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.
HAVING recovered from my wounds, I left the hospital and rejoined my
regiment at Ituera, near Ciudad Rodrigo. An unfortunate accident here
occurred to one of our men. He was playing at a game called “nine holes”
with several comrades, and was bowling along the ground a grenade, used
instead of a wooden-ball, believing it to have been filled with earth
only, when a spark from his pipe fell into the hole, and instantly
exploded, wounding him dreadfully. The poor fellow never recovered the
injuries he received.
A short time after I had rejoined, our division marched for Salamanca.
On our first day’s march we encamped in a wood, on the right side of the
road, leading to that city. The evening was beautiful, and the sun
having lost its meridian heat, imparted a refreshing warmth to the
wearied soldiers. The camp was all astir for some time—every one being
busily engaged cooking and preparing for the night’s comfort; which
being completed, the eve found us mostly seated and scattered about in
small groups, earnestly intent on enjoyment of some sort. I am
particular in my recollection of the time, for reasons which the
following occurrence will sufficiently account for.
I had finished my evening’s meal, and was sitting drinking a tot of
wine, with a sergeant of ours named Battersby, who a few days previously
had rejoined us from Belem, where he had been some time appointed
hospital-sergeant. He brought with him a very pretty-looking
Englishwoman, that passed for his wife, and who was present with us, and
assisted much to keep up the spirit of our conversation. We had been
seated for some time under the branches of a clump of cork trees, of
which, indeed, the wood was principally composed, when we were
interrupted by some of the men calling for Sergeant Battersby, and in a
second, or so, up marched a tall, fine-looking grenadier of the 61st
Regiment of Foot, then belonging to the sixth division, which lay
encamped some two or three miles in our rear; as he approached, however,
he did not notice us, but casting sundry determined glances about him,
more in anguish than ferocity, he drew near the woman, and seated
himself on a knapsack near her. The latter, from the moment he had first
made his appearance, I had perceived, seemed wondrously confused, and
changed colour several times.
“Nelly,” said he, fixing a firm and deliberate look on her, his voice at
first scarcely articulate with emotion, “Nelly, why do you treat me so?
how can you stoop,” and here he cast an almost contemptuous glance of
recognition on Battersby, “how can you stoop to such a disgraceful, so
dishonourable a protection?”
“I am with those,” said she, rather snappishly, “who know better how to
treat me than you.”
“That,” rejoined the grenadier, “may be your opinion; but why leave the
child, it is but three years old, and what can I do with it?”
To this she made no answer.
“Do not think,” he again continued, “that I wish you to return me, that
is impossible. But I cannot help my feelings!”
This was only replied to by reproaches; which I did not listen to, for
as it was no business of mine I turned to converse with my companions.
The grenadier, at last, made a move to take his departure, and his wife,
for such she evidently was, had agreed to accompany him a little of the
way, and they walked together. I did not know how to account for it, but
there was a certain uneasiness attended me, which had kept me, as it
were, on their trail all the evening; and Battersby and myself followed
in their rear. They had proceeded a few hundred yards, and were some
distance in advance, when she turned to wish him good-night. The poor
fellow paused again, as if in deep thought, fixing on her the same cool,
deliberate look that he had exhibited all the evening.
“So you are determined, Nelly,” said he at length, “to continue this way
of living?”
“Yes,” said she.
“Well, then,” he exclaimed, holding her firmly by the left hand, which
she had extended for him to shake, while he drew his bayonet with his
right, “take that,” and he drove it right through her body. The blow was
given with such force that it actually tripped him over her, and both
fell, the bayonet still sticking in her side. The poor woman gave a
convulsive scream, and in a moment expired. The grenadier bounded
instantly on his feet again, and stamping one foot on the body of his
victim, jerked forth the bayonet reeking with her blood. Wheeling
himself round on his heel, the fatal weapon tightly clutched in his
right hand, his eyes instantaneously caught the direction Battersby had
taken, and he flew after him with the speed and countenance of a fiend,
to wreak a second vengeance.
The sergeant fortunately arrived in the camp in time enough to call out
the rear-guard, who, of course, were instantly on the alarm to meet him.
