"After progressing some miles, I came up with a cluster of poor

devils who were still alive, but apparently, both men and women,

unable to proceed. They were sitting huddled together in the road,

their heads drooping forward, and apparently patiently awaiting their

end.

"Soon after passing these unfortunates, I overtook a party who

were being urged forward under charge of an officer of the 42nd

Highlanders. He was pushing them along pretty much as a drover would

keep together a tired flock of sheep. They presented a curious

example of a retreating force. Many of them had thrown away their

weapons, and were linked together arm-in-arm, in order to support

each other, like a party of drunkards. They were, I saw, composed of

various regiments; many were bareheaded and without shoes, and some

with their heads tied up in old rags and fragments of handkerchiefs.

I marched in company with this party for some time, but as I felt

after my night's lodging and refreshment in better condition, I

ventured to push forward, in the hope of rejoining the main body, and

which I once more came up with in the street of a village.

"On falling in with the Rifles, I again found Brooks, who was

surprised at seeing me still alive, and we both entered a house, and

begged for something to drink. I remember that I had a shirt upon

my back at this time, which I had purchased of a drummer of the 9th

Regiment before the commencement of the retreat. It was the only good

one I had. I stripped, with the assistance of Brooks, and took it

off, and exchanged it with a Spanish woman for a loaf of bread, which

Brooks, myself, and two other men, shared amongst us.

"I remember to have again remarked Craufurd at this period of the

retreat. He was in no whit altered in his desire to keep the force

together, I thought; but, still active and vigilant as ever, he

seemed to keep his eye upon those who were now most likely to hold

out. I myself marched during many hours close beside him this day.

He looked stern and pale, but the very picture of a warrior. I shall

never forget Craufurd if I live to a hundred years, I think. He was

in everything a soldier.

"Slowly and dejectedly crawled our army along. Their spirit of

endurance was now considerably worn out, and, judging from my own

sensations, I felt confident that, if the sea was much farther from

us, we must be content to come to a halt at last without gaining

it. I felt something like the approach of death as I proceeded--a

sort of horror, mixed up with my sense of illness; a reeling I have

never experienced before or since. Still I held on; but with all my

efforts, the main body again left me behind. Had the enemy's cavalry

come up at this time I think they would have had little else to do

but ride us down without striking a blow."

At last the great retreat, with its horrors and sufferings, drew to a

close. The sea was reached, and not even Xenophon's Ten Thousand, as

they caught from some hill summit the purple gleam of the far-off sea,

knew a keener delight than did Craufurd's bare-footed, famine-wasted

veterans. Says Harris:--

"It is astonishing how man clings to life. I am certain that had

I lain down at this period, I should have found my last billet on

the spot I sank upon. Suddenly I heard a shout in front, which was

prolonged in a sort of hubbub. Even the stragglers whom I saw dotting

the road in front of me seemed to have caught at something like

hope; and as the poor fellows now reached the top of a hill we were

ascending, I heard an occasional exclamation of joy--the first note

of the sort I had heard for many days. When I reached the top of the

hill the thing spoke for itself. There, far away in our front, the

English shipping lay in sight.

"Its view had indeed acted like a restorative to our force, and the

men, at the prospect of a termination to the march, had plucked up

spirit for a last effort. Fellows who, like myself, seemed to have

hardly strength in their legs to creep up the ascent, seemed now to

have picked up a fresh pair to get down with. Such is hope to us poor

mortals!

"As we proceeded down the hill we now met with the first symptoms

of the good feeling from the inhabitants it was our fortune to

experience during our retreat. A number of old women stood on either

side of the road, and occasionally handed us fragments of bread as

we passed them. It was on this day, and whilst I looked anxiously

upon the English shipping in the distance, that I first began to find

my eyesight failing, and it appeared to me that I was fast growing

blind. The thought was alarming, and I made desperate efforts to get

on. Bell, however, won the race this time. He was a very athletic and

strong-built fellow, and left me far behind, so that I believe at

that time I was the very last of the retreating force that reached

the beach, though, doubtless, many stragglers came dropping up after

the ships had sailed, and were left behind.

"As it was, when I did manage to gain the seashore, it was only by

the aid of my rifle that I could stand, and my eyes were now so dim

and heavy that with difficulty I made out a boat, which seemed the

last that had put off.

"Fearful of being left half blind in the lurch, I took off my cap,

and placed it on the muzzle of my rifle as a signal, for I was

totally unable to call out. Luckily, Lieutenant Cox, who was aboard

the boat, saw me and ordered the men to return, and making one more

effort I walked into the water, and a sailor, stretching his body

over the gunwale, seized me as if I had been an infant and hauled

me on board. His words were characteristic of the English sailor, I

thought.

"'Hullo, there, you lazy lubber!' he said, as he grasped hold of me,

'who the ---- do you think is to stay hum-bugging all day for such a

fellow as you?'"

Here is Harris's description of how, after a stormy passage, the

transports reached the English coast, and the wrecks of Moore's gallant

battalions were allowed to land:--

"After remaining off Spithead for about five or six days, one fine

morning we received orders to disembark, and our poor bare feet once

more touched English ground. The inhabitants flocked down to the

beach to see us as we did so, and they must have been a good deal

surprised at the spectacle we presented. Our beards were long and

ragged; almost all were without shoes and stockings; many had their

clothes and accoutrements in fragments, with their heads swathed in

old rags, and our weapons were covered with rust; whilst not a few

had now from toil and fatigue become quite blind.

"Let not the reader, however, think that even now we were to be

despised as soldiers. Long marches, inclement weather, and want of

food had done their work upon us; but we were perhaps better than

we appeared, as the sequel showed. Under the gallant Craufurd we had

made some tremendous marches, and even galled our enemies severely,

making good our retreat by the way of Vigo. But our comrades in

adversity, and who had retired by the other road to Corunna, under

General Moore, turned to bay there, and showed the enemy that the

English soldier is not to be beaten even under the most adverse

circumstances.

"The field of death and slaughter, the march, the bivouac, and the

retreat, are no bad places in which to judge of men. I have had

some opportunities of judging them in all these situations, and I

should say that the British are amongst the most splendid soldiers in

the world. Give them fair-play, and they are unconquerable. For my

own part, I can only say that I enjoyed life more whilst on active

service than I have ever done since; and as I sit at my work in my

shop in Richmond Street, Soho, I look back upon that portion of my

time spent in the fields of the Peninsula as the only part worthy of

remembrance. It is at such times that scenes long past come back upon

my mind as if they had taken place but yesterday. I remember even the

very appearance of some of the regiments engaged; and comrades, long

mouldered to dust, I see again performing the acts of heroes."

Harris gives a bit of dreadful arithmetic, which shows the losses

sustained in the retreat:--

"After the disastrous retreat to Corunna, the Rifles were reduced

to a sickly skeleton, if I may so term it. Out of perhaps nine

hundred of as active and fine fellows as ever held a weapon in the

field of an enemy's country, we paraded some three hundred weak and

crestfallen invalids.

"I myself stood the third man in my own company, which was reduced

from near a hundred men to but three. Indeed, I think we had scarce

a company on parade stronger than ten or twelve men at the first

parade. After a few parades, however, our companies gradually were

augmented by those of the sick who recovered, but many of those who

did not sink in hospital were never more of much service as soldiers."

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 4: Some of these poor wretches cut a ludicrous figure,

having the men's greatcoats buttoned over their heads, whilst their

clothing, being extremely ragged and scanty, their naked legs were very

conspicuous. They looked a tribe of travelling beggars.]

CHAPTER VI

SOME FAMOUS SOLDIERS

Harris's "Recollections" abound in what may be called thumb-nail

sketches of his comrades and his officers. He had a quick eye for

character as well as for incident; and his descriptions are always

interesting and often very amusing. Harris was naturally more

interested, perhaps, in his comrades than in his officers and his

generals. He was closer to them and understood them better. Yet he

gives some sharply-drawn pictures of famous British battle-leaders as

they were seen by the eyes of the men whom they led. Here, for example,

is a picture of General--afterwards Lord--Hill, just before the battle

of Roliça. "Farmer" Hill was his sobriquet amongst the men, and he

owed that title as much to his homely and kindly spirit as to his red,

broad, and farmer-like face. Says Harris:--

"We were pelting along through the streets of a village, the name of

which I do not think I ever knew, so I cannot name it. I was in the

front and had just cleared the village when I recollect observing

General Hill (afterwards Lord Hill) and another officer ride up to

a house, and give their horses to some of the soldiery to hold. Our

bugles at that moment sounded the halt, and I stood leaning upon my

rifle near the door of the mansion which General Hill had entered;

there was a little garden before the house, and I stood by the gate.

Whilst I remained there the officer who had entered with General Hill

came to the door and called to me. 'Rifleman,' said he, 'come here.'

I entered the gate and approached him. 'Go,' he continued, handing

me a dollar, 'and try if you can get some wine! for we are devilish

thirsty here.' Taking the dollar I made my way back to the village.

At a wine-house, where the men were crowding around the door, and

clamouring for drink (for the day was intensely hot), I succeeded,

after some little difficulty, in getting a small pipkin full of wine,

but the crowd was so great that I found as much trouble in paying

for it as in getting it; so I returned back as fast as I was able,

fearing that the general would be impatient, and move off before I

reached him.

"I remember Lord Hill was loosening his sword-belt as I handed him

the wine. 'Drink first, Rifleman,' said he, and I took a good pull

at the pipkin and held it to him again. He looked at it as I did so,

and told me I might drink it all up, for it appeared greasy; so I

swallowed the remainder, and handed him back the dollar which I had

received from the officer. 'Keep the money,' he said, 'my man. Go

back to the village once more and try if you cannot get me another

draught.' Saying this, he handed me a second dollar, and told me

to be quick. I made my way back to the village, got another pipkin

full, and returned as fast as I could. The general was pleased

with my promptness, and drank with great satisfaction, handing the

remainder to the officer who attended him; and I dare say, if he

ever recollected the circumstance afterwards, that was as sweet a

draught, after the toil of the morning march, as he has drunk at many

a nobleman's board in old England since."

