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 prize—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.
ON the 20th we remained encamped near Puebla, a town within ten or
twelve miles of Vittoria. On the following morning we fell in rather
earlier than usual, when a general rumour among the ranks augured we
should have a busy day. We were, indeed, on the eve of the memorable
battle of Vittoria. We marched along the left of the high road towards
the previously mentioned city, leaving Puebla a little to the right. Our
battalion, as the advanced-guard, preceded by the remainder of the
division until we came in sight of the enemy on the other side of the
river Zadora. We commenced a smart brush with their voltigeurs, who
slowly retreated, and took up a position in the rear of some rocks, from
whence their fire swept a bridge in our immediate front. While thus
occupied in skirmishing, we heard a loud cheering on our left, where we
beheld the third division charge over a bridge much lower down the
stream. Fired by the sight, we instantly dashed over the bridge before
us in the face of a galling discharge from the enemy. We then drove them
from the rocks, and in our turn had to sustain a heavy fire from several
guns mounted upon a hill that commanded our position. The rocks were
splintered round us in every direction from this fire, and many of our
men were killed or wounded by shot or fragments of stone.
We were soon joined by the remainder of our division, and pushed forward
up a hill, from the summit of which we could clearly discern the city of
Vittoria. By this time the action had become pretty hot and general with
the other divisions, as well as our own. The chief scene of conflict was
on an extended plain within a mile or two of the city on the left.
Continuing to advance, we arrived near a small village on the main road,
from which we were annoyed by a furious fire, until, rushing in, we
drove them out, and captured a howitzer in the market-place, the first
that was taken. We were doomed however, to have it but a short time in
our possession, as a whole regiment of the enemy came charging upon us,
and our force, consisting of only two companies, had to retreat with
precipitation, when, turning round, however, we beheld our favourite
third division coming double quick down the main road to our
assistance—with Picton, who was never absent in time of need, at their
head.
After retiring for about a hundred yards, this sight encouraged us, and
we were at them again. While thus engaged, a grape or round-shot struck
my pouch with such violence that I was hurled by the force a distance of
several yards. From the sudden shock I thus experienced, I imagined
myself mortally wounded; but, on being picked up, I found the only
damage I had sustained was the partial destruction of my pouch, which
was nearly torn off.
A man of the name of Hudson, who was one of the pardoned deserters at
Rodrigo, while running to my assistance as I afterwards learned, was
struck by a bullet in his mouth, which knocked out several of his teeth,
and came out at the back of the ear. From this wound, severe as it was,
he however recovered.
Placing some of the ammunition in my haversack and the remainder in my
cap, we were at them again, and recaptured the howitzer in the village,
by the assistance of part of the third division.
Still pursuing them, the chief part of my company kept on the right of
the main road. In all my military life, this sight surpassed anything I
ever saw: the two armies hammering at each other, yet apparently with
all the coolness of field-day exercise—so beautifully were they brought
into action.
At this moment I noticed a regiment, which by its yellow facings I think
was the 88th or Connaught Rangers, marching in close column of companies
to attack a French regiment which was drawn up in line on the verge of a
hill with a small village in its rear.
The 88th, although at the time under a heavy cannonade from the enemy’s
artillery, continued advancing gallantly onwards, which, we skirmishers
perceiving, took ground to the left close to the road, in order to
enable them to oppose this line in front.
Though hotly engaged at the time, I determined to watch their movements.
The 88th next deployed into line, advancing all the time towards their
opponents, who seemed to wait very coolly for them. When they had
approached to within three or four hundred yards, the French poured in a
volley or I should say a running fire from right to left. As soon as the
British regiment had recovered the first shock, and closed their files
on the gap it had made, they commenced advancing at double time until
within fifty yards nearer to the enemy, when they halted and in turn
gave a running fire from their whole line, and without a moment’s pause
cheered and charged up the hill against them. The French meanwhile were
attempting to reload. But being hard pressed by the British, who allowed
them no time to give a second volley, came immediately to the right
about, making the best of their way to the village.[16]
As I have before observed, we had several Spaniards in our regiment.
These men were generally brave; but one in particular, named Blanco, was
one of the most skilful and daring skirmishers we had in the battalion.
