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.
A FEW days after we had to execute our old manœuvre of allowing the
French no time to rest, as we were put in motion after them. On the
second day as we halted on the Paris road, our men reposing from the
fatigue of the morning’s march, we heard several loud huzzas in our
front. This was followed by the appearance of a carriage and four
horses, which contained a French officer, who we afterwards understood
was Marshal Soult. The carriage was attended by a detachment of English
and French cavalry; the shouting arose from the tidings that were
joyfully repeated, that peace was proclaimed, and that Bonaparte had
retired to Elba.
We were immediately on this intelligence ordered to the right-about, and
marched back to Toulouse. Before we had proceeded many miles we were
overtaken on the road by great numbers of French soldiers who had been
disbanded, or had disbanded themselves, and who now were about returning
to their homes, tired enough, no doubt, like ourselves, of the war they
had been engaged so long in carrying on. The good-feeling testified by
many of these really fine-looking fellows to us was general, the
Frenchmen in many instances sharing the fatigue in carrying our men’s
knapsacks, &c.
“As for myself, upon my simple word,
I’d rather see a score of friendly fellows shaking hands,
Than all the world in arms.”
From Toulouse we marched, in a few days, to Castle Sarazin, situated on
the right bank of the Garonne, between the previously-mentioned town and
Bordeaux. Here we came in for most delightful quarters, being billeted
in the houses, where we all had excellent beds. But it was highly
amusing to see our rough, hardy fellows spurn this latter luxury—which
one would have thought would have been most welcome—with contempt. From
having almost constantly been exposed for the previous five or six years
to have “the earth their rude bed, their canopy the sky,” with generally
a stone for a pillow, our men could obtain no sleep on beds of down; and
it was actually a fact, that they preferred wrapping a blanket round
them and the hard floor, as a place of rest: so much for custom.
At Castle Sarazin we used to be on our usual excellent terms with the
French quartered in the neighbourhood, and to while away the time had
constant matches with them in running, jumping, and gymnastic exercises.
I got acquainted here with a very smart fellow—a French sergeant
belonging to the 43rd regiment. A friendship was cemented between us,
naturally enough, by our both being free-masons.
One day we were sitting in a wine-house, when the subject of fencing—a
science at which the French prize themselves in excelling—was started.
My friend, the sergeant, was observing he was a tolerable hand with the
foil, when a short lump of a fellow, who proved to be the fencing-master
of the town, overhearing him, immediately challenged him to a trial of
skill. This the sergeant in an instant accepted, and the sport, at which
he showed himself a perfect adept, at the fencing-master’s cost, was
carried on with perfect good-humour, until a fierce dispute arose about
a hit, when it was mutually agreed to determine the controversy with
points. A pair of foils with sharpened points, kept for this particular
service were immediately produced, while the by-standers instantly
commenced betting upon the combatants with all the _sang froid_ in the
world. Both had taken off their coats and bared their right arms for the
strife, when—I am sorry to disappoint the reader, who may expect an
account of a duel—our guard, which some good-natured soul had privately
summoned, came in and put an end to the affair, greatly to the chagrin
of the sergeant, who swore he would have killed the professor on the
spot.
That same evening the sergeant, whose name, in the lapse of years, I
have forgotten, went to our Colonel and obtained leave for me to visit
him at Montauban, where his regiment, the 43rd, was quartered. He had
invited a corporal, myself, and another, to a dinner given by the
non-commissioned officers of his regiment. On the day appointed away we
started, Gilbert, the corporal, and myself. I shall never forget it. It
was a fine morning. After crossing the Garonne in open boats, for the
bridge had been destroyed previous to the battle of Toulouse, we entered
Montauban, and found the 43rd and two other regiments forming a brigade,
drawn up on parade in the square of the town, and two splendid bands
playing in front.