Of Beresford, again--who, if he was not a great general, was at least a

terrible fighter--Harris gives an amusing sketch:--

"I remember a great many of the leaders and heroes of the wars of my

own time. Alas! they have been cleared off of late pretty handsomely!

A few years more and the world will be without another living

remembrancer of either them or their deeds. The ranks are getting

thin, too, amongst those who, like myself, were the tools with which

the great men of former days won their renown. I don't know a single

living man now who was a comrade during the time I served. Very

nearly fifteen years back, I remember, however, meeting with Robert

Liston, and that meeting brings Marshal Beresford to my mind.

"Robert Liston was a corporal in the second battalion of the

Rifles, when we lay for a few days in the passages of a convent in

Portugal. We were then making for the frontiers of Spain, when we

were swept into that disastrous retreat to Corunna. There was a

punishment parade in the square of this convent. A soldier of the

92nd or 79th was the culprit, and the kilts were formed to witness

the performance. Some of the Rifles were looking from the windows

of the convent at the punishment of the Highlander, when a brickbat

was hurled from one of the casements and fell at the very toe of the

lieutenant-colonel, who was standing in the midst, and in command of

the regiment. The lieutenant-colonel (whose name I never knew) was,

of course, indignant at such an act; he gazed up at the window from

which the brick had been thrown, and caused an inquiry instantly

to be made. It was between the lights when this happened, and it

was impossible to discover who had done it; however, two or three

men of the Rifles were confined on suspicion. A man named Baker

flatly accused Corporal Liston of the act; upon which Liston was

marched a prisoner to Salamanca (a distance, I should think, of some

hundred miles); and often did he complain of his hard fate in being

a Prisoner so long. When we got to Salamanca we halted there for

eight days; and Liston, being tried by general court-martial, was

sentenced to receive eight hundred lashes. The whole brigade turned

out on the occasion, and I remember that the drummers of the 9th

Regiment were the inflicters of the lash. Liston received the whole

sentence without a murmur. He had, indeed, been a good soldier, and

we were all truly sorry for him; in fact, he always declared solemnly

that he had no more to do with the brickbat than Marshal Beresford

who commanded the brigade. Whoever committed the act, in my opinion,

well deserved what Liston got.

"Marshal Beresford was in command of the brigade at this time; and I

well remember what a fine-looking soldier he was. He was equal to his

business, too, I should say; and he, amongst others of our generals,

often made me think that the French army had nothing to show in the

shape of officers who could at all compare with ours. There was a

noble bearing in our leaders, which they on the French side (as far

as I was capable of observing) had not; and I am convinced that the

English soldier is even better pleased to be commanded by some men

of rank in his own country than by one who has risen from his own

station.

"They are a strange set, the English! and so determined and

unconquerable, that they will have their way if they can. Indeed, it

requires one who has authority in his face, as well as at his back,

to make them respect and obey him.

"I never saw Liston after that punishment whilst in Spain; and I

suppose he remained behind, and got on in the best manner he was able

in the rear; but, about ten years afterwards, as I was passing down

Sloane Street, Chelsea, I observed a watchman calling the hour. It

struck me that I knew his face, and, turning back, I stopped him,

asking if he was not Robert Liston, formerly a corporal in the 95th

Rifles? After answering in the affirmative, the first words he spoke

were, 'Oh, Harris! do you remember what happened to me at Salamanca?'

"'I do well,' I said.

"'I was never guilty,' he continued. 'There is no occasion for me

to deny it now; but I tell you that I was never guilty of the crime

for which I suffered. Baker was a villain, and I believe that he was

himself the culprit.'

"I recollect Marshal Beresford making a speech on the subject of the

buttons of our greatcoats; and, however such a subject may appear

trifling for a general officer to speak on, I can tell you it was a

discourse which our men (some of them) much needed; for they had been

in the habit of tearing off the buttons from their coats, and after

hammering them flat, passing them as English coin, in exchange for

the good wines of Spain. So that, at last, the Spaniards, finding

they got nothing by the exchange but trumpery bits of battered lead,

and the children in that country not being in the habit of playing at

dumps as ours are, they made complaints to the Marshal. Halting the

brigade, therefore, one day, he gave them a speech upon this fraud,

and ended by promising a handsome flogging to the first man he found

thereafter whose greatcoat would not keep buttoned in windy weather."

Of another yet more famous soldier, Napier, we get an interesting

glimpse in Harris's pages:--

"I remember meeting with General Napier before the battle of Vimiero.

He was then, I think, a major; and the meeting made so great an

impression on me that I have never forgotten him. I was posted in a

wood the night before the battle, in front of our army, where two

roads crossed each other. The night was gloomy, and I was the very

out-sentry of the British army. As I stood on my post, peering into

the thick wood around me, I was aware of footsteps approaching,

and challenged in a low voice. Receiving no answer, I brought my

rifle to the port, and bade the strangers come forward. They were

Major Napier (then of the 50th Foot, I think), and an officer of the

Rifles. The major advanced close up to me, and looked hard in my face.

"'Be alert here, sentry,' said he, 'for I expect the enemy upon us

to-night, and I know not how soon.'

"I was a young soldier then, and the lonely situation I was in,

together with the impressive manner in which Major Napier delivered

his caution, made a great impression on me, and from that hour I

have never forgotten him. Indeed, I kept careful watch all night,

listening to the slightest breeze amongst the foliage, in expectation

of the sudden approach of the French."

Of Wellington himself--then Sir Arthur Wellesley--we have a brief

sketch at Vimiero:--

"I remember seeing the Duke of Wellington during the battle of

Vimiero; and in these days, when so much anxiety is displayed to

catch even a glance of that great man's figure as he gallops along

the streets of London, it seems gratifying to me to recollect seeing

him in his proper element, 'the raging and bloody field,' and I have

frequently taxed my mind to remember each action and look I caught of

him at that time.

"I remember seeing the great Duke take his hat off in the field of

Vimiero, and methinks it is something to have seen that wonderful man

even do so commonplace a thing as lift his hat to another officer in

the battle-field. We were generally enveloped in smoke and fire, and

sometimes unable to distinguish or make remarks upon what was going

on around, whilst we blazed away at our opponents; but occasionally

we found time to make our comments upon the game we were playing. Two

or three fellows near me were observing what was going on just in

the rear, and I heard one man remark, 'Here comes Sir Arthur and his

staff'; upon which I also looked back, and caught sight of him just

meeting two other officers of high rank. They all uncovered as they

met, and I saw the Duke, as I said (then Sir Arthur Wellesley), take

off his hat and bow to the other two. The names of the new-comers,

however they were learnt, whether from some of the men who had before

seen them, or picked up on the instant from an officer, seemed to

be well known, as well as the business they were engaged in talking

of; for it ran along the line from one to the other that Sir Hew

Dalrymple and Sir Harry Burrard were about to take the command,

instead of Sir Arthur Wellesley, a circumstance which, of course,

could only be a random guess amongst these fellows at the moment."

The real hero of Harris's pages, however, is Craufurd, the stern and

even rashly heroic leader of the Light Division, who ended his career

on the great breach at Badajos. Harris came into close contact with

Craufurd, studied him with a curious vividness of insight, and felt

for him an admiring loyalty almost too great for words. His account of

Craufurd gives us what is very rare in literature--a description of a

great commander by one of the privates who trudged in the battalions

he commanded. Harris, in the retreat to Vigo, saw Craufurd under

conditions which might well tax to the uttermost the resources and

temper of a general.

"I do not think I ever admired any man who wore the British

uniform more than I did General Craufurd. I could fill a book with

descriptions of him, for I frequently had my eye upon him in the

hurry of action. It was gratifying to me, too, to think he did not

altogether think ill of me, since he has often addressed me kindly

when, from adverse circumstances, you might have thought that he

had scarcely spirits to cheer up the men under him. The Rifles

liked him, but they also feared him, for he could be terrible when

insubordination showed itself in the ranks. 'You think, because you

are Riflemen, you may do whatever you think proper,' said he one day

to the miserable and savage-looking crew around him in the retreat

to Corunna; 'but I'll teach you the difference before I have done

with you.' I remember one evening during the retreat he detected two

men straying away from the main body; it was in the early stage of

that disastrous flight, and Craufurd knew well that he must do his

utmost to keep the division together. He halted the brigade with a

voice of thunder, ordered a drum-head court-martial on the instant,

and they were sentenced to a hundred apiece. Whilst this hasty trial

was taking place, Craufurd dismounting from his horse stood in the

midst, looking stern and angry as a worried bulldog. He did not like

retreating at all, that man.

"The three men nearest him as he stood, were Jagger, Dan Howans, and

myself. All were worn, dejected, and savage, though nothing to what

we were after a few days more of the retreat. The whole brigade were

in a grumbling and discontented mood, and Craufurd, doubtless, felt

ill-pleased with the aspect of affairs altogether.

"'D--n his eyes!' muttered Howans, 'he had much better try to get us

something to eat and drink than harass us in this way.'

"No sooner had Howans disburdened his conscience of this growl than

Craufurd, who had overheard it, turning sharply round, seized the

rifle out of Jagger's hand, and felled him to the earth with the

butt-end.

"'It was not I who spoke,' said Jagger, getting up and shaking his

head. 'You shouldn't knock me about.'

"'I heard you, sir,' said Craufurd, 'and I will bring you also to a

court-martial.'

