Brussels’ hospitals—The British and French soldiers under amputation—I
lose my finger—Another loss also—I leave the hospital and am removed
to the Provost Guard—The Belgian marauders bared to the skin—The point
of honour—Sensation produced on their comrades—The Belgian regiment
under arms—Guard-house surrounded—Narrow escape—Removal of the
Belgians—Assassination of a French Count by a Cossack officer—Medals
sent from England—Consequent dissensions—Poor Wheatley—Quarters at
Mouvres—Augustine—An old acquaintance—A rival—Augustine leaves her
father’s house—Pursued—Her father’s despair—Removal to Cambray—The
regiment receives orders to embark for England—We part.
I REMAINED in Brussels three days, and had ample means here, as in
several other places, such as Salamanca, &c., for witnessing the cutting
off legs and arms. The French I have ever found to be brave, yet I
cannot say they will undergo a surgical operation with the cool,
unflinching spirit of a British soldier. An incident which here came
under my notice, may in some measure show the difference of the two
nations. An English soldier belonging to, if I recollect rightly, the
1st Royal Dragoons, evidently an old weather-beaten warfarer, while
undergoing the amputation of an arm below the elbow, held the injured
limb with his other hand without betraying the slightest emotion, save
occasionally helping out his pain by spirting forth the proceeds of a
large plug of tobacco, which he chewed most unmercifully while under the
operation. Near to him was a Frenchman, bellowing lustily, while a
surgeon was probing for a ball near the shoulder. This seemed to annoy
the Englishman more than anything else, and so much so, that as soon as
his arm was amputated, he struck the Frenchman a smart blow across the
breech with the severed limb, holding it at the wrist, saying, “Here,
take that, and stuff it down your throat, and stop your damned
bellowing!”
The accommodation at Brussels not being sufficient for the wounded, it
was found expedient to have many of them conveyed to Antwerp, myself
among the rest; and the entire of the 81st regiment were employed
conveying the men on stretchers to the boat on the canal, communicating
between the two cities; there I had my wound attended to, and my
shattered finger taken off at the socket. A singular case of loss of
limb here fell under my notice: a young fellow, a German, one of the
drivers to the German artillery, had lost both his legs by a round-shot,
which passing through the horse’s belly, had carried away both limbs;
while on the ground in this mangled state, he received a dreadful gash
in one of his arms, from a French cuirassier, and a ball in the other;
through these he was also obliged to undergo the amputation of both
arms, one below the elbow and the other above; here the unfortunate
youth (for he was not more than nineteen), lay a branchless trunk, and
up to the moment I left, though numbers died from lesser wounds,
survived. At first the latter were so numerous that it became a matter
of surprise to even the doctors, who at length discovered that the
water, which the patients were in the habit of washing their wounds
with, was brought from a spa, which in some instances, had the effect of
poisoning the flesh.[22] In the course of a few weeks, however, I was
sufficiently recovered to rejoin my regiment, at Clichy camp, near
Paris.
Shortly after my arrival I was ordered on the Provost Guard, which my
readers will better understand, is a kind of military police. We were
under the command of the Provost Marshal, named Stanway, whose
instructions were to take all whom he found marauding about the gardens
in the neighbourhood of Paris, and to march them down to his guard-house
for punishment.
The Provost was a keen fellow, and sometimes would pounce on as many as
eighteen or twenty in the course of a morning; these were immediately
flogged, according to the amount of their offence, or the resistance
they made, and instantly liberated.
The depredations, however, became so universal, that the inhabitants of
Paris complained to the generals of divisions, and we, in consequence,
received orders to keep a stricter look out, and take into custody and
flog every man we caught in the act of plunder. Our guard-house
consequently was daily filled by soldiers of every uniform, indeed, ours
may be said to have been a true Owenite Guard, for we made no objection
to “sect, country, class, or colour,” as we served them all “alike.”
We had a deal of trouble with the Belgians especially. These fellows
would go forth in sections, and lay everything waste before them. This
was not for want, as they were well supplied with regular rations daily
from Paris, which we were aware of. As soon as they perceived the guard
hemming them in on all sides, they would invariably salute us with
brickbats, stones, and sometimes even make a regular attack. But Stanway
seldom let any escape him.