As we went in search of our friend we had to pass down the front of two
of the French regiments, which we did, saluting, soldier-like, their
officers. The latter returned our salute in the manner for which they
are so justly remarked, and made us feel not a little proud of their
courtesy. Our uniforms were almost new, and fitted us well. My two
comrades had the advantage of being tall, and exceedingly smart-looking
fellows; for myself, I was fat as a butt, and as strong as I looked. We
moved along the line, until we fell in with the sergeant, who, starting
out of the ranks, gave us a hearty welcome. We waited beside him while
the band played some favourite airs, until the regiments were dismissed.
But they had scarcely broken their ranks when their officers crowded
around us, and severally shook us by the hand, giving us also sundry
smacks on the shoulders, with “Bravos les Anglais, soyez les bien
venus,” &c. The sergeant escorted us immediately to his quarters. The
dining-room was a splendid one, and fitted up beautifully. The tables
groaned under every delicacy of the season, and we did not forget, even
here, to do “justice” to the acknowledged “merits” of John Bull in all
matters of this “nature.”
Much good feeling and conviviality followed; and encomiums and
compliments were passed on the English; all went on very well until
singing was introduced with the removal of the cloth. It had been agreed
among the French that no song should be sung that reflected upon our
country. Several famous songs, so far as we could understand, were
introduced. Our sergeant gave us an excellent specimen; and Gilbert and
myself joined also in our own rough manner. But a French corporal, under
the influence of wine, commenced a “Chanson de guerre,” rather contre
les Anglais, for which, with a very proper feeling, he was by general
consent kicked down stairs. The guests, however, resumed their seats,
and all went on as quietly as before; here we remained enjoying
ourselves till three the next morning, when we were accompanied to the
boats by a number of their band, playing “Patrick’s Day,” as they
escorted us down to the river-side.
The foregoing anecdote, trivial and uninteresting as it may seem, still
serves to show, in a pleasing point of view, the hospitality and kind
feelings of the French, who have always claimed our highest respect.
In a few days we received an order to proceed to Bordeaux, to embark for
England. The delightful emotions of pleasure this generally induced
throughout our men, after all their hardships and sufferings, may be
better imagined than described. The second day’s march we stopped at a
village, the name of which I forget, where we had to part from our
allies, the Spanish and Portuguese. Much, and even deep feelings of
regret, were particularly felt by the men of our battalion on parting
from the Spaniards, who had been for so long a period incorporated in
our ranks. They had been distinguished for their gallantry, and although
sixteen had been drafted into our company, but five had survived to bid
us farewell. Poor fellows, they had grown attached to the battalion, and
expressed much grief on leaving! Even Blanco, the sanguinary Blanco,
actually shed tears. Notwithstanding the wretched and ineffective state
of the Spanish armies during the campaigns in the Peninsula, I am
convinced, and have indeed become more so from subsequent experience,
that there is right stuff in the men to make excellent soldiers, far
superior to the Portuguese.
Many men of our regiment, bound by the charms of the Signorettas, who
had followed their fortunes throughout the war, took this opportunity to
desert their country’s cause, to take up that of their Dulcineas. Among
others were two of my own company, who, not contented with the “arms”
offered by these “invincibles” took rifles and all with them, and we
never saw or heard of them after.
We embarked in high spirits at Bordeaux, for Portsmouth, on board the
‘Ville de Paris,’ Captain Jones, commander. She was a splendid ship, and
astonished us all with the size and regularity of her crew. The sailors,
who seldom like a red coat, went hand in hand with us green jackets, and
were a jolly set of fellows.
We had in our regiment, at this time, now on board with us, and on his
way to England, a sergeant of the name of S——n, (which must be a
sufficient explanation to the reader, as he is, I understand, now
living, and in London), a fine, smart-looking fellow, about six feet in
height. He had been with us during the whole of the Peninsular campaign,
and was one of those who, after the battle of Corunna, had remained in
Spain. He was now on his passage homeward to his wife, to whom he had
been married for ten or eleven years, and whom, some months after the
wedding, he was obliged to leave with her friends at Portsmouth to
rejoin his regiment, then going abroad; by some unaccountable
circumstances, incidental to long campaigns, he never had received any
tidings of or from her; and he consequently was now very uncertain as to
where he should find her, or whether she were living or dead.