"'I am the man who spoke,' said Howans. 'Ben Jagger never said a

word.'

"'Very well,' returned Craufurd, 'then I'll try you, sir.'

"And, accordingly, when the other affair was disposed of, Howans's

case came on. By the time the three men were tried it was too dark

to inflict the punishment. Howans, however, had got the complement

of three hundred promised to him; so Crauford gave the word to the

brigade to move on. He marched all that night on foot, and when the

morning dawned I remember that, like the rest of us, his hair, beard,

and eyebrows were covered with the frost, as if he had grown white

with age. We were, indeed, all of us in the same condition. Scarcely

had I time to notice the appearance of morning before the general

once more called a halt--we were then on the hills. Ordering a square

to be formed, he spoke to the brigade, as well as I can remember, in

these words, after having ordered the three before-named men of the

95th to be brought into the square:--

"'Although,' said he, 'I should obtain the goodwill neither of the

officers nor the men of the brigade here by so doing, I am resolved

to punish these three men according to the sentence awarded, even

though the French are at our heels. Begin with Daniel Howans.'

"This was indeed no time to be lax in discipline, and the general

knew it. The men, as I said, were some of them becoming careless and

ruffianly in their demeanour, whilst others again I saw with the

tears falling down their cheeks from the agony of their bleeding

feet, and many were ill with dysentery from the effects of the bad

food they had got hold of and devoured on the road. Our knapsacks,

too, were a bitter enemy on this prolonged march. Many a man died, I

am convinced, who would have borne up well to the end of the retreat,

but for the infernal load we carried on our backs. My own knapsack

was my bitterest enemy; I felt it press me to the earth almost at

times, and more than once felt as if I should die under its deadly

embrace. The knapsacks, in my opinion, should have been abandoned at

the very commencement of the retrograde movement, as it would have

been better to have lost them altogether, if, by such loss, we could

have saved the poor fellows who, as it was, died strapped to them on

the road.

"There was some difficulty in finding a place to tie Howans up, as

the light brigade carried no halberts. However, they led him to a

slender ash tree which grew near at hand.

"'Don't trouble yourself about tying me up,' said Howans, folding his

arms, 'I'll take my punishment like a man!'

"He did so without a murmur, receiving the whole three hundred.

His wife, who was present with us, I remember, was a strong, hardy

Irishwoman. When it was over, she stepped up and covered Howans

with his grey greatcoat. The general then gave the word to move on.

I rather think he knew the enemy was too near to punish the other

two delinquents just then; so we proceeded out of the corn-field in

which we had been halted, and toiled away upon the hills once more,

Howans's wife carrying the jacket, knapsack, and pouch, which the

lacerated state of the man's back would not permit him to bear.

"It could not have been, I should think, more than an hour after the

punishment had been inflicted upon Howans, when the general again

gave the word for the brigade to halt, and once more formed them

into a square. We had begun to suppose that he intended to allow the

other two delinquents to escape, under the present difficulties and

hardships of the retreat. He was not, however, one of the forgetful

sort, when the discipline of the army under him made severity

necessary.

"'Bring out the other two men of the 95th,' said he, 'who were tried

last night.'

"The men were brought forth accordingly, and their

lieutenant-colonel, Hamilton Wade, at the same time stepped forth.

He walked up to the general, and lowering his sword, requested that

he would forgive these men, as they were both of them good soldiers,

and had fought in all the battles of Portugal.

"'I order you, sir,' said the general, 'to do your duty. These men

shall be punished.'

"The lieutenant-colonel, therefore, recovering his sword, turned

about, and fell back to the front of the Rifles. One of the men,

upon this (I think it was Armstrong), immediately began to unstrap

his knapsack, and prepare for the lash. Craufurd had turned about

meanwhile, and walked up to one side of the square. Apparently he

suddenly relented a little, and, again turning sharply around,

returned towards the two prisoners. 'Stop,' said he. 'In consequence

of the intercession of your lieutenant-colonel, I will allow you thus

much: you shall draw lots and the winner shall escape; but one of the

two I am determined to make an example of.'

"The square was formed in a stubble-field, and the sergeant-major of

the Rifles, immediately stooping down, plucked up two straws, and the

men coming forward, drew. I cannot be quite certain, but I think it

was Armstrong who drew the longest straw, and won the safety of his

hide; and his fellow-gamester was in quick time tied to a tree, and

the punishment commenced. A hundred was the sentence; but when the

bugler had counted seventy-five, the general granted him a further

indulgence, and ordered him to be taken down and to join his company.

The general calling for his horse, now mounted for the first time for

many hours; for he had not ridden all night, not indeed since the

drum-head court-martial had taken place. Before he put the brigade

in motion again, he gave us another short specimen of his eloquence,

pretty much, I remember, after this style:--

"'I give you all notice,' said he, 'that I will halt the brigade

again the very first moment I perceive any man disobeying my orders,

and try him by court-martial on the spot.' He then gave us the word,

and we resumed our march.

"Many who read this, especially in these peaceful times, may suppose

this was a cruel and unnecessary severity under the dreadful and

harassing circumstances of that retreat; but I, who was there, and

was, besides, a common soldier of the very regiment to which these

men belonged, say it was quite necessary. No man but one formed

of stuff like General Craufurd could have saved the brigade from

perishing altogether; and if he flogged two, he saved hundreds from

death by his management.

"It was perhaps a couple of days after this had taken place that we

came to a river. It was tolerably wide, but not very deep, which was

just as well for us; for, had it been deep as the dark regions, we

must have somehow or other got through. The avenger was behind us,

and Craufurd was along with us, and the two together kept us moving,

whatever was in the road. Accordingly, into the stream went the light

brigade, and Craufurd, as busy as a shepherd with his flock, riding

in and out of the water, to keep his wearied band from being drowned

as they crossed over. Presently he spied an officer who, to save

himself from being wet through, I suppose, and wearing a damp pair

of breeches for the remainder of the day, had mounted on the back of

one of his men. The sight of such a piece of effeminacy was enough

to raise the choler of the general, and in a very short time he was

plunging and splashing through the water after them both.

"'Put him down, sir! put him down! I desire you to put that officer

down instantly!' And the soldier, in an instant, I dare say nothing

loath, dropping his burden like a hot potato into the stream,

continued his progress through. 'Return back, sir,' said Crauford to

the officer, 'and go through the water like the others. I will not

allow my officers to ride upon the men's backs through the rivers;

all must take their share alike here.'

"Wearied as we were, this affair caused all who saw it to shout

almost with laughter, and was never forgotten by those who survived

the retreat.

"General Craufurd was indeed one of the few men who was apparently

created for command during such dreadful scenes as we were familiar

with in this retreat. He seemed an iron man; nothing daunted

him--nothing turned him from his purpose. War was his very element,

and toil and danger seemed to call forth only an increasing

determination to surmount them. I was sometimes amused with his

appearance, and that of the men around us; for, the Rifles being

always at his heels, he seemed to think them his familiars. If he

stopped his horse, and halted to deliver one of his stern reprimands,

you would see half-a-dozen lean, unshaven, shoeless, and savage

Riflemen, standing for the moment leaning upon their weapons, and

scowling up in his face as he scolded; and when he dashed the spurs

into his reeking horse, they would throw up their rifles upon their

shoulders and hobble after him again. He was sometimes to be seen

in the front, then in the rear, and then you would fall in with

him again in the midst, dismounted, and marching on foot, that the

men might see he took an equal share in the toils which they were

enduring. He had a mortal dislike, I remember, to a commissary. Many

a time have I heard him storming at the neglect of those gentry;

when the men were starving for rations, and nothing but excuses

forthcoming.

"Twice I remember he was in command of the light brigade. The second

time he joined them he made, I heard, something like these remarks,

after they had been some little time in Spain:--

"'When I commanded you before,' he said, 'I know full well that you

disliked me, for you thought me severe. This time I am glad to find

there is a change in yourselves.'"

CHAPTER VII

THE "TOMMY ATKINS" OF A CENTURY AGO.

Harris's descriptions of his comrades are always kindly, but they are

keen. There is a touch of barrack freedom about them, and they have

a Dutch realism which sometimes makes them unquotable. They give an

excellent idea of the British soldier of a bygone generation, the men

who constituted the rank and file of the most famous army that ever

marched beneath the British flag--the men of the Peninsula. Perhaps

nowhere else in literature can be found descriptions so homely and

real of the soldier as seen--on the march, in the firing line, and by

the camp-fire--by his own comrade. Harris's attention is naturally

most arrested by the human oddities amongst his comrades, or by such

of them as had in their appearance, or in their fate, a gleam of the

picturesque. Here are some of the portraits in his picture gallery:--

"A youth joined the Rifles soon after I myself put on the green

jacket, whose name was Medley. He was but a small chap, being under

the standard one inch[5]; but our officers thought he promised fair

to become a tall fellow, and he was, accordingly, not rejected.

Medley did not deceive them, for, on the day he first joined the

Rifles, he was five feet one inch in height, and on the day he was

killed, at Barossa, he was exactly six feet one. He was celebrated

for being the greatest grumbler, the greatest eater, and the most

quarrelsome fellow in the whole corps. I remember he cut a most

desperate figure in the retreat to Corunna; for there he had enough

to bear both of fatigue and hunger; and a very little of either of

these disagreeables would make him extremely bad company at any time.