His great courage, however, was sullied by a love of cruelty towards the
French whom he detested, and never named but with the most ferocious
expressions. In every affair we had since the advance from Portugal, he
was always in the front; and the only wonder is how he managed to escape
the enemy’s shot, but his singular activity and intelligence frequently
saved him. His hatred to the French was, I believe, occasioned by his
father and brother, who were peasants, having been murdered by a French
foraging party. On this day he gave many awful proofs of this feeling by
mercilessly stabbing and mangling the wounded French he came up to. In
this massacre he was, however, stopped by a veteran of our regiment,
who, although suffering from a severe wound in the face, was so
exasperated at the Spaniard’s cruelty, that he knocked him down with a
blow from the butt of his rifle. It was only by force we could prevent
the Spaniard from stabbing him on the spot.
I now observed the Duke come riding up with some of his staff; and,
seeing the confusion the enemy were in, cried out to one of his
aides-de-camp, “Send up a few of Ross’s guns; here is work for them:”
saying to us at the same time, “That’s right, my lads; keep up a good
fire,” as he galloped in our rear to the right. In an instant up came
Ross’s guns, and commenced peppering them at the distance of not more
than three hundred yards. Here the whole seemed blocked together in a
mass, while we stuck to them like leeches.
When we arrived close to the barriers of Vittoria, we found them blocked
up by a great portion of the French waggons, bearing the _matériel_ of
their army. After passing the gates, we were still engaged through the
town skirmishing with their rear-guard; but, notwithstanding the
street-firing, many of the inhabitants threw open their windows, and,
appearing at their balconies, welcomed us with _vivas_, while the
ladies, according to the established mode threw flowers into the streets
on us, as we passed along.
In following up the enemy, a few other men and myself had left the
company a little in the rear. While going through the square I was
fortunate enough to save the life of a French soldier who had been
wounded. He was endeavouring, poor fellow! to follow in the route of the
French, when observing me coming up, he dropped his musket, with which
he had been assisting himself, and intimated that he surrendered; a
Spanish vagabond, however, observing him, brandished a club, evidently
intending to give the Frenchman the “_coup de grace_,” when he was
knocked down. The poor Frenchman expressed his gratitude, but we were
obliged to leave him, probably after all to the same fate he had just
been rescued from, unless he fell into the hands of our troops who were
coming up at the time.
A few minutes after this, some of the 10th Hussars and a party of the
Life Guards came dashing through the town, sword in hand, shouting as if
they had taken it by storm.
When I had passed the gates, and forced my way through the immense
quantity of baggage that blocked up the further end of the town, and
through which the cavalry could scarcely pass, I beheld a French mounted
officer, sword in hand, escorting a carriage and four out of the town.
My comrade and myself immediately fired, when the officer fell. At the
same moment the carriage stopped. On rushing up to the vehicle we
perceived it contained two ladies, evidently of high rank. They seemed
much alarmed as the balls kept whisking round them from both sides. We
desired them not to entertain any fears for their safety, as we would
not harm them. While thus engaged an officer of the 10th Hussars came
galloping up, flourishing his sword over his head. Not knowing his
uniform at first, I cocked my rifle, upon which he exclaimed “I am an
English officer, Sir.” Hearing this, I stepped on one side of the
carriage, but in withdrawing I observed a small but exceedingly heavy
portmanteau that was carried by a Spanish muleteer in the French
service. He was in the act of conveying it towards the town, and as I
thought I contributed more towards its capture, I made him lay it
down—not, indeed, before I was compelled to give him a few whacks of my
rifle in the ribs. My comrades had gone in another direction, so that I
had no one to claim a portion of my booty, which on inspection I found
to consist of several small bags filled with gold and silver in
doubloons and dollars. Although I never knew exactly the amount, I
should think it not less than £1000. I afterwards learnt that the lady
in the carriage was no other than the Queen of Spain, the wife of Joseph
Bonaparte.[17] The officer of hussars, I also heard, obtained possession
of the _bâton_ of Joseph[18] himself from the same carriage.