On the 22nd July, 1814, we anchored at Spithead, the sailors cheering us
and manning the yards as we went ashore. As soon, however, as we landed
at our destination, he requested of me to assist him in his search.
After tramping up and down and around Portsmouth, in vain, we at last
made a stand in High Street—indeed he was growing almost desperate with
disappointment—and here he made random inquiries of every person he met.
This eventually drew a crowd of women of all ages about him but not one
could answer his inquiry. He was on the point of giving it up
altogether, when an old woman on crutches, from the rear of the crowd,
casting a very shrewd keen look at him, asked him to repeat the name,
“Mary S——n,” shouted my friend. “Ah!” exclaimed the hag, rather
musingly, “if you will just inquire at No.—, near the Post-office, at
the back of the street, you will, I think, find the party you require,”
casting up her eye as she finished her directions. Away we hurried, some
five or six women straggling after us, and in a few minutes found
ourselves at the door of a small neat-built cottage. After
knocking—every moment seemed an hour to my poor friend, until the door
was opened—a pretty-looking little girl, of about ten years of age,
inquired his errand.
“Does Mrs. S——n,” asked the sergeant, and paused to look at the child,
“does Mary S——n live here?” “Yes,” said the little girl, starting with
surprise, “that’s my name.”
“Right,” exclaimed the sergeant, clasping the astonished little one in
his arms, and dashing into a side room well sprinkled with children.
“Where, where’s your mother?” The words were scarcely uttered, than a
shrill shriek was heard from the inner apartment, and at the same moment
the mother rushed before us, and gazing on him fell instantly into a fit
of hysterics. My poor friend looked perplexed; his features alternately
changing from doubts to fears, with uncertain satisfaction. The little
one was in an instant out of the house, and returned in a short time,
leading in a square, well-made, good-looking man, in appearance a
carpenter.
The facts were stubbornly plain to every one. The children, the
comfortable, respectable air of the place, were too plain; and the two
husbands now stood within range of each other, with nostrils dilated in
agony, and hands clenched, awaiting an expected onset. I think I never
saw two better models of manhood in its prime, wrought up to melancholy
and indescribable excitement. The two men, as it were, dug their eyes
into each other, and then on the shrieking woman, who in recovering a
little clung, as if for refuge, to the carpenter.
My poor comrade, hitherto on the rack of suspense, now suddenly drew
breath, and taking a skipping-rope which his daughter held in her hand,
threw it lightly over his wife’s neck. “Now,” said he, in a somewhat
collected tone, “Now, Mr. Carpenter, as it appears that Mary, who _was_
my wife, has decided on her choice, suppose we have a bargain on the
matter? It’s no use our skirmishing about in this manner any longer;
(and I have no doubt of your abilities,”) pointing to the children, who
crowded round the parents and opposite the sergeant. “With Mary’s
consent, as she seems to prefer your manner of doing business, suppose
you clinch the bargain with a sixpence, and take her to you altogether?”
The money was handed out in a moment, and as quickly passed between the
sergeant’s teeth, while he employed both hands to withdraw his sash
aside, and taking from his pocket a guinea, which throwing into his only
daughter’s lap, left the scene, closed the door, and hurried into a
small public-house across the street.
“Come, landlord, a pot of your sixpenny,” throwing down the ill-fated
bit of silver, “and take that for your settlement; and Ned,” said he,
turning to me, “call for your likings.” He grasped the vessel as the
landlord handed it, and swallowed the whole at a draught, like a man who
had thirsted for a week; smacked his lips, in conclusion of the barter,
cast two or three glances up and down his person, then rubbing his hands
smartly together, strutted up the street as if nothing whatever had
annoyed him.