It was dangerous, too, to bid him hold his tongue sometimes; for he

had picked up so amongst us since he was only five feet one, and

grown so bony as well as tall, that he would challenge and thrash

any man in the corps. Corunna, however, though it could not stop

his growling, took the desire of boxing quite out of him, and he

sprawled, scrambled, and swore, till he somehow got through that

business. If General Craufurd could have heard but the twentieth

part of what I heard him utter about him on that retreat, I think he

would have cut Medley in half. He was, as I said, a capital feeder,

and his own allowance was not half enough to satisfy his cravings, so

that he often got some of his comrades to help him out with a portion

of theirs. He was killed at Barossa, as I said, and he carried his

ill-humour with him to the very last hour of his life; for, being

knocked over by a musket-ball in the thigh, he was spoken to as he

lay by some of his comrades, who, asking if they should assist him,

and carry him to the rear, he told them to 'Go and be d--d!' and

bidding them mind their own business, abused them till they passed on

and left him. I was told this last anecdote of him by the very men

who had spoken to him and got his blessing as he lay.

* * * * *

"We had another tall fellow in the four companies of Rifles who were

in that retreat. His name was Thomas Higgins; he was six feet one

and a half, and quite as lank and bony as Medley. He also was an

ill-tempered fellow, but nothing to compare with him either in eating

or grumbling. The tall men, I have often observed, bore fatigue much

worse than the short ones; and Higgins amongst others of the big 'uns

was dreadfully put to it to keep on. We lost him entirely when about

half through this business, I remember; for, during a short halt of

about ten minutes, he was reprimanded by one of our officers for the

slovenly state of his clothing and accoutrements; his dress almost

dropping from his lower limbs, and his knapsack hanging by a strap or

two down about his waist. Higgins did not take it at all kind being

quarrelled with at such a time, and, uttering sundry impertinences,

desired to know if they were ever to be allowed to halt any more,

adding that he did not see very well how he was to be very smart

after what he had already gone through. The officer spoke to one of

the sergeants upon this, and bid him remember, if they got to their

journey's end, to give Higgins an extra guard for his behaviour.

'Oh! then, d--n me,' says Higgins, 'if ever I take it!' and turning

about, as we all moved on at the word to march, he marched off in

the contrary direction, and we never either saw or heard of him from

that hour; and it was supposed afterwards, amongst us, that he had

either perished alone in the night, or joined the French, who were at

our heels. These were the two tallest men in the four companies of

Rifles; and both were in the company I belonged to. Higgins was the

right-hand, and Medley the left-hand man.

* * * * *

"Thomas Mayberry was a man well known at that time in the Rifles. He

was a sergeant in my day, and was much thought of by our officers as

a very active and useful non-commissioned officer, being considered,

up to the time of his committing the slight mistake I shall have to

tell of, one of the most honest men in the army. With the men he

was not altogether so well liked, as he was considered rather too

blusterous and tyrannical. Whilst in the town of Hythe, he got the

fingering of about two hundred pounds for the purpose of paying

for necessaries purchased for the men of his company, and which

two hundred pounds he had, in a very short space of time, managed

to make away with, and lose in the society of a party of gamblers,

who at that time infested the town of Hythe. He was brought to

court-martial, together with two other men, whom he had seduced to

become partners in his gambling transactions; and, on the inquiry,

it was further discovered that he had been in the habit of cheating

the men of his company out of a farthing a week each for the last

ten months. That was, perhaps, the worst thing against him. He was

sentenced to receive seven hundred lashes.

"When Mayberry was tied up, he was offered, as was then customary,

the option of banishment; but he refused it, notwithstanding

considerable entreaty was made to him by his two comrades to accept

it, as, by so doing, they thought they all would escape the lash.

However, Mayberry decided to take the seven hundred, and bore the

sentence without a murmur. Not so the two others; Morrisson screamed

and struggled so much, that he capsized the triangle, and all came

sprawling together, so that he was obliged to be held by a man at

each side. Devine came last. He was rather an effeminate-looking man,

and the colonel rode round and told him he lamented being obliged to

break so fair a skin, but he must do his duty. However, as he had

borne a good character, and was not so much to blame as the other

two, he let him down after five-and-twenty.

"Mayberry after this was much scouted by his fellow-soldiers, and

also ill-thought-of by the officers; and, on a detachment being

sent to Portugal, he volunteered for the expedition. Captain Hart,

however, would fain have declined taking him, as he had so bad an

opinion of him after this affair; but Mayberry showed himself so

desirous of going, that at last he consented, and took him. At the

siege of Badajos, Mayberry wiped off, in a measure, all his former

ill-conduct. He was seen by Captain Hart to behave so bravely in the

breach, that he commended him on the spot.

"'Well done, Mayberry!' said he; 'you have this day done enough

to obliterate your disgrace; and, if we live, I will endeavour to

restore you to your former rank. Go now to the rear; you have done

enough for one day.' Mayberry, however, refused to retire, although

covered with wounds; for he was known to have killed seven with his

own hand, with his rifle sword-bayonet.

"'No going to the rear for me,' he said. 'I'll restore myself to my

comrades' opinion, or make a finish of myself altogether.'

"He accordingly continued in the front of all, till at last he

was seen to be cut down, in the clear light of the fire-balls, by

a tremendous sword-cut, which cleft his skull almost in twain.

Morrisson, I heard, also died at that siege. Devine returned safe

home, and died of fatigue at Fermoy.

* * * * *

"The intelligence of these men was indeed very great, and I could

relate instances of their recklessness and management which would

amuse the reader much. I remember a fellow, named Jackman, getting

close up to the walls at Flushing, and working a hole in the earth

with his sword, into which he laid himself, and remained there alone,

in spite of all the efforts of the enemy and their various missiles

to dislodge him. He was known, thus earthed, to have killed, with the

utmost coolness and deliberation, eleven of the French artillerymen

as they worked at their guns. As fast as they relieved each fallen

comrade did Jackman pick them off; after which he took to his heels,

and got safe back to his comrades.

* * * * *

"There were three brothers in the Rifles named Hart--John, Mike, and

Peter--and three more perfectly reckless fellows, perhaps, never

existed. Nothing ever escaped their notice; and they would create

the greatest fun and laughter, even when advancing under the hottest

fire of the enemy, and their comrades being shot down beside them. I

remember Lieutenant Molly, who was himself 'as fine a soldier as ever

stepped, and as full of life in the midst of death' as these Harts,

being obliged to check them at Vimiero. 'D--n you!' he said to them,

'keep back, and get under cover. Do you think you are fighting here

with your fists that you are running into the teeth of the French?'

"I never saw those three men, to appearance, in the least degree

worse for hard work during the time we remained in Portugal.

They could run like deer, and were, indeed, formed by nature and

disposition for the hardships, difficulties, and privations of the

sort of life we then led. They were, however, all three pretty well

done up during the retreat to Corunna; though, even in that dreadful

business, their lightheartedness and attempts at fun served to keep

up the spirits of many a man who would else have been broken-hearted

before the English shipping appeared in sight. They even carried

their pleasantry on that occasion so far as to make a jest of their

own appearance, and the miserable plight of the whole turn-out, as we

disembarked upon the beach at Portsmouth. One of them even went so

far as to observe, 'that we looked more like the rakings of h-- than

the fragments of an army!'

"Nothing, indeed, but that grave of battalions, that unwholesome

fen, Flushing, could have broken the spirits of three such soldiers

as John, Mike, and Peter Hart. A few weeks, however, of that country

sufficed to quiet them for evermore. One, I remember, died; and

the other two, although they lived to return, were never worth a

rush afterwards, but, like myself, remained living examples of what

climate can bring even a constitution and body framed as if of iron

to.

"Nothing I suppose could exceed the dreadful appearance we cut on

the occasion of the disembarkation from Corunna; and the inhabitants

of Portsmouth, who had assembled in some numbers to see us land, were

horror-stricken with the sight of their countrymen and relatives

returning to England in such a ghastly state; whilst the three Harts,

with feet swathed in bloody rags, clothing that hardly covered their

nakedness, accoutrements in shreds, beards covering their faces, eyes

dimmed with toil (for some were even blind), arms nearly useless to

those who had them left, the rifles being encrusted with rust, and

the swords glued to the scabbard--these three brothers, I say (for

I heard them myself), as they hobbled up the beach, were making all

sorts of remarks, and cracking their jokes upon the misery of our

situation and the appearance they themselves cut.

* * * * *

"Whilst we lay near Cork we were joined by one Richard Pullen,

amongst others; he had exchanged from the English militia into the

Irish, and volunteered to us Rifles from the North Mayo. He brought

with him little else to boast of but his wife and his two children,

Charles and Susan. Charles was a mischievous boy of about twelve,

and Susan was a pretty little lass of about fourteen years of age.

I remember they all went with us to Copenhagen, and got through

that expedition pretty well. That affair suited a man of Pullen's

description, for he didn't like too much service; and we soon found

he was rather a shy cock. I remember remarking that Pullen (even on

the first day of the retreat to Corunna) looked very chapfallen and

seedy; and he was beginning even then to complain that he could not

stand much more. The wife and children, too, were dropping behind.

They all thought, poor souls! that when night came on they were, of

course, to be billeted; but the open world was now their only refuge,

and no allowance to stop or lie down, even on the bare heath, at that

time. I saw Pullen again on the third or fourth day; neither the

wife nor children were then with him, nor could he tell where they

were; he could only answer for himself, and expected to drop dead,

he said, every step. That's all I saw of Pullen and his wife and

children on the retreat, or even thought of them; for I had enough

to do to keep my own strength up. When we landed at Portsmouth,

both myself and others (to our no small surprise) saw Pullen once

more; and much we wondered at the sight of him, when so many better

and stronger soldiers had died before half of that retreat was

accomplished. We found that he had left behind him, and knew nothing

of the fate of either his wife or his children, Charles and Susan. As

the men continued to disembark, however, there was Pullen inquiring

anxiously of every one for some tidings of them. None, however, could

he get. At last he saw his wife coming up the beach, and hobbled off

to meet her, each at the same moment inquiring for the children,

Charles and Susan. He trusted they were with the wife; and she hoped

they were with the husband; and both sat down upon the beach and

cried in concert.