One morning we brought in sixteen of them, and the Provost, as usual,
marched them into the little yard where the punishments were generally
inflicted. The triangles stared them in the face from the centre of the
ground, and the culprits one and all, as soon as they rolled their eyes
on it, gave a bellow of horror, fell on their knees, and commenced
praying and crossing themselves, and other symptoms of repentance; but
Stanway was inexorable. Our men had the greatest difficulty in
unbreeching them, and getting them tied to the halberts. The first
stripped, I recollect was a short, stumpy, fat, desperate-looking
fellow, who by the circumference of his seat of honour, and his
struggles for its safety, seemed to bear about it all the honour of his
native Belgium. The first whistle of the cat, even before it reached
him, appeared to have verified the assumption, for he roared to such a
degree, and his fellow-culprits sympathised so loudly, and with such a
crash of Belgic, that it set the whole vicinity by the ears, and
actually aroused their whole regiment quartered in the village, and the
place became in an uproar. The Belgians flew to arms and instantly
surrounded the guard-house; Stanway nevertheless was determined not to
relax his duty, and ordered every man of us to load, and placed us in
different parts of the building, barricading the doorways, prepared for
every resistance, and during intervals continued the flagellation. The
assailants meanwhile became furious, and attempted to scale the walls
for a rescue, but they were kept off by the guard with fixed bayonets,
until a shower of brickbats, &c., being thrown over the walls, made us
gladly retire into the building. Our lives were now in jeopardy; not a
man of us dared to stir out, until a signal being given to some English
soldiers who were passing, these gave the alarm to the division then
encamped outside the village, and our Rifles, followed by the 52nd, came
instantly to our assistance.
The two regiments remained under arms the whole night, and the Belgians,
out of bravado, retired to a field, a little distance from them, and
kept under arms also. The morning after the occurrence they were removed
from Clichy, and we saw no more of them.
Going into Paris a day or two after this disturbance to draw rations for
the guard, I had to pass the Barrière de Clichy, and before entering the
gates I perceived a crowd collected round a doorway in the street
adjoining. Naturally anxious to know the cause, I mingled with the
throng, and pushing to the centre perceived the dead body of a French
gentleman stretched out on some straw, literally saturated in blood, and
on inquiry, I was informed that he had been slain by a Cossack or
Prussian officer some few minutes before. The deceased (who was a French
Count) and the Cossack, it appeared, had quarrelled the night previous,
and had decided on settling the matter the next morning by a meeting
with pistols. It had been agreed by the seconds that the two principals
should be placed back to back, and each measuring six of his own paces,
should, as the distance was completed, turn round and fire.
As soon, however, as the Count commenced his first pace, the Cossack
turned round discharged his pistol into the back of his adversary’s
head, and stretched him lifeless on the ground, exclaiming as he did it,
“I have been shot at enough by your cursed countrymen, now for my turn.”
The assassin and his second fearful, however, of the consequences fled
instantly, and taking horse, rode off to their camp, but they were never
discovered; although I was told that the Duke, when the circumstances
were related to him, offered a reward for their apprehension.
The unfortunate Count had been an officer in the French service, and to
all appearance was a very smart young fellow.
In the beginning of February, 1816, we left Paris, and marched to the
environs of Cambray; shortly afterwards we were presented with medals
sent out by the British government, in commemoration of that celebrated
battle; every man who was in the field on the 16th, 17th, and 18th of
June, was distinguished with this honourable badge. I am sorry to say
this caused many dissensions among the men, particularly some of the old
veterans of the Peninsular campaigns. One named Wheatley, as brave a man
as any in the service, was unfortunately in hospital at Brussels during
the action, and was not honoured with this mark of bravery; whenever he
met with badges on what he termed recruits, he would instantly tear them
off, and frequently throw them away. For this too often repeated
offence, poor Wheatley was tried by a court-martial, and sentenced to
three months’ solitary confinement. He was sent to Valenciennes, where
the 43rd regiment lay, who formerly belonged to our light division
during the Spanish war. The men of that regiment who knew Wheatley, as
well as the offence he had committed, not only fed him well during his
imprisonment, but at the expiration of his confinement sent him back in
all the pomp a hero could wish. He was conveyed in a carriage drawn by
four horses, Wheatley’s head as well as those of the postilion and
horses, were decorated with blue ribands. On seeing the gay equipage
enter the village, we were much surprised, but more so on seeing
Wheatley jump from the carriage amidst the loud acclamations of his old
companions. Poor Wheatley felt neglected on receiving no medal, and
became, from one of the bravest, one of the most dissipated men in the
regiment; he was shortly afterwards discharged.
