell pay no respect to persons, but
the enemy did, as they seemed awake to the near vicinity of his Grace,
and poured in shells, grape, and canister, with other delicacies of the
kind, with unusual liberality, whenever he came amongst us; which they
always appeared alive to. But the fact is, the Duke, like his renowned
contemporary, had a remarkable cast of feature, which made him ever
distinguishable, at an almost incredible distance.
Before I go further into my narrative I must detail an anecdote of Major
O’Hare, my old Captain, who was noted for his excellent soldierly
qualities.
We were on private parade one morning, when a party of convalescents
from hospital came up. Among others was a sergeant of the name of
Jackson, who had been absent from our company for the two previous
years, during which period it would seem, he had been chiefly employed
as hospital-sergeant at Belem, near Lisbon.
The Major’s aversion to absentees from the regiment was very well known
among us, and we anticipated a scene—nor were we deceived.
“Is that you, Mr. Sergeant Jackson?” exclaimed the Major, as soon as the
party came up. “And pray where, in God’s name, have you been for the
last two years? The company have seen a little fighting during that
period.”
“The doctors would not allow me to leave the hospital, Sir,” replied
Jackson.
“I am sorry for that,” drily observed the Major. “All that I can do for
you is, to give you your choice of a court-martial for absenting
yourself from duty without leave, or to have your stripes taken off.”
The sergeant, after a little hesitation, preferred surrendering quietly
his non-commissioned dignity to standing an inquiry into his conduct.
Turning round to the men, the Major remarked aloud, “By God, I will not
have these brave fellows commanded by skulkers.” Then taking the sash
and stripes that were cut off by the Sergeant-Major, he handed them to
Corporal Ballard, observing at the same time, “You will not disgrace
them.”
A very disagreeable duty, that usually fell upon a few of the best shots
of the battalion, consisted in being obliged to run out, in independent
files, to occupy a number of holes, that had been dug at night between
our batteries and the walls of the town. From these pits, of which each
man had one to himself, our particular business was to pick off any of
the enemy who exposed themselves at their guns, on the walls through the
embrasures. Many a Frenchman was thus knocked off by us. But it often
occurred also that our men were killed or wounded in their holes, which
made it doubly dangerous for the man of the relieving party, who,
instead of finding a ready covering, perceived it occupied by a wounded
or dead man. Before he could get a shelter therefore or remove the body,
there was a great chance of his being shot.
While employed in this duty in front of our batteries, the tremendous
noise made by artillery in both front and rear was attended at first by
a most unpleasant effect, as it destroyed the sense of hearing for some
hours after leaving the trenches. It was amusing, during the siege, to
observe the motions of our artillerymen. They were employed almost
incessantly, and their duties most arduous, as the batteries were the
chief object for the aim of the enemy’s shot and shells. An artilleryman
was always stationed as a sort of signal-man, to give notice of the
appearance of either of these missiles, and it was remarkable to observe
the quickness with which the men at the guns, on the word “shell,” would
throw themselves on the ground for protection.
It not unfrequently happened that parties of men were sent out in
independent files to pick up the dismembered legs, arms, &c., which
sometimes might be seen scattered about by the bursting shells. This
precaution was thought necessary to prevent any ill-effect their
appearance might cause on the courage of the Portuguese, who were quite
as likely to put the heels in motion as their heads.
On one of these occasions I remember observing a party of those
gentlemen, after leaving the trenches, carrying across the fields to
their camp ground the body of a wounded officer of theirs wrapped in a
blanket. They had not proceeded many yards, before a ball fired from the
town came bounding, half spent, along the ground. The Portuguese,
unconscious of its approach, were just crossing the line of its
progress, when the shot glanced between them, and entering the blanket,
cut the unlucky officer in two. The bearers, terrified, immediately took
to their heels, leaving the blanket behind them, which one of our
fellows observing, “That it was an ill wind that did nobody good,”
shaking the body out, instantly possessed himself of.
The effect of our twenty-four pound shot upon the wall gave notice that
the breaches would soon be practicable. On the 5th of April a storming
party was selected for the assault on the following night.