My chief anxiety now was how to secure my prize; and, when all who had
an opportunity were employed in reaping some personal advantages from
our victory, I determined not to be backward, but this was a difficult
thing to accomplish. As I could not well carry the portmanteau from its
weight, I soon found means, taking one of the many mules that were
blocking up the road to bear the valuable load; but being at a loss how
to fasten the portmanteau, I resorted for aid to a sergeant and two men
of the 10th Hussars, who were passing. For this service I, perhaps,
incautiously rewarded them too liberally, by giving them several
handfuls of dollars. In doing this they got a glimpse of the gold, half
of which they demanded. Perceiving the probability of being thus
deprived of the only prize I had made after years of hardship and
suffering—and particularly by those new-comers, as this regiment had
newly joined from England, made it still worse—I inwardly resolved to
forfeit it but with my life. So catching up my loaded rifle, which I had
leant against a gun-carriage, I instantly cocked, and, retiring three or
four paces, brought it to my shoulder, swearing I would shoot the first
man dead that placed his hands upon my treasure. My determined air, and
the ferocity of my appearance—my face being completely covered with
perspiration and gunpowder—induced them to pause, and finally to desist.
Taking the sergeant’s word not to attempt molesting me, with his
assistance I completed the strapping of my treasure, and departed for
the camp.[19]
I had not proceeded far with the intention of gaining the battalion,
when I observed the Duke of Wellington forcing his way, with some of his
staff, through gun-carriages and waggons into Vittoria. To my great
relief, however, he took no notice of myself and mule. In fact, his
Grace was too much occupied in securing the brilliant results of our
victory in the capture of the entire _matériel_ of the French army which
fell into our hands.
Almost all our men at this time, I must remark, to use a phrase much in
vogue among us, were endeavouring to see what they could _make_—in other
words _take_. I reached our camp, however, in safety.
This night we encamped amidst the wreck of the French army, every man
bringing into his camp ground whatever he fancied—for the unfortunate
enemy were compelled to leave everything behind them, even to their
women and children—so that, if our fellows were inclined to be honest,
their good fortune would not allow them. The ground occupied by our
regiment was near a small village, a little off the main road that leads
to Pampeluna.
As soon as our fires were lighted, the men, who had been under arms from
three o’clock in the morning until eleven at night, and consequently had
not tasted food for the whole of the day, began to fill their hungry
maws from the luxuries of the French camp. Roast fowls, hams, mutton,
&c. were in abundance, and at midnight the wine and brandy went round in
horn tots which we generally carried about us. The men mostly lay
stretched on the ground, their feet towards the fires, and elbows
resting on their knapsacks; as soon as the grog began to rouse up their
spirits from the effects of the day’s fatigue, each one commenced
inquiries about their absent comrades, for Riflemen in action being
always extended, seldom know who falls until the affray is over.
“Blood an ounds,” said Dan Kelly, bouncing up from his reclining
posture; “don’t drink all the wine, boys, until we hear something about
our absent messmates. Does any of you know where Jack Connor is?”
“He was shot through the body, when we took the first gun in the little
village near the main road,” was the reply.
“Where is Will John,” asked Bob Roberts, with a sudden glance of
suspense.
“The ball passed through his head,” said another, “I saw poor Will
fall.”
“Musha, boys! is there any hope of poor Jemmy Copely getting over his
wounds?” said Tom Tracy, earnestly, lifting his head from his knapsack.
“Poor Copely!” replied another; “both his legs were knocked off by a
round shot.”
Tracy laid his head on his kit again, and was silent. Here each man gave
a short account of his fallen comrade.
“Why, by Jasus!” exclaimed Tracy, who had been eagerly listening all the
while, “by Jasus, they have kilt half our mess. But never mind, boys,
fill a tot, fill a tot, and may I be d——d but here’s luck:” he placed
the wine to his mouth, but took it away untasted, and laid it on the
ground. “Poor Jemmy Copely! poor Jemmy! they had drilled him well with
balls before, damn them, now they have finished him. The best comrade I
ever had, or ever will have.”
The last part of the sentence was uttered in a broken accent as he wiped
his eye, then commenced filling a wooden pipe, the bowl made from a
tailor’s thimble, his head stooping all the while as if to hide the
large drops that unconsciously rolled over his nose; a short pause took
place among the group until Tracy, recovering himself a little, took up
the tot of wine and drank it off, and, jumping up at the same moment,
with a loud voice, he called out to all, “Hear me, boys, hear me! hear
what I am going to say.” A deep silence followed. He knelt on his
knapsack, his hands squeezed together in the attitude of prayer. “May
the Lord God,” ejaculated Tracy, “grant that those fellows in yonder
camp remain where they are until we have the pleasure of thrashing them
for the gap they have this day made in our mess.”