My own company was quartered at Mouvres, a pretty little village off the
main road that leads to Douay, myself and three privates being billeted
on the house of a rich old fellow named Bernard Loude; he was the
richest man in the village possessing upwards of three hundred acres of
land, his own property, with stables, granary, waggons, and cattle,
indeed everything that constitutes a farmer’s stock. The house, like all
others in that part of the country, was built long, with only a ground
floor. On entering it, I observed three pretty girls spinning; the
youngest, about sixteen years of age, was named Leucade; the next, about
nineteen, named Augustine; and the eldest, who was not above twenty-four
years of age, was named Julie; they were all attractive in appearance.
After living there some weeks, I looked upon myself as one of the
household; and, soldier-like, began toying with the girls: the one who
attracted my attention most was Augustine; she was a fine young woman,
with light hair and fair complexion. Her manners were playful, yet
gentle, and there was an air of innocence in her freedom, which showed
her thoughts were untainted by that knowledge of the world, which
restrains the levity of youth. Her disposition corresponded with her
manners, frank, generous, and confiding; her sisters used to say she was
of a most forgiving temper, yet of a firm and determined spirit, and
they loved her with more than the love sisters generally bestow upon
each other. I now, day after day, became more intimate with the family,
and the fair Augustine, whether serious or jesting, was always my
favourite. The courtship of a soldier may be somewhat rough; I used to
steal a kiss now and then, which my pretty Augustine would check me for
doing; yet so much goodness was there in her manner, that her reproof,
rather than otherwise, tempted a repetition of the offence. To those who
know the inconveniences to which soldiers are subjected in being
billeted, it must appear I was now in clover; I certainly never shall
forget the happy hours I then enjoyed.
One day, it was I remember on a Saturday, I was ordered on duty to the
head-quarters of our regiment, at a small village called Burloun, about
two miles from Mouvres. Previously to my departure, the youngest sister
Leucade told me Augustine was soon to be married, being engaged to a
young Frenchman who lived our side of Cambray, and had formerly been a
prisoner in England, jokingly adding, that he could speak a little
English. It was customary for me to dine with the family every Sunday;
and on my return off guard next day, as usual, I joined the domestic
party. I noticed a stranger at table, who by his manner appeared the
favoured suitor of Augustine. We had, however, scarcely been seated,
when he gazed intently upon me, and suddenly starting up, seized me by
the hand, and nearly bursting into tears, exclaimed, “Mon brave soldat,
est-ce vous?” I immediately recognized in him the faithful Frenchman
whose life I had spared in the streets of Badajoz before mentioned.
Returning to his seat, he described to the party the scenes we had gone
through at Badajoz, which sometimes called forth fits of laughter, and
sometimes tears.
All eyes were fixed on me; I particularly noticed Augustine; she looked
more serious than I had ever seen her; she did not shed a tear or yet
smile during the whole narrative of her young French lover; but I could
plainly perceive by the heaving of her bosom, she was more deeply
affected than the rest. He extolled me to the skies, but he knew not the
interest he was exciting in favour of an unknown rival. The French I
have observed to be a people fond of glory and sentiment, and a story of
la Gloire et l’Amour will always excite their admiration. He then
related to me the cruelty he had received from the Portuguese soldiers
who conducted him with the remainder of the garrison of Badajoz on their
march to Lisbon, where he was put on board a ship and conveyed to
England. After Bonaparte had been conducted to Elba, he with some
thousand other prisoners, returned to his native home. He took no part,
he said, in the battle of Waterloo. After dinner I and my old companion
parted, having both enjoyed mutual good cheer. The attention of
Augustine after this accidental interview was redoubled, and what I
before suspected I now plainly discovered, I had won her heart. From
this time, we were more frequently alone; and although her father wished
her married to the Frenchman, he being a relation as well as in good
circumstances, she had never herself been seriously attached to him. The
affection that subsisted between us became no secret in the family, and
it was rumoured even about the village; at length it burst out in songs
composed by the “Troubadours” of the neighbourhood. Her father thought
it prudent to get my quarters changed: he accordingly applied to the
Colonel, and I was sent to another hamlet in charge of tailors making
clothing for the regiment; it was at a pretty neat little village called
Saint les Marquion, on the main road to Cambray. At the house of an old
widow who lived at Mouvres I still corresponded with Augustine, and
enjoyed many stolen interviews. At length, harassed with the
remonstrances of her family, who insisted on diverting her affections
from me, she determined on leaving her father’s roof, and in the dusk
one evening met me at the widow’s, where we betrothed ourselves to each
other. On hearing of her elopement, her father unrelentingly pursued
her; he went to Cambray and applied to the executor to deprive her of
her patrimony, but the law prevented him doing so. He then appealed to
the military authorities, and one morning, about ten o’clock, four
gensdarmies, to my surprise, entered my quarters in search of her. I was
about to give them a very rough reception, and some of my comrades, who
were quartered with me, proposed giving them a threshing; but the
corporal who commanded the party warning me I should be held responsible
for any ill-usage they might receive, then produced a written order for
her return to her father’s house, signed by General Sir John Lambert,
who commanded our brigade, and countersigned by Colonel Balvaird, our
head colonel, Sir Andrew Barnard being at the time Commandant of
Cambray.