"All our men thought it useless of them to continue their inquiries;

but they never failed to ask after their offspring of every fresh

face they fell in with who had been in that retreat. In about a

fortnight's time, not satisfied, they advertised Charles and Susan in

the public newspapers; and we all laughed at the very idea of their

ever finding them again, and told them they might have spared the

money. To our no small surprise, however, the artillery at Plymouth

answered their advertisement, stating that a little girl had been

heard screaming upon the mountains in Spain by them in the night, and

that they had taken care of her as well as they could, and had her

then with them. The description answering, the girl was forwarded

to Hythe; and Pullen and his wife once more embraced their daughter

Susan.

* * * * *

"There was, I recollect, a man of the name of Bell, of the Rifles,

who had been during this day holding a sort of creeping race with

me--we had passed and repassed each other as our strength served.

Bell was rather a discontented fellow at the best of times; but

during this retreat he had given full scope to his ill-temper,

cursing the hour he was born, and wishing his mother had strangled

him when he came into the world, in order to have saved him from his

present toil. He had not now spoken for some time, and the sight of

the English shipping had apparently a very beneficial effect upon

him. He burst into tears as he stood and looked at it.

"'Harris,' he said, 'if it pleases God to let me reach those ships, I

swear never to utter a bad or discontented word again.'

* * * * *

"The history of Sergeant-Major Adams is somewhat singular. I was

his great friend at this time, and he confided some part of it to

me. He had been a croppy (a rebel) and had fought at Vinegar Hill.

When the rebels were defeated he escaped, and lived some time in the

wilds of Connemara. He afterwards thought it best to enlist in the

Donegal militia, and then volunteered to the Rifles. Here he soon

rose (whilst in Spain) to the rank of sergeant. During the retreat to

Corunna, Sergeant-Major Crosby failed, and Craufurd promoted Adams

in his place. At St. Sebastian he was noticed by General Graham for

his bravery with the forlorn hope; a commission was given him, and

he afterwards joined a regiment in Gibraltar, where he was made

adjutant. He then went to America, where he served with credit till

he died. I believe I was the only man in the regiment who knew of his

having been a rebel, and I kept the secret faithfully till his death.

* * * * *

"The story of Demon, whom I myself enlisted from the Leicester

militia, is not a little curious. Demon was a smart and very

active man, and serving as corporal in the light company of the

Leicestershire, when I persuaded him to join our corps, where he was

immediately made a sergeant in the third battalion then just forming,

and from which he eventually rose to be a commissioned officer in one

of our line regiments. The cause which led to Demon's merits being

first noticed was not a little curious, being neither more nor less

than a race.

"It happened that at Shoreham Cliff, soon after he joined, a race was

got up among some Kentish men who were noted for their swiftness, and

one of them, who had beaten his companions, challenged any soldier

in the Rifles to run against him for two hundred pounds. The sum was

large, and the runner was of so much celebrity that, although we had

some active young fellows amongst us, no one seemed inclined to take

the chance, either officers or men, till at length Demon stepped

forth and said he would run against this Kentish boaster or any man

on the face of the earth, and fight him afterwards into the bargain,

if any one could be found to make up the money. Upon this an officer

subscribed the money, and the race was arranged.

"The affair made quite a sensation, and the inhabitants of the

different villages from miles around flocked to see the sport;

besides which the men from different regiments in the neighbourhood,

infantry, cavalry, and artillery, also were much interested, and

managed to be present, which caused the scene to be a very gay one.

In short the race commenced, and the odds were much against the

soldier at starting, as he was a much less man than the other, and

did not at all look like the winner. He, however, kept well up with

his antagonist, and the affair seemed likely to end in a dead heat,

which would undoubtedly have been the case, but Demon, when close

upon the winning-post, gave one tremendous spring forward, and won it

by his body's length.

"This race, in short, led on to notice and promotion. General

Mackenzie was in command of the garrison at Hythe. He was present,

and was highly delighted at the Rifleman beating the bumpkin, and saw

that the winner was the very cut of a soldier, and, in short, that

Demon was a very smart fellow, so that eventually the news of the

race reached the first battalion then fighting in Spain. Sir Andrew

Barnard at the time was then in command of the Rifles in Spain; upon

being told of the circumstance, remarked that, as Demon was such a

smart runner in England, there was very good ground for a Rifleman to

use his legs in Spain. He was accordingly ordered out with the next

draft to that country, where he so much distinguished himself that he

obtained his commission, as already mentioned."

One gleam of the more tender sentiments which shines in Harris's

"Recollections"--almost the solitary love affair he records--was of a

very amusing kind. He was the shoemaker of the company, and when in

Lisbon he was detailed, with three other men, to discover a shoemaker's

shop, where all the worn-out shoes of the battalion might be mended.

Says Harris:--

"We carried with us three small sacks filled with old boots and

shoes, and entering Lisbon went into the first shoemaker's shop we

saw. Here I endeavoured in vain to make myself understood for some

time. There was a master shoemaker at work and three men. They did

not seem to like our intrusion, and looked very sulky, asking us

various questions which I could not understand, the only words I

could at all comprehend being, 'Bonos Irelandos, brutu Englisa.' I

thought, considering we had come so far to fight their battles for

them, that this was the north side of civil; so I signed to the

men, and, by way of explanation of our wishes, and in order to cut

the matter short, they emptied the three sackful of boots and shoes

upon the floor. We now explained what we would be at; the boots and

shoes of the Rifles spoke for themselves, and, seating ourselves,

we commenced work forthwith. In this way we continued employed

whilst the army lay near Lisbon, every morning coming in to work and

returning to the camp every night to sleep.

"After we had been there several days, our landlord's family had the

curiosity to come occasionally and take a peep at us. My companions

were noisy, good-tempered, jolly fellows, and usually sang all the

time they hammered and strapped. The mistress of the house, seeing

I was the head-man, occasionally came and sat down beside me as I

worked, bringing her daughter, a very handsome dark-eyed Spanish

girl, and as a matter of course I fell in love.

"We soon became better acquainted, and the mother one evening, after

having sat and chatted to me, serving me with wine and other good

things, on my rising to leave the shop, made a signal for me to

follow her. She had managed to pick up a little English, and I knew

a few words of the Spanish language, so that we could pretty well

comprehend each other's meaning; and after leading me into their

sitting-room, she brought her handsome daughter, and, without more

circumstance, offered her to me for a wife. The offer was a tempting

one, but the conditions of the marriage made it impossible for me to

comply, since I was to change my religion and desert my colours. The

old dame proposed to conceal me effectually when the army marched,

after which I was to live like a gentleman, with the handsome Maria

for a wife.

"It was hard to refuse so tempting an offer, with the pretty Maria

endeavouring to back her mother's proposal. I, however, made them

understand that nothing would tempt me to desert, and, promising to

try and get my discharge when I returned to England, protested I

would then return and marry Maria.

"Soon after this the army marched for Spain; the Rifles paraded in

the very street where the shop I had so long worked at was situated,

and I saw Maria at the window. As our bugles struck up she waved

her handkerchief; I returned the salute, and in half-an-hour had

forgotten all about her. So much for a soldier's love!"

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 5: The standard at that time, when men were quickly used up,

was five feet two with us.]

III

A ROYAL HIGHLANDER

III.--A ROYAL HIGHLANDER

James Anton, who rose to be quarter-master-sergeant of the 42nd, or

Royal Highlanders, and wrote a "Retrospect of Military Life," published

in 1841, was a typical Scottish soldier of the ranks. His memoir

gives, quite unconsciously, an amusing picture of the writer. He was

but an infant when his father died. His mother, a Scottish peasant

woman, hardy and frugal like all her class, reared her child with an

even greater economy of oatmeal and a more plentiful allowance of the

Shorter Catechism than is common in the poorest Scottish homes.

Anton is fond of describing his experiences in large literary terms. Of

his mother he says, "Sparta never had her equal in respect to what may

be called self-denial. She ceased not by precept, as well as example,

to impress on me the same contempt for ease and luxury she herself

entertained." Probably Anton's mother had the vaguest notion of what

such words as "ease and luxury" meant. She worked like a slave, fared

like a Trappist monk, and trained her child to thin diet, long lessons,

and hard work from his tenderest years.

Like most Scottish mothers, she was a God-fearing woman, rich in the

homely wisdom of peasant life. A love of education burns in Scottish

blood of all ranks, and young Anton was drilled in grammar and the

multiplication table, plentifully flavoured with the Shorter Catechism,

the proverbs of Solomon, the Psalms of David, and Scripture history

generally.

He emerged from the process lean and stunted physically--he was

rejected at first for the militia as being under the standard, and

only succeeded in striking the gauge on a second test by standing on

half tip-toe. But he had some of the qualities which go to make a

good soldier. He was cool, shrewd, tough, rich, after the fashion of

Scottish youth, in hard-headed common-sense, with a stomach that could

extract nutriment from the sternest diet, and a frugality which could

accumulate savings from the very scantiest pay. He records with true

Scottish complacency that when he entered the militia he had saved the

magnificent sum of £15; and before he left that corps for the line

this had grown to £60. That was a very remarkable record for a private

soldier; and, characteristically enough, he adds that during this whole

process he sent a £1 note at regular intervals to his mother--a form of

domestic piety in which a Scottish lad, peasant or soldier, does not

often fail.

It may be asked what impulse sent a youth of this type--under-sized,

lean, frugal, canny--to a soldier's life? But a fighting impulse is

native to Scottish blood, whether Lowland or Highland; and Anton, in

addition, had wit enough to see that a soldier's career for the sober,

frugal, order-obeying, pence-accumulating Scottish peasant had many

advantages. Certainly, Anton himself did not do badly as a private of

the 42nd.