The grenadier no sooner beheld him in safety than he stopped, and
casting a half contemptuous smile towards the body of his dead wife,
wiped the bayonet through his fingers, returned it to the scabbard, and
drawing himself to his full height, calmly awaited the approach of the
guard. When brought before the Colonel, he said in a rough and manly
tone of voice, while he extended his arm towards his wife, “I have done
the deed, but sorry her seducer has escaped.”
He was afterwards brought to a court-martial, and sentenced to three
months’ solitary confinement. But he suffered for one month only, when,
as I suppose, in consideration of his case, he was ordered to return to
his regiment. I have since been informed that he was shot in one of the
actions on the Pyrennees. He certainly was a fine-looking fellow, and by
name Bryen.
As for Nelly, we buried her that very night near the spot where she
fell, having dug her grave with the same kind of weapon as that by which
she had been deprived of life.
It was rather strange that Battersby was not noticed, but still held his
rank. It is also as curious, that he was the second man I saw fall at
the battle of Quatre Bras, on the 16th June, 1815, being shot by a
musket-ball through the head.
On our arrival at Salamanca, we took up our position to the right of
that city, near the river Tormes.
Here we remained for some days, our chief having completely
out-manœuvred Marmont. On the evening of the 4th of July stormers were
required from our division, to lead in the assault on Fort St. Vincent,
the strongest of the three forts that the enemy had constructed in the
city, and which commanded the other two; two men from each company of
our regiment were selected, the first for duty. After marching the men
down close to the fort, waiting the signal for attack, they were
countermanded. A few days afterwards this fort was set on fire by
red-hot shot from our artillery, when it immediately surrendered, along
with the two others.
The enemy, baffled in their views on Salamanca, slowly retreated, our
army following until we arrived near Rueda. Here our light troops had a
smart brush with their rear-guard, which ended in the capture of some
few French prisoners. I remember seeing on this occasion a party of the
Rifles bringing in a very fine-looking man, a French sergeant, who
seemed inconsolable at his capture. He actually shed tears as he
lamented the circumstance. The following day, however, to his infinite
joy, he was exchanged for a sergeant of our cavalry, who also had been
made prisoner a few days before.
After this skirmish, our regiment advanced to the neighbourhood of
Rueda, where we occupied a hill, completely covered with vines, and
close to the town. The country thereabouts abounded in grapes, from
which an immense quantity of wine was annually made. The places used for
the making of wine in this part of Spain are of a very singular
description. They are all subterranean, and of immense extent, sometimes
undermining many acres of ground. Over these are chimneys constructed to
admit the air and light. The vats, into which the juice of the grape is
pressed, are in proportion to the size of the vaults, and would entirely
put to shame the same description of receptacle used for beer by Barclay
and Perkins.
Our fellows, ever alive to the value of good liquor, notwithstanding the
French had well ransacked the “wine-houses,” used frequently to find
something to reward them for their search in these cellars. Our way of
proceeding was to let one or two of our men down the above-mentioned
chimneys by means of a rope. I shall never forget the terror I
experienced in one of these adventures. Three or four comrades and
myself one evening assembled over the chimney of one of these
wine-vaults, and it was proposed that one of us should descend to bring
up some wine. This was no comfortable task, as the proprietors
frequently watched below, and would scarcely hesitate to greet an
intruder with his cuchillo or long knife. After some deliberation, and
plenty of peeping, it was at last decided that I should take the first
chance; a rope accordingly was obtained from one of the muleteers, and
being secured round my waist with a number of canteens, which clinked
enough to awake almost the dead, I was gradually lowered.
The vaults were generally as deep as a three-storied house, and before I
got half way down, I was left dangling in the air, the canteens
chinkling as if with the intention of hailing a knife the moment I
arrived into the lower region; at last I touched the ground. The place
was so dark that I could scarcely see a couple of yards before me, and
was obliged to grope my way for the vats; at length one of the tins,
that formed a kind of breast-work for my approach, came in contact with
something, and putting my hand forward, I placed it upon the cold clammy
face of a corpse. My whole blood tingled, the canteens responded, and at
a glance I perceived, from the red wings (for whether or not, I could
see now) that it was a French soldier, exhibiting most frightful gashes,
evidently inflicted by the same kind of weapon, which I at every turn,
was expecting.