“Amen! amen!” responded a dozen voices, with an emphasis that would have
done credit to a clerk in a country church, and I am certain with a
better inclination for the desired object.
Tracy laid himself at his length once more, and after recapitulating
their different losses, and the good qualities of their fallen comrades,
but taking care not to mention any of their bad ones, every man
gradually relaxed into a sleep, from which nothing could arouse him,
save the sound of the bugles, or the hard cracking of the rifle, which
ever brings the soldier on his legs again, ready to advance or retreat,
or as the night closed over the column, to lament or be lamented, as one
of the fallen or absent messmates.
Those unacquainted with a camp-fire, after a hard-fought battle, can
have little idea of its true sublimity, while leaning on my rifle,
surveying the scene at this dead hour of night; it impressed me with
more awe than any that I had before witnessed. Here I stood, as it were,
a solitary sentinel in the midst of twenty thousand men, yet so silent,
you might have thought yourself secreted within the walls of a cloister;
while, by the moon, now and then hiding itself behind a cloud, might be
observed the faint light of the French out-post fires that occasionally
caught the eye like meteors. Again emerging from her mantle, by her
clear light might here and there be seen the dead bodies of French
soldiers, not yet interred, ever distinguished by their large red
shoulder-knots. Turning the eye to my comrades, whose happy repose I
envied, might be seen blood oozing from the furrow made by a French
bullet, while the perforated cap lay beside its owner. How sweet is the
soldier sleep when such repose is earned by the fatigue of eighteen
hours hard fighting. That gave each man a double relish for repose,
knowing it was his own courage gained the spot of ground on which he
laid. The crackling of the fires soon ceased for want of fuel, and
nothing remained but the embers; the whole camp was as still as the
grave; nothing to disturb the soldiers’ repose, but the casual braying
of the donkeys, that answered each other from camp to camp, and
gradually died away in the echo of the distant woods.
I quietly walked round the fires to see that none of the men’s pouches
were near it; but, no—there was each man with his rifle loaded, and
leaning on his arm, close to his breast, hugged with all the affection a
fond lover would press to his bosom the girl of his heart—this was our
usual custom, as riflemen seldom pile arms; yet with all, I never knew
an accident to occur by the rifles going off.
The next morning the sale of the spoils, which fell into our hands, took
place in the village, near the camp-ground, where our battalion lay. The
Spaniards were in general the purchasers, and property late belonging to
the French, such as uniforms, horses, camp-equipage, &c., was sold in
abundance at about one-tenth of its value. Mules worth thirty or forty
dollars brought on an average three. As I had no means of conveyance for
the spoil I had obtained, I set about depositing it where I thought it
would be safe: three hundred pounds I intrusted to our quarter-master,
and several sums to other officers of the battalion, distributing nearly
the remainder of the silver, to the amount, I suppose, of about one
hundred pounds, among the men of my own squad, who undertook to carry it
for me; very little of the latter, however, I ever received back. But
after all money, as may be imagined, was of very little use during some
of the hardships we afterwards endured, when I state, that I frequently
offered a doubloon for a single glass of rum, and was not always able to
obtain it.
About twelve o’clock we marched in pursuit of the enemy through the town
of Salvatierra, many of our men gibing me for my wealth, saying, among
other agreeable things, that if I fell they would take care of my
knapsack for me. To tell the truth, I was not now over anxious to go
much to the front, as I began to look upon my life as of some value.
On our second day’s march we came up with the rear-guard of the enemy,
who made a stand in the road, assisted by the only gun they had carried
from Vittoria. The first shot fired from this piece took off the arm of
one of our corporals at the socket. But on our dashing at them they soon
abandoned their gun, which we took, making the first and last piece of
ordnance we had captured from them on this retreat.
We halted a couple of days in a small village opposite Pampeluna; and,
as I considered that our fellows had contributed towards my greatness in
money matters, I could do no less than treat them to a dinner; but
unfortunately, the place afforded no other luxuries than bacon, eggs,
and wine, for which the inhabitants took care to charge treble: I paid
ten doubloons for three flitches of bacon, and three pig-skins of wine.