Anton joined the militia in 1802. While serving in Aberdeen the

militiamen were allowed to sell their labour, when drill was over, to

the contractors then occupied in building a bridge over the Denburn;

and Anton, of course, worked hard and long, and so the pence in his

pouch grew fast. He records, quaintly, his joy in the very frugality of

the rations served out to him and his fellow-militiamen. They received

half a pound of beef or mutton per man daily; and this was a quarter

of a pound less than the orthodox allowance. But, Anton argues, "if

we did not get it, we did not pay for it. Indeed, small allowances of

provisions are always best. Why force upon us," he asks indignantly,

"more than is barely necessary for subsistence, when--when, in brief,

more meal in the platter means fewer pence in the pocket?" It was not

for nothing that Anton had been brought up with something more than

Spartan rigour!

Anton entered the army just in time to see one ridiculous custom

disappear. The long, elaborate, flour-besprinkled and grease-besmeared

queue of Marlborough's days still dangled down the unfortunate

soldier's back. Anton records the deliverance of the army from this

barbaric ornament with a touch of unusual feeling:--

"During the time that the regiment was quartered in Musselburgh, a

general order was issued for the army to discontinue the tying of

the hair, and to have it cropped. Never was an order received with

more heartfelt satisfaction than this, or obeyed with more alacrity,

notwithstanding the foolish predictions of some old superannuated

gentlemen that it would cause a mutiny in the army. The tying was a

daily penance, and a severe one, to which every man had to submit;

and there is little doubt but this practice had been introduced by

some foreign fops, and enforced by antiquated prigs as necessary to

the cleanly appearance of the soldier. It had been very injurious

in its effects on the general comforts of those who were obliged to

submit to it, and the soldier looks back to the task with the painful

remembrance of the punishment he suffered every morning, daubing the

side of his head with dirty grease, soap, and flour, until every

hair stood like the burr of a thistle, and the back was padded and

pulled so that every hair had to keep its due place; if one less

subordinate than the rest chanced to start up in spite of grease,

soap-lather, and flour, the poor man had to sit down and submit his

head to another dressing, and afterwards parade for inspection among

the defaulters of the regiment.

"A certain latitude and longitude was assigned for the breadth and

length of the queue, to which a gauge was frequently applied, in

the same manner as some modern sticklers for uniformity at this day

use a measure to ascertain the dimensions of the soldiers' folded

greatcoats at guard mounting; but with this difference, the coat

receives no bad impression from the stickler's gauge, whereas the

greased and powdered hair retained the mark, and the poor fellow who

had the misfortune to have the powder brushed aside by his awkward

inspector, stood a chance of being turned off parade to have his hair

dressed afresh, just as if the unlucky mark rendered him unfit for

any military movement, or divested him of all the requisites of a

soldier. Indeed, it was no uncommon circumstance for us, when on the

guard-bench and asleep, to have the rats and mice scrambling about

our heads, eating the filthy stuff with which our hair was bedaubed."

In 1805 Anton joined the 42nd, and his professional life as a soldier

began.

CHAPTER I

ABOUT SOLDIERS' WIVES

Anton's officers were quick to discover his steadiness, his frugality,

his methodical loyalty to every duty of a soldier. He was first put

on recruiting service, and then had his reward in the form which most

delighted him. He was allowed to marry. Only to a certain proportion of

soldiers in each regiment was granted this privilege; and Anton, who

was an odd combination of soft domestic instincts and hard soldierly

pluck, welcomed with a joy which he takes no pains to conceal the

permission to impose on the object of his affections the hardships and

the perils which must befall the wife of a soldier who accompanies her

husband on active service.

Anton plainly showed all his usual Scottish sense in his choice

of a helpmate. She was a hardy peasant girl, plain-featured and

strong-bodied, as frugal, as uncomplaining, and as canny as Anton

himself; and one chief merit of Anton's memoirs is the picture it

offers of a woman's experiences, caught in the rush and whirl of the

great history-making campaigns of the Peninsula.

Anton was still happier when, on his regiment being ordered on active

service, he was allowed to take his wife with him. This was a very

rare privilege indeed. Only four women were permitted to follow each

company of the regiment; and Anton tells how, when the regiment had

reached Ostend, at the beginning of the Waterloo campaign, even this

privilege was suddenly narrowed, and instructions were received that

only two women could be allowed to go with each company. Half the women

of the regiment were thus left stranded, penniless and friendless, in

a foreign port, and saw their red-coated husbands march off into space

with many a backward look at their weeping wives.

But the hardy women of the barracks are not easily defeated. "We had

been only two days in Ghent," says Anton, "when the women left at

Ostend found their way to the regiment." They had marched on their own

account in the regiment's track, and presented themselves bedraggled

and footsore at its quarters in Ghent. The authorities were inexorable,

and the weeping women were again conveyed back to the same place from

which they escaped, and there closely watched. But woman's wit and

wiles proved too much for the sentinels. In a week or two the forsaken

but enterprising wives eluded the vigilance of the sentries, and joined

their husbands once more; and as no official reports were made to their

prejudice, they were allowed to follow the fortunes of their husbands

during the campaign.

Anton, somewhat ungratefully--considering the devotion and sufferings

of his own wife--says that, in his judgment, women ought not to be

allowed to accompany the soldiers through a campaign. He writes:--

"On all occasions of troops being despatched to the scene of

expected hostilities women should not be permitted to accompany

them. If any exception is made in one single instance it only gives

room for pressing and almost irresistible applications from others,

and throws the performance of a very painful duty, namely, refusing

permission, on the officers commanding companies. Every private

soldier conceives that he has as good a right to this indulgence

for his wife as the first non-commissioned officer in the regiment,

and certainly he is right; she will prove much more useful than one

who, instead of being serviceable, considers herself entitled to be

served, assumes the consequence of a lady without any of the good

qualifications or accomplishments of one, and helps to embitter the

domestic enjoyments of others by exciting petty jealousies that

otherwise would never exist."

Anton gives very sensibly, and from the private soldier's point of

view, his opinion of how the soldier's wife should be treated:--

"It is generally the case in selecting women to follow the army to

a foreign station, that choice is made of those without children,

as they are considered more capable of performing the services that

may be required of them than those encumbered with a family. This,

though just as regards our wants, is not so with respect to many a

well-deserving woman, who is thus cast on the public or left to her

own exertions, which too often fail her in the endeavour to support

herself and children, while the childless woman is selected to profit

from that circumstance.

"A woman who is permitted to accompany her husband receives a half

ration free; a child above seven years, one-third; and one under

seven years, a quarter of a ration; and although this is but a very

trifling allowance, would it not do much better to give it to those

of good character who are not permitted to accompany their husbands?

I must also remark that, on foreign stations where this allowance

is made to the women and children, it will be found that the least

necessitous are the first to apply and the first to be placed on

this benevolent list. I have seen privates' wives, with three or

more children, without rations; while the wives and children of

sergeant-majors and quartermaster-sergeants were getting them."

Anton gives--quite incidentally, and without betraying any

consciousness that he is adding a very exceptional chapter to military

records--an account of his own experiences as a married soldier, which

is very amusing and sometimes very touching. Here is his story of an

early Spanish bivouac, and one cannot but pity the feelings of a modest

Scottish girl in such an environment:--

"After having seen the provisions distributed I set about looking

out for some accommodation for my wife, for we had not as yet been

accustomed to lie on the open field, as in bivouac, nor even seen

the like, and the tent was far from comfortable for a poor, wearied,

young woman; I shall not mention delicacy, for that would be out of

place--we must submit to circumstances. The names of seventeen men

were on the roll of the tent besides myself, so it may be easily

guessed how crowded it must have been had the whole been off duty,

but this was seldom the case. However, as no other shelter was to be

had we took a berth under it.

"Eleven soldiers lay in it that night along with us, all stretched

with their feet to the centre and their heads to the curtain of

the tent, every man's knapsack below his head, and his clothes and

accoutrements on his body; the one-half of the blankets under, and

the other spread over the whole, so that we all lay in one bed.

Often did my poor wife look up to the thin canvas that screened her

face from the night-dew and wish for the approaching morn. It was

announced at last, before daybreak, by an exclamation of 'Rouse!'

which passed from tent to tent along the lines, when every man

started up, folded his blanket, and strapped it on the back of his

knapsack, ready for a march, and soon afterwards the sound of bugle

and drum echoed from hill to hill; meanwhile, the army stood to arms,

each regiment at its alarm post, until about sunrise."

The regiment was in camp here for a short time, and Anton resolved on

securing better accommodation for his wife. He says:--

"I now set about erecting a hut for myself and wife, resolving, if

possible, not to mix blankets with so many bedfellows again. This I

was the more anxious to do, because at that time the whole of the men

were affected with an eruption on their skin similar to the itch, and

their clothing was in a very filthy state, owing to its being seldom

shifted, and always kept on during the night.

"With the assistance of a few willing hands I finished the hut in

the course of the day, so that it served for a temporary shelter,

and prevented myself and wife from depriving the men of their very

limited accommodation in the tent. When I stretched myself down at

night in my new habitation, my head rested against the one end, while

my feet touched the other, at which was the entrance; my wife's apron

being hung up as a substitute for a door, a couple of pins on each

side served for lock and hinges, and feeble as that barrier was, none

of the men entered when that was suspended, and we might have left it

to its own keeping from morning till night without an article being

abstracted. Thieving, indeed, was unknown in the regiment; but, in

fact, there was little of worth to steal amongst us."