The canteens clattered awfully, for I confess I shook with terror,
having no weapon to defend myself, and every instant looking for the arm
of some concealed assassins, who probably were watching my movements.
Afraid to call out, I instantly tugged at the rope (the signal to pull
up), an answer from above expressed a doubt of the canteens being filled
so soon, and damned my eyes and limbs for me, but this only made me
shake the rope more violently, until, to my great satisfaction, I found
myself again dangling, and ascending. My comrades seeing me really come
forth with hollow tins, and blowing with agitation, burst into roars of
laughter.
I related my adventure, but this only increased it, until their mirth
rallying us all, one, however, more daring than the rest, loaded his
rifle, and with an oath, suffered himself to be lowered, and shortly
returned, bringing up the canteens filled with excellent wine.
After remaining here for some time, we left Rueda at twelve o’clock at
night on the 16th, the enemy, who had concentrated their forces at
Tordesillas, being on the advance. The following morning the sun rose
unclouded, presenting distinctly to the view the two armies moving in
parallel lines along a ridge of low hills, separated only by the
intervening valley and a river fordable in most places. The French
columns appeared in such beautiful order, as to call forth the plaudits
of even our own men. Skirmishing, however, was soon commenced between
some of the cavalry and light troops.
One or two companies of our Rifles, seconded by a troop of the 14th
Dragoons, were soon partially engaged with about a corresponding number
of the enemy, who would occasionally dash through the little river, and
attempt to take up a position to annoy our skirmishers. Our riflemen, in
particular, were highly delighted with several little cavalry brushes
that occurred this day between our dragoons and the French. One instance
of gallantry on the part of a French dragoon, which fell under the eyes
of most of us, was particularly exciting: in a kind of half charge that
had been made by about a section of French and English cavalry, one of
the Frenchmen had dashed alone through some of our dragoons. His own
party having retired, there seemed every prospect of his being instantly
killed or taken prisoner, and, indeed, most of us thought, as there were
at least a dozen of our 14th Dragoons between him and his section, that
he would surrender. Not so, however, thought the gallant Frenchman, but
wheeling round, he gently trotted his horse for about twenty yards, when
he gave spurs to his steed, and after several hand-to-hand conflicts
with our dragoons in passing, he actually succeeded in reaching his
party, I believe unhurt, and attended by the cheers of our own men, who
were not insensible, at any time, to the intrepidity even of an enemy.
Another incident occurred also, which, as an appropriate companion to
the foregoing, I will relate. Indeed, in gratitude, perhaps, I ought to
do so, as I was a gainer on the occasion by a new pair of trowsers. A
man of the 14th Dragoons, named Pratt, a fine strapping young fellow,
and a townsman of my own, brought in a French dragoon on his horse
prisoner. The Frenchman had lost his helmet, and displayed a severe cut
on his cheek. Poor fellow! he seemed exceedingly chop-fallen, and
declared with much vehemence to Lieutenant Gardiner of our company, who
spoke excellent French, that the Englishman could not have taken him had
he possessed a better horse. This Mr. Gardiner repeated to Pratt, who
answered, “Then by Jasus, Sir, tell him if he had the best horse in
France, I would bring him prisoner, if he stood to fight me.” The words
caused roars of laughter from all but the prisoner, who affectionately
patting the goaded and smoking steed, exclaimed, “My poor beast has not
had his saddle off for the last week.” And such, indeed, appeared to
have been the case, as, on the saddle being removed, prior to the sale
of the poor horse, a part of the flesh that had become a sore, came away
with the saddle-cloth. The animal in this condition was sold to
Lieutenant Gardiner for five dollars. Pratt, on opening the valise of
the unfortunate prisoner (who with folded arms looked on with a mournful
eye), came upon a pair of trowsers which he threw to me as a gift that
was exceedingly welcome, as my own were worn to rags.
The following day, after some slight skirmishes with the advance of the
enemy, we retreated upon Salamanca. As few occurrences of any interest
took place after this, for some days, beyond the manœuvring of the two
armies, interesting only to the tactician, and which so many
professional men have done ample justice to, I will at once proceed to
the battle; in which, however, I must remark, the Rifles were less
engaged than in any other action fought during the war: for which reason
I shall have but little to state upon the subject.