This we enjoyed within the walls of a house that the French had burnt
the roof off on their retreat. There were some excellent toasts given,
such as—“May we have another brush with them before they get to Paris,”
&c. &c.
As nothing of any interest to the reader occurred for some time, I shall
merely say, that we continued in pursuit of one division of the French
army night and day. During this period the fatigue we underwent was
almost incredible, nor could we have supported it but for the excellent
wine with which that part of the country then abounded, and which we all
had plenty of money to purchase. After continuing these harassing
marches for several days, we at length chased them into France. We next
retraced our steps in some degree to Pampeluna, in the suburbs of which
city we remained a few days, and from thence we again advanced in the
direction of the Pyrenees, and took up our quarters at the pretty little
town of San Estevan; here we halted some days also. Our next march was
to Lesaca. The enemy had possession of the heights of Santa Barbara,
from whence we dislodged them after some hard fighting. We remained upon
these mountains for several days, but the enemy making an endeavour to
relieve Pampeluna which some of our troops were then besieging, a part
of our division were ordered to cross the Bidassoa to frustrate this
attempt. This could only be done by a forced march at night. We were
obliged to have torches and lighted straw to enable us to find our way
over the mountains, which were in most places rugged and precipitous,
and even without the semblance of a path. The fatigue incident to that
night-march, I think I may say, was greater than any of the men of our
battalions had before endured; and after all, you could fire a
rifle-ball to where we started from.
Accidents were numerous, many of our men had severe falls, and numbers
of rifles were broken. But all our hurry was of no avail, as the enemy
had been already frustrated in throwing supplies into Pampeluna. We had
again the agreeable task of retracing our steps, with the same hurry we
had advanced. By this addition to the fatigue we had previously endured,
we lost many of our men who were unable to endure it. There was a sort
of rivalry between the regiments of our division who should hold out the
longest, urged by this feeling many continued marching until they fell
and expired by the road-side. I myself, on the second day fainted; but,
on having my stock taken off, recovered sufficiently to stagger on and
finish the march.
Descending from the mountains we pursued our march till we came to the
bridge that crosses the Bidassoa, where we beheld the French moving
along on the other side of the river. The poor fellows, like ourselves,
seemed dreadfully harassed. Part of our battalion commenced firing upon
them across the river, every shot telling as they retreated. To the
honour of the British soldiers, however, I am happy to say, that many of
our men knowing the sufferings of the French from what they had
themselves endured, declined firing, while they called out to the others
to spare them, as it was little better than murder. We remained encamped
here this night, and the next morning marched back to the heights of
Santa Barbara.
As soon as we had arrived on the hill, and were anticipating a little
rest, the assembly sounded, and we were ordered to drive the enemy from
a high mountain which they occupied on our right. This was a heavy task
at the time; but to it we went, and in extended order mounted the hill,
on the summit of which the enemy were clustered as thick as bees on a
hive. After some very hard fighting we carried their position, but not
before we had lost many men. While engaged I lost a friend to whom I was
much attached, a sergeant named Kelly. He had just invited me to take a
draught of wine out of his canteen, and was in the act of handing it to
me, when he received a shot through the right temple that came out at
the eye. I never before saw a man die so hard. He writhed about, poor
fellow, in the greatest agony, without it being in my power to afford
him the slightest relief. Some of our men raising a shout that the enemy
were flying, I was obliged to leave him for a time. On my return I found
him quite dead. This was a bad day’s work. Another regiment was left in
charge of the hill, and we returned to our camp ground by the
river-side.
On the 25th of August, it being the anniversary on which the regiment
was raised, called among us “The Regiment’s Birth-day,” a general
jollity was kept up throughout the regiment. On this occasion I have
often reflected with pleasure on having assisted in saving a gallant
soldier from the consequences of a pecuniary loss he had sustained, and
which might have embittered the remainder of his life. I allude to a
pay-sergeant of one of the companies of our battalion, who, getting
rather tipsy, was robbed while in that state of £31 belonging to his
company—the first money, indeed, that had ever been intrusted to his
hands, having only just been appointed pay-sergeant. The circumstance
had so strong an effect upon him, that on waking me up the following
morning and acquainting me with his loss, he stated to me his
determination of deserting, as his credit would be for ever destroyed in
the regiment, and he could not endure remaining with the battalion
afterwards. Having money by me, I felt much pleasure in arresting the
despair that seemed to take possession of the mind of a gallant soldier,
and one whom I much esteemed: I enabled him to make up his losses. Some
time after, this very sergeant obtained a commission in the second
battalion of our regiment: this was the late Quarter-master Robert
Fairfoot.