Later--in October, when the bitter winds were beginning to awake on

the cold summits of the Pyrenees--the division encamped on the heights

above Urdach. Anton then tried his fortunes once more with a hut. But

disaster followed. He writes:--

"Here I erected a hut, larger than my former one and more

substantial. Having occupied that which I had left nearly four weeks,

I considered that, if I were to occupy this the half of that time,

I should be satisfied in bestowing more labour on it, and making

my accommodation more complete; but rain continued to fall for two

days in succession, and placed us in a very unpleasant situation. I

had cut a trench round the outside of my hut so as to carry off the

torrents which rushed against it from the declivities above, and my

poor wife was no less busily employed in securing the few articles

within.

"When the weather cleared I set about re-thatching my new habitation,

but the first night after I had finished my work a violent gale

struck every tent in the camp, and swept my little hut completely

off. I had thrown my blanket over it and fixed it down with cords

and pegs, on purpose to secure the thatch; having thus secured the

roof, or I may rather say my hut, for it was all roof and ends,

we stretched ourselves down, and the roaring of the wind in a few

minutes lulled us to sleep, for we felt confident of having made all

secure.

"Our repose, however, was short; we were awakened by the feeble

branches which composed the rafters falling on our heads, and, on

looking up, no roof sheltered us from the blast. The stars shone

brightly between the flying clouds, and the busy hum of a thousand

voices rose on the wind as the men strove to re-pitch the fallen

tents. We started to secure the few loose articles around us; we

looked for our blanket, but it was gone with the thatch and several

minor articles that were no more to be seen. The men lay close under

the fallen, fluttering tents, whilst I and my trembling companion

found shelter in the lee of a rock, until morning roused every

soldier to arms.

"My wife in the meantime nastily collected a few of the scattered

branches of the hut, and huddled them together, so as to cover an

umbrella, which served as a ceiling to the thatchless roof, until I

should return from duty and construct a more substantial dwelling.

Our loss, trifling as it may seem, was the more severely felt as

there was no opportunity of replacing it by any fair means of

purchase. Our day's provisions were among the articles missing, and

this was far from being a comfortable lookout for the day, as I had

to mount the advance picket that morning: however, we had a little

money, and, scarce as bread was, it was to be had for a good price.

"The advance picket was more than two miles from the camp, and as I

had not taken any provisions with me for the day, my wife bought a

small loaf and a little wine; this last she mulled and mixed with

some of the bread, and was bringing it to me, but in her too great

anxiety to reach me soon, by short roads, she slipped on one of the

steep banks and rolled down a considerable declivity. Fortunately,

she was not hurt, but heartily vexed at her own mishap, returned to

the camp, made a fresh purchase, and again hastened to me. The tear

was in her eye as she related the misfortunes of the day, but she

returned to camp gratified at having provided me with an unexpected

and comfortable refreshment.

"I speak not of these casualties as sufferings on my part, for there

were many worse off than I; but I point them out as some of the

privations to which the poor women following the army had to submit,

and which many of them were ill able to endure, and received but

little sympathy from their husbands while patiently bearing them."

Perseverance is a Scottish virtue, and Anton, with the industry of

a Robinson Crusoe in kilts, set to work to invent a third hut. It

represented a gallant but melancholy attempt to secure the comforts of

domestic life amid the severities of war:--

"I set about constructing a hut that should be proof against wind

and rain. One of my officers (Lieutenant D. Farquharson) very kindly

made an offer of any pecuniary assistance I might require, and gave

me a blanket to replace that which was lost. The latter I accepted

gratefully, it was more than money could purchase; the former I

declined, as I was far from being in want.

"I now became a complete Robinson Crusoe in my daily labour, when

regimental duties permitted; and much I owe in gratitude to the

memory of those who then superintended those duties for the indulgent

manner in which I was treated, and not being troubled with vexatious

interruptions to draw me off from my domestic avocations. They are

now no more; they have fallen on the battle-field of a foreign

land. A few men willingly afforded me every assistance; their only

recompense being a small drop of spirits, which my wife had carefully

reserved from my daily allowance. The wood was at no great distance,

and the face of the hills was covered with broad ferns, which served

for thatch.

"I now laboured hard for three days, and every spare hour, when off

duty, was dedicated to the rendering of my hut proof against the

weather. My friend Fraser gave me the use of the intrenching tools,

and I dug an ample space within, three feet deep, and a trench around

the outside, four feet deep; this was to carry off the water from the

roof, and the latter I secured more substantially than many of our

Highland bothies are in the north of Scotland, or than the cabins

in the remote districts of Ireland. We were enjoying the comfort of

its nightly shelter, and I was adding something daily towards its

stability for upwards of two weeks; at last I constructed a fireplace

under the roof, and one of the men had brought a bundle of sticks for

fuel, and the fire was lighted for the first time.

"I was sitting on my knapsack taking a late dinner, quite at home,

with the dish on my knee, for I had no table, when the drum beat

'Orders.' I set down my dish (a wooden canteen, the one end of which

was taken out) unfinished, attended the call, and with no small

regret heard that the camp was to be struck, and everything ready

to be moved off that night (November 9, 1813). I cannot express how

vexed I was to leave my little habitation, my sole property, which I

held by military right; but I was bound to follow my feudal superior.

I had reared it at the expense of a blister on every finger, and I

exulted as much over it, in secret, as the rich man in the Gospel did

over his extensive possessions and his plentiful stores. On leaving

the camp that night, many of the married people set fire to their

huts, but I left mine with too much regret to become its incendiary;

and my poor Mary shed tears as she looked back upon it, as a bower of

happiness which she was leaving behind."

What the poor soldier's wife felt as she hung in the rear of the

fighting line and watched the drifting smoke, pierced with gleams of

red flame, where her husband stood to shoot and to be shot at; or

with what emotion she scrutinised the figure of each wounded soldier

limping, or being carried, to the rear cannot be guessed; and Anton

does not stop to tell. Perhaps he had not imagination enough to

understand any such emotions in his wife's bosom. Nothing, indeed,

is more wonderful than the unconquerable cheerfulness Anton shows,

as a husband, under all conditions; and if his wife ever grumbled,

Anton does not allow her complaints to become audible to us. After the

passage of the Nivelle the regiment encamped on the actual scene of the

fighting. Says Anton:--

"We bivouacked on the field until morning, and fortunately for us

the night was fair, though cold and frosty. This was the first

night on which my wife and I had to lie down with no other covering

than a blanket between us and the sky, but we had many worse nights

than this afterwards, and worse fields before us; however, on

looking around, we generally saw many worse off than ourselves;

and, doubtless, were we always to look into others' misfortunes or

sufferings, when we suffer ourselves, we would find some cause for

self-congratulation amidst the most distressing hardships."

It would be interesting to know whether Mrs. Anton shared her husband's

stubborn Scottish philosophy. But she is the inarticulate figure of the

two. Her notes on her husband's memoirs would be very interesting; but,

unfortunately, they are not handed down to us. Occasional glimpses are

afforded us of the experience of other wives whose husbands probably

had less of resource and address than Anton. Here is another picture of

a woman's experiences in a campaign:--

"In the neighbourhood of our bivouac were a few straggling houses, in

which some staff officers took up their quarters, and our guard was

posted under the leafless branches of a chestnut tree in the close

vicinity. The sergeant of our guard, being a married man, considered

himself very fortunate in having secured a small pig-sty near his

post for his wife's accommodation, and the poor woman felt happy in

the possession, small as it was; for its roof was a shelter from the

wintry blasts, and its contiguity to the guard left no room to fear

danger, were she permitted to keep possession; however, this was not

to be the case.

"Our adjutant's clerk, who had never occasion to approach the field

in time of danger, had taken up his quarters in one of the adjoining

houses, after the action ceased, but, being dispossessed by some

superiors, and every other place preoccupied by soldiers who would

not suffer his intrusion, he meanly invaded the miserable shelter

selected for the poor woman. In vain she remonstrated with him, in

vain she requested him with tears to allow her the sole possession of

a place so unfit for his accommodation, and which she had laboured

hard to clean out for her own; but to no purpose, she might remain

if she pleased, but he should not depart. It is doubtful whether

we had a woman in the regiment so regardless of her character as

to have taken a night's shelter, in the absence of her husband,

otherwise than with the crowd, where no advantage could be taken of

her situation or weakness; but every man acted towards a modest woman

with that kindness which he would towards a sister. Indeed, we had

women in the regiment that, if they had been in possession, would

have kept him out and put him at defiance to enter, but this one was

not possessed of that masculine boldness; she therefore bundled up

her few articles, and, hastening across the road, the only distance

by which she had been separated from her husband, threw herself in

his arms and burst into tears.

"Three months only had elapsed since this couple joined the regiment.

She was a comely, modest, interesting young woman, and always

unassumingly but cleanly and decently dressed. But allowing that

she had had but few or no accomplishments or amiable qualifications

to recommend her to sympathy, it is but natural to think that

whatever distressed her affected the husband. They had as yet seen or

experienced but little of the petulant intrusions or consequential

presumptuous ill-manners to which soldiers and their wives are

sometimes obliged to submit without remonstrance. 'What is the

matter with you, dear?' the sergeant asked, somewhat astonished at

her unexpected appearance. 'Oh!' she exclaimed, 'I've been turned

out o' yon bit placey that I was in, an' I'm come to stop wi' you a'

night.' 'Who turned you out?' the sergeant hastily inquired. 'Oh,

say naething about it, I'll be as well here wi' you as I would ha'e

been yonder by mysel'; let us mak' no disagreement about the matter

wi' them that we canna shake oursel's free o'; let the proud little

creature keep it to himsel' in quietness; we are strangers as yet, so

dinna let angry words be heard.' 'But what creature turned you out?

surely it was not a man.' 'Ay, he thinks himsel' ane;' she whispered,

'It was G--t.' 'Is it possible,' said the sergeant, 'that a married

man can be possessed of so little feeling as to turn you out to the

inclemency of the night, and neither his wife nor child accompanying

him to plead for the accommodation?' 'I am happier with you,' she

replied, 'than if I had lain all night in yon hole; but, dear, oh,

dear, how hard it rains; the fire will be drowned out, an' we'll be

starved to death before mornin'.'