I saw all remonstrance was vain, and there was no alternative; so
accompanying her myself, she was obliged with a heavy heart to retrace
her steps. Her reception by her father was most unkind; he confined her
in a room, the windows of which were darkened and secured by crossbars
of iron, the handiwork of the village smith, whose services were called
in requisition upon the occasion. In this gloomy prison she was not
permitted to see her sisters; her meals were sent her at long intervals,
and scantily supplied; a priest was sent for, who was paid handsomely
for trying to wean her affections from me; but the bars of iron, and the
prayers of the priest, were alike in vain. She contrived on the first
opportunity to escape from this durance vile to me, as we had been
clandestinely married at her first elopement by an excommunicated
priest; for I must here mention, the Duke of Wellington had given
positive orders that no British soldiers should be allowed to marry
French women. Immediately on her return we went together to our colonel,
who lived at the château of the village, to request she might be allowed
to remain with me. On entering the room, she threw herself in an
impassioned manner on her knees, and begged we might not be separated.
The Colonel, taking her by the hand, raised her from her humiliating
posture, saying it was not in his power to grant the request, but he
would speak to General Lambert on the matter, which he did, and she was
allowed to remain with me. We now fancied ourselves in a great measure
protected, but she was again pursued by her father, who one day very
unceremoniously rushed into our cottage, and desired she would return
with him. She instantly flew to me for protection, throwing her arms
around me, exclaiming, “Mon Edouard, je ne te quitterai jamais.” Her
father, as if seized with a sudden fit of phrenzy, laid hold of a hammer
that was on the table, and struck himself a blow on the forehead with
such force that he fell, and remained some time on the floor insensible.
The distress of Poor Augustine cannot be imagined, for it was some time
ere she recovered, but after this we remained unmolested, and lived
happily together.
About the latter end of June, 1818, we broke up our cantonments, and
encamped on the glacis of Cambray, where we remained until the latter
end of October, when we received orders to proceed to England, after
remaining in its environs for the space of three years. The Colonel, who
did not know we were married, sent for me, and informed me she must
return to her parents, as she would certainly not be permitted to embark
with me for England. We now consulted together as to what step would be
most advisable to adopt. It was agreed I should go to her uncle, who
resided in Cambray, and request him to intercede with her father to
allow her to receive part of her patrimony; for, although he could not
deprive her of it after his death, she was not entitled to receive it
during his lifetime; and, if he consented to do so, I promised to obtain
my discharge from the army, and publicly marry her. Her uncle, after my
interview with him, accompanied me to Mouvres (a distance of about three
or four miles), with the intention of discussing the matter with the
father; but, on my entering the house, all was uproar; a tumult of
voices from all the family assailed me, during which one of the brothers
cried, “Délie le chien! Délie le chien!” Upon which a huge wolf-dog was
unchained; but, instead of attacking me, remembering that I had once
lived in the house, he came and fawned on me. In the midst of this
confusion I expected every moment would be my last, as there were no
British soldiers nearer than Cambray. At this instant Augustine entered.
She had heard at her uncle’s that I had gone with him to her father’s,
and, apprehensive of the consequences, had followed me. Not attending to
any other person present, she entreated me to leave the house, and
return to Cambray with her. I did so; and early next morning, the
regiment being in marching order, I was reluctantly compelled to part
from my almost broken-hearted faithful Augustine. It was agreed she
should remain with the family of her uncle until I could communicate
with her from England, where we hoped happier days awaited us.