Having by me still a very considerable sum, the remnant of my prize at
Vittoria, I was naturally apprehensive respecting its safety,
particularly as I had no place to keep it but in my knapsack, which I
could not always carry about with me.
I was consequently obliged to intrust my treasure to the care of a
comrade of the name of Bandle, who, true to his charge, never gave me
reason to repent my confidence. Many were the stratagems resorted to, to
persuade Bandle to relinquish his guard. Sometimes he would be suddenly
warned for duty by the non-commissioned officers, as these last assured
me “for fun” only, in hopes he would leave it behind him; but Bandle was
always awake, and on these occasions would take my knapsack on his back
and leave his own. He was wakeful as a weasel, and faithful as the dog,
for both of which qualities I took good care not to be ungrateful.
San Sebastian was now closely invested by the British, and eventually,
the breaches being considered practicable, preparations were made for
the assault. Volunteers accordingly were required from our regiment. The
duty was so “attractive” that although two only were to be selected out
of each company, six stepped forward from ours. This brought on a
controversy, and lots were drawn according to regulation, and decided in
favour of two, named Royston and Ryan.
The reader may judge of the value attached to this service, when I tell
him that the offer of £20 was made and refused for the exchange, thus
illustrating the truth of the great dramatist,
“He that is truly delicate to war
Hath no self-love; nor he, that loves himself,
Hath not essentially, but by circumstance,
The name of valour.”
The next day the town was to be attacked. Our men were all on the fidget
to know the result, and every tree and hillock within sight or hearing
of the scene was taken possession of.
At about twelve o’clock, A. M., the breaches were assaulted, and the
place carried after a severe contest.
Three or four hundred French, unable from the great rains to ford the
Bidassoa, charged fiercely upon one of our companies, and another of the
second battalion, then posted at the bridge of Vera. After a sanguinary
struggle they effected their purpose, and escaped. They were the remnant
of the French troops that had forded the river in the morning, and whom
our Spanish force distinguished themselves in repulsing. After this we
remained quiet for several days in our camp ground.
It was about this time that those men of the 52nd, who were fortunate
enough to have survived the “forlorn-hope” of Rodrigo and Badajoz, were
distinguished with a badge of laurel on the right arm. It was given by
their commanding officer as a testimonial of their gallant conduct,
which was expressed by the two letters V. S. or “valiant stormer” placed
beneath the wreath. Why the men of our battalion and those of the 43rd,
who had equally distinguished themselves on those occasions were not
similarly honoured, I know not.
For my own part, all I ever received in the way of reward, for my
services as a stormer, was the sum of six dollars. This was after the
taking of Badajoz. In the French service, those men who volunteered in
the ranks of “Les enfants perdus” were always first in the list for
commissions, and were distinguished also by a cross of the Legion of
Honour, which was so respected amongst their countrymen, that even their
comrades were always obliged to salute him who wore it. How must the
heart of those thus distinguished beat at the possession of such a mark.
How different is the case of the British soldier! This “hope” in his
country remains unnoticed, and he quits its service “equally forlorn”
for obscurity without distinction, save that which points him out with
his empty sleeves, or wooden stump limping his way to Chelsea. Some,
perhaps, may argue that an improvement took place at Waterloo. That may
be, if we allude to those, who on that occasion, performed their first
and last military feat, and came away unscathed. How “pleasant” then
must it be to the old Peninsulars, whose battles fought and won
outnumber perhaps the men of their company, to see whole squads of
Waterloos strutting about with medals dangling on jackets which, as
their first and last, had scarcely been on long enough to collect the
dust of a “donkey’s trot.”
In this camp an order also arrived from the Horse Guards for the
appointment of a colour-sergeant in each company, to be considered as
senior or sergeant-major with an extra sixpence per day. As no badges
(the cross swords) had arrived from England, the deficiency was supplied
by our master-tailor, who formed an imitation with coloured silks worked
on the arms of the men appointed.