"'Poor body!' the sergeant ejaculated, as he wrapped the blanket

round her shoulders, 'I'll soon make a good fire; sit you under that

branch of the tree, the reek will annoy you less, and the drops will

not fall so thick nor so heavy.' 'I'm well enough,' she returned,

'and I care na' for the reek or the rain when wi' you; but dinna min'

the fire till this heavy dag's o'er, ye'll get yoursel' a' wet.' The

sergeant threw a faggot of wood on the fire, and in a short time

nothing was heard but the rattling of rain and hailstones, the

braying of mules, and the tinkling of their bells.

"This was a severe night, the rain poured down in torrents until

midnight, when it was succeeded by snow, which covered the face of

the country before daybreak."

It may be suspected that Anton, who is much given to literary

excursions and alarums, has infused a little of what he regarded as

appropriate pathos into this scene. Nevertheless, it is a picture with

real human interest.

Here are some additional examples of what the soldiers' wives in

Wellington's campaign suffered. The troops had to ford the Adour,

whose ice-fed and ice-cold waters were swollen with winter rains. Says

Anton:--

"In passing through, the men supported each other as well as they

could, so as to prevent them falling, for the stones in the bottom

were very slippery. The wife of a sergeant of one of the regiments

attempted to pass on a donkey with a child in her arms, and owing to

some sudden stumble or slip of the animal, the child gave a start and

dropped into the stream; the distracted mother gave a shriek, leaped

after the infant, and both were swept off by the rapid current in

the presence of the husband, who plunged into the water in hopes to

recover them, but they were gone for ever, and he himself was with

difficulty rescued. After this accident, the women who were following

the army remained until the bridge was so far repaired as to enable

them to pass over."

Anton's own wife had an unfortunate experience on the Adour:--

"After having crossed the river, we marched a few miles up the

right bank, or contiguous thereto, on the main road, and took up

our camp-ground for the night in a newly-ploughed field, rendered

a complete mire by the rain and hail which fell upon us with

dreadful fury as we were piling our arms on the broken ridges. Yet,

notwithstanding the severity of this headlong torrent, a hundred

fires were blazing in a few minutes along the side of the fences that

bordered the fields. Fortunately for us, General Pack had taken up

his quarters in the farmhouse adjoining, and allowed straw, of which

there was abundance, to be taken for the bottom of the tents; this

was an unexpected indulgence, even although the straw was rather wet.

"I was General Pack's orderly this night, and had a good roof over

my head, and the dry floor of a cartshed, with plenty of dry straw

for a bed; but my poor wife was absent, for the first time since we

left home. She was detained, along with several other women, on the

right bank of the Adour, until the bridge was repaired. While this

was doing, one of the women belonging to the regiment begged her to

take charge of a little ass-colt with a couple of bundles, until she

should go back to St. Severe to make some purchases; she complied,

and before the other returned, the bridge was repaired. One regiment

had passed, and she followed, driving the colt before her; but before

she got to the farther end, the stubborn animal stood still and would

not move a foot. Another regiment was advancing, the passage was

impeded, and what to do she knew not.

"She was in the act of removing the woman's bundles from the beast's

back, and struggling to get out of the way, determined to leave the

animal, when a grenadier of the advancing regiment, casting his eye

on a finely-polished horn with the masonic arms cut on it, and slung

over her shoulder, stepped aside, saying, 'Poor creature, I shall not

see you left struggling there, for the sake of what is slung by your

side.' At the same time, handing his musket to one of his comrades,

he lifted the colt in his arms and carried it to the end of the

bridge. My poor wife thanked him with the tear in her eye, the only

acknowledgment she could make for his kindness."

In the fighting at Toulouse, one of the married men in the regiment was

killed, and Anton gives a somewhat laboured, but touching, account of

the grief of the soldier's widow:--

* * * * *

"Here fell Cunningham, a corporal in the grenadier company, a man

much esteemed in the regiment; he was a married man, but young, and

was interred before his wife entered the dear-bought field; but

she had heard of his fate, and flew, in spite of every opposition,

to the field; she looked around among the yet unburied soldiers to

find her own, but she found him not. She flew to the place where the

wreck of the regiment lay on the field. 'Tell me,' she asked, 'where

Cunningham is laid, that I may see him and lay him in the grave with

my own hand!' A tear rose in the soldier's eye as he pointed towards

the place, and twenty men started up to accompany her to the spot,

for they respected the man and esteemed the woman.

"They lifted the corpse; the wounds were in his breast; she washed

them, and pressing his cold lips to hers, wept over him, wrapped

the body in a blanket, and the soldiers consigned it to the grave.

Mournful she stood over the spot where her husband was laid, the

earth was again closed over him, and she now stood a lonely,

unprotected being, far from her country or the home of her childhood.

I should not, perhaps, say unprotected, for, however callous our

feelings may occasionally be, amidst a thousand distressing objects

that surround us, any one of which, if individually presented to

our consideration at any other time or place than the battle-field,

would excite our sympathy, yet amidst all these neither the widow

nor the orphan is left unregarded, or in some measure unprovided

for. In this instance, the officer who commanded the company to

which Cunningham belonged, having been severely wounded, sent for

the widow; she became his sick-nurse, and under his protection was

restored in decent respectability to her home.

"The only protection a poor soldier can offer to a woman, suddenly

bereft of her husband, far from her kinsfolk, and without a residence

or home, would, under more favourable circumstances, be considered as

an insult, and perhaps under these, from the pressure of grief that

actually weighs her down, be extremely indelicate.

"I make free to offer this remark, in justification of many a

good woman, who, in a few months, perhaps weeks, after her sudden

bereavement, becomes the wife of a second husband; and, although

slightingly spoken of by some of little feeling, in and out of the

army, yet this is, perhaps, the only alternative to save a lone,

innocent woman's reputation; and the soldier who offers himself may

be as little inclined to the connection through any selfish motive

as the woman may be from any desire of his love, but the peculiar

situation in which she is placed renders it necessary, without

consulting false feelings, or regarding the idle remarks that may be

made, to feel grateful for a protector, and in a soldier, the most

binding is the surest."

CHAPTER II

FIGHTING IN THE PYRENEES

Anton's own adventures in the Peninsula were brief, but of a stern

and exciting quality. His regiment embarked on August 17, 1813, and

thus reached Spain when the war had come to its latest stage--on the

rough and hilly floor of the Pyrenees. The 42nd landed at Passages on

September 7. The first sound of war which reached its ears was the

sullen and distant boom of the guns thundering on San Sebastian. Anton

had an eye for the picturesque, and he gives some interesting pictures

of the scenery of the Pyrenees. Here is his description of a scene

which met his eyes one daybreak shortly after landing:--

"The view from the summits of these mountains at that early hour,

when the sun began to gild their tops, and to throw his cheering rays

on the white canvas which speckled their sides, was grand beyond

description. The valleys below were hidden under an ocean of white,

wreathing mist, over which the hills, like a thousand islands,

raised their rocky summits amidst the pure serenity of a cloudless

atmosphere; the white tents of a British army spotted their sides,

while ten thousand bayonets glittered around. The drums, fifes,

bugles, and wild, warlike strains of the Highland bag-pipe, drowned

the notes of a hundred useless instruments that offered their softer

sounds to the soldiers' ears. Flocks of vultures hovered around to

feed on the bodies of men who had fallen in sequestered spots by the

hostile bullet, and were left to wolves and birds of prey, along with

the carcasses of the exhausted animals that had failed in bearing

their oppressive burdens to the expectant camp.

"As the sun rose over the mountains, the misty vapours rolled away,

and all the vales, woods, streams, and distant cottages appeared to

view. What a lovely prospect this must have been to the once happy

native of the soil!"

On October 6 the 42nd had its first near glimpse of mountain fighting,

though the regiment took no actual part in the combat:--

"On October 6 we advanced towards the heights of Urdach, and

descended a few paces on the brow of that part of the mountain

which overlooks the valley of that name and the distant course of

the Nivelle. A thick cloud hovered beneath us, and hid the country

from our view. The loud report of guns in the valley shook the hills

and echoed throughout the dark woody ravines below, while the quick

rounds of musketry prepared us to expect an order to descend to the

scene of action. The division stood in columns of brigade, or in

lines along the mountain paths, as the position could be taken up.

"We remained upwards of two hours enveloped in the misty clouds,

every man full of anxiety to view the contest below. At last our

wishes were gratified; the curtain arose, and the interesting scene

burst all at once on our view. A far-discerning eye might see the

skirmishers of both armies approaching close to each other, each man

with well-directed aim looking along the deadly tube that sent the

intended messenger of death to the opposing adversary. Vineyards,

orchards, straggling bushy fences, and streamlets with steep banks

intersected the country, and afforded occasional cover to both sides,

as well as a rest to the marksman's musket in taking a deliberate

aim. The ascent of the cloud, which had hovered beneath us and

over the combatants, afforded them a view of our columns and lines

ready to descend, a prospect no less discouraging to the enemy than

animating to our friends."

Anton's first personal experience in the stirring business of war was

at the passage of the Nivelle. The river, it will be remembered, was

approached by a night march. Anton's account is interesting, though

marred by a laborious attempt at fine writing:--

"The moon shone in the cloudless vault of heaven as we descended the

narrow paths of the mountains; behind us were our camