I enter the British Legion as Lieutenant—I raise a regiment of
Riflemen—Appoint the non-commissioned officers—Recruiting
districts—The peer and the dustmen—General Evans thanks—Embark at
Gravesend—Voyage across the Bay of Biscay—Arrival in Spain—We land at
Portugaletta—Pat’s logic—Spanish sentries shoot a man by mistake—A bad
omen—Men confined for not wearing that which they never had—Modern
rifle officers—Colonel de Rottenburgh—Legion officers classified—Fine
appearance of the men—Rifles march to Zorossa—Head quarters at
Bilboa—Bad quarters of the men—Severe drills—Bad beginning—The men
begin to droop through ill-treatment—“Cats” indiscriminately
used—Lieutenant Robinson drowned.
From early youth, war has my mistress been,
And tho’ a rugged one, I’ll constant prove,
And not forsake her now.
IT will be unnecessary for me to drag the reader through my chequered
life, from the time I left the British army until my last campaign in
Spain. I shall, therefore, jump across the interval, and bring him at
once to the period at which I entered the British Legion.
It is generally remarked that the life of a service soldier is full of
incident; but the sphere in which he is designed to move can be
understood only by those who have themselves moved in it. In general,
old soldiers in describing battles, fill their accounts with the roar of
cannon, the clouds of smoke, and the groans and cries of the wounded and
dying; but in this part of my narrative, if I cannot relate the former,
I will endeavour to describe the miseries of the unfortunate men with
whom it was my fate to serve; and as I mean neither to borrow nor
dispose of any other man’s stuff, I will relate those things only that
came under my own observation.
I am aware that some military men fancy a man cannot fight unless he has
his country’s cause at heart, that in their ideas being the only thing
capable of arousing his martial ardour; but I beg most humbly to differ
from those gentlemen, and to tell them, that when a British subject is
put into uniform, and placed in the ranks, with a firelock in his hand,
before an enemy, he requires no stimulant nor patriotic impulse to urge
him in attacking those opposed to him; neither can I see why a British
subject should be ridiculed or prevented from (what he terms) “earning
an honest livelihood;” nor why if he prefers being knocked on the head
in serving a Foreign Power, he should be termed a mercenary and a
murderer, as has been the case with the Legion.
But if he be kidnapped by a recruiting-sergeant, or pressed by a
press-gang into the British service, there is no doubt but that John
Bull and his brethren of the sister kingdoms, will make the best of a
bad matter, which, as old soldiers well know, is only to be done by
going the whole hog on every occasion; most soldiers like myself, find
in their muskets and bayonets, their only title-deeds; these from the
“_smallness_” of the estates they represent are but poor guarantees:
when, _cut up_ and well _drilled_ by bullets, or long and active
service; old age steals on, and premature infirmities commence their
march upon them.
In the beginning of July, 1835, I enclosed documents from officers of
rank in the British army, with a statement of my own service and the
rank I had held in that service to Colonel, now Sir De Lacy Evans, and
expressed a wish to enter under his command.
In the course of a few days an answer was sent to me from Mr. H.
Bulwer,[25] M.P. for St. Marylebone, stating that Colonel Evans had
appointed me as Lieutenant in the 7th Light Infantry, B.A.L., and
requesting me to attend at his house that day, as General Evans wished
to see me.
I attended at the hour appointed, and for the first time had the honour
of conversing with the General himself, who treated me with that
gentlemanly courtesy for which he has ever been remarked; among other
matters, he asked me several questions concerning a Rifle regiment, and
their probable efficacy in the field. To these, according to my humble
experience, I gave him to understand that as the war was principally
confined to the Pyrenees, and the northern and more mountainous
provinces, no body of men could be more efficient, both from their dress
as well as their arms.
He approved of my remark, and resolved accordingly to form at least one
regiment of Rifles, and, as a first step, to appoint me Lieutenant and
Adjutant of the regiment. He then gave me instructions to form
recruiting parties, to raise five or six hundred men for that regiment,
and particularly enjoined me to get as many old soldiers of the British
Rifles as I possibly could. The Adjutancy I declined accepting, but I
begged to be empowered to appoint a few non-commissioned officers as an
encouragement to the old Peninsulars. This power he instantly granted
me, and extended even to all whom I thought fitting for that duty,
adding, “I will acquaint the Colonel of your regiment that I have
granted you these privileges.” Mr. Bulwer remarking, “If I went into the
country I might pick up many gamekeepers, who, he thought, would make
excellent riflemen.” I replied, “That man shooting and game shooting
were very different,” at which they both laughed heartily.
I immediately set to work and got hand-bills printed, and established
recruiting parties at Westminster, the Borough, and Tower Hill, &c., and
appointed about half a dozen sergeants and corporals, who were
immediately supplied with green clothing. I next proceeded to Chatham
and Gravesend, and stationed recruiting parties there also; and in the
short space of two months we raised five hundred men.
A motley group I enlisted, from the sons of peers, down even to dustmen,
including doctors, lawyers, parsons’ clerks, and all the trades
necessary to form a national hive of cunning, craft and industry. I had
an honourable for a sergeant (the Honourable A. Curzon), a doctor for a
corporal (A. M. Hart), the former of whom was afterwards appointed
Lieutenant.
These recruits I sent in small detachments on board the ‘Swiftsure,’
then lying at Portsmouth, the head-quarters of the regiment, appointing
one sergeant and one corporal to every sixteen privates. In the
beginning of September 1835, I received a letter from Baron de
Rottenburgh, our Colonel, that the regiment was about to start for
Spain, wishing me to make as much haste as possible in joining.
A few days after this I embarked from Gravesend, with nearly one hundred
more men for the Rifles, on board the ‘London Merchant’ steamer, and
arrived at Portsmouth the following day; but, unfortunately, the whole
of the regiment had already sailed for Spain; after paying the men their
bounty of two pounds each, the next morning we sailed also.
After a very pleasant voyage through the Bay of Biscay, about the middle
of September, we came in sight of the Spanish coast; at first the eye
was struck with the wild and magnificent sweep of the Pyrenean
mountains, which to those unaccustomed to such scenery must be truly
sublime. Through our glasses we could distinctly perceive the various
little towns that dotted here and there the different inlets of the bay,
and which had a very peculiar and wild appearance. But as we approached
the land we could plainly discern, marching up the mountain sides, small
bodies of soldiers which many on board mistook for the troops of Don
Carlos, but on closer inspection we discerned to be the Queen’s.
Brigadier-General Evans, who was on board, having determined to land
here, the necessary preparations were being made, when, to our surprise
a vessel hove in sight, bearing the remainder of the Rifles from
Santander to Bilboa. They were fully equipped with rifle and green
clothing, and disembarked near Portugaletta, while we with the recruits
landed also.
Thus, on the 19th September, about seven o’clock on a beautiful summer
evening, I again landed on that soil on which, some four or five and
twenty years ago I had witnessed so many severe contests. We landed near
an old church, where the recruits were to remain for the night, without
blankets, great-coats, or any sort of comfort, in the colonnades of a
damp church. I shall never forget the discourse which took place between
two of the men. One said to the other, “Are we to get no billets, but
stop here for the night without straw, and nothing but these cold damp
flag-stones to lie on? why, I see the General’s horses over the way,
that have just landed, put into warm stables with straw; surely we are
better than horses?” “Arrah, and who the devil tould you so?” said a
countryman of mine, looking him hard in the face, “be my soul, the Queen
of Spain only gave two pounds a-head for such fellows as you and me, and
can get thousands more at the same money; while she is compelled to give
fifty pounds for every horse!” Pat’s logic had the desired effect, and
the poor recruits stretched their weary limbs for the night, with
nothing but a thin smock-frock to keep them warm.
There was, at the time, in possession of Portugaletta, a Spanish
regiment of the Queen’s Infantry doing duty, this made it exceedingly
dangerous for any of our men to approach those fellows, from their
ignorance and stupidity, for they looked upon anything bearing arms to
be an enemy. One of my company had a melancholy experience of this, for
on coming close to a Spanish sentry, under the darkness of the evening,
he was challenged from a loop-hole through the mud-wall surrounding
Portugaletta. The Englishman not knowing the language, could give no
answer, and the consequence was, the Spaniard instantly fired and shot
him through the knee. The poor fellow remained on the spot where he fell
until the morning, his comrades being afraid to approach him for fear of
a similar fate, and when brought to the company the next day, through
weakness and loss of blood, while under amputation he died under the
hands of the doctor. This for the first night of our landing was rather
a bad omen. Passing the guard-house, with the intention of seeing how
the men had fared during the night, at least half a dozen voices
assailed my ears, “Oh! Sir! I hope you will get us released; we have
been confined all night and have done no crime.” Perceiving they were
some of the recruits I had brought over, I called the sergeant of the
guard to inquire the cause; he informed me that they had been confined
by officers of our regiment, for walking about without their
regimentals; the men, however, had disembarked only the night before,
and had not received their clothing; I ordered them to be released.
For this act of justice I shortly afterwards was nearly what was termed
“called out” by a brace of officers of the Rifles (whom I knew only by
their uniform), and who very abruptly asked me, why I had released men
whom they had confined! I answered, that no crime had been committed by
them, and that I deemed it right to release them, as men in the British
Army were never confined without cause.
“Sir,” said one, in an austere voice, “I know what soldiering is. I have
fought and seen service as well as the British Army.” The reader has,
perhaps, already guessed that these “gentlemen” formerly belonged to Don
Pedro, and had served in Portugal during the struggle for that crown.
I was anxious to see my Colonel to report myself, but on going to his
quarters I heard another of my poor fellows lustily calling on me to
intercede for him. This was in a small field, close to the village,
where he was being held down, across a low, dry wall, by two men, while
the bugler was belabouring him on the bare breech with the “cats,” and
another of these Pedroite officers standing by seeing the punishment
inflicted. The poor fellow had been formerly a bugler in the British
Army, and was now flogged for straggling into Portugaletta without
leave. I had not yet been sixteen hours on the Spanish soil, but I was
growing heartily sick of the campaign, even at this early period.
In the course of the day, I had an opportunity of mixing with the
officers; who in appearance were a fine set of fellows.
They were composed of three different classes. The first were gentlemen
who formerly held commissions in the British Army; the second were those
who, through interest, had obtained commissions from General Evans; and
the third class, and who, I was sorry to find, were treble in number to
the other two, were what is termed Pedroites. These last self-taught
heroes were brought up in neither military nor civil life, but had
passed a little Quixotic tour under Don Pedro. In fact, every regiment
of the Legion, like my own, was full of Pedroites.
The recruits, at length, having received arms and clothing, were drafted
into companies, each about a hundred strong, and of which six completed
the regiment; they were a fine set of men, and with the Legion
altogether, if properly handled, would have done credit to any army in
Europe.
During the few days that we remained here, a Major, formerly in the
British Army, named Barton, of the Rifles, resigned; this left a
vacancy, which was immediately filled by the senior Captain, Fortescue.
This caused a vacancy for a Captain, and I was promoted to that rank, in
his place, and took command of his company; I may say with safety, I was
one of the few officers in command of a company, at the time, that could
put the men even through their facings. After remaining here about a
week, our regiment was ordered to march, and we took possession of a
small village, Zorossa, about two miles from Bilboa, and situated on the
left bank of the Nervion. This place had experienced all the ravages and
desolation a civil war could inflict; the houses were in a most
dilapidated state. That in which myself and a number of other officers
were quartered had been evidently tenanted by an opulent person; but the
furniture and interior decorations of the rooms had been destroyed, or
defaced by the soldiers of Don Carlos, who had been in possession of the
village a short time before our entry.
Here lay one of her Britannic Majesty’s gun-brigs, the ‘Ringdove’, to
afford assistance and protection to vessels passing up the river from
the bay to Bilboa, with arms, ammunition, and stores for the Legion:
yet, strange to say, the crew of the ‘Ringdove’ were on the most
friendly terms with the Carlist troops until we arrived.
Bilboa was at this time the head-quarters of the Legion. With the view
of relieving this important commercial town from the state of blockade
which it had sustained; and of affording protection to the works which
were at this time erecting for its defence, and probably also for
keeping open a more easy communication with England, for the supply of
recruits, stores, &c., a few troops were stationed at Bilboa—but in
straggling convents and houses about its suburbs. The soldiers of the
Legion, notwithstanding these arrangements, were badly quartered—the
greater part of them laying on the cold stone floors of churches and
convents, without beds, blankets, or even straw. It was evident to me,
even thus early in the campaign, that General Evans did not display much
solicitude or feeling for the comforts of his soldiers. The men, who
were at this time chiefly raw recruits, unaccustomed to the change of
diet as well as to the climate of the country, undergoing fatiguing
military instructions by a severe daily drill of six hours, surely a
representation of their situation to the proper Spanish authorities by
General Evans would have made things better for the poor men: but this
was merely a foretaste of the treatment that was to be endured by them,
which I shall have more particularly to allude to, after their arrival
at Vittoria, &c.
But the miserable and comfortless condition of the men was nothing to
the disgraceful Provost system which was carried on most rigorously in
every regiment of the Legion. Any officer, for the slightest supposed
dereliction of duty, or as he felt inclined, could order a man from one
to four dozen lashes. Every regiment had its provost; nay, in some there
were two, with a proportion of cats.[26]
It mattered not who they were, recruits or old campaigners, of which
last there were no less than a dozen (Chelsea pensioners), in the
company I commanded. Although the rules of the service at first starting
were boasted as being purely British, I now found them entirely
different.
In the British army there was only one provost in a division of perhaps
eight or ten regiments. Again, no officer, not even the provost himself,
could order a dozen lashes unless he found the man in the act of
plundering. Below is given a G. O.[27] issued by the Duke of Wellington.
I had the misfortune to lose a fine active young officer of my company,
a Second Lieutenant named Robinson. In crossing the river from Bilboa in
the dark, by some accident he fell overboard and was drowned. His body
was not found until next morning. His father is Captain and Paymaster in
the 60th regiment. This unfortunate young man, like a number of others
who died in Spain, had an excellent kit, which was sold amongst the
officers of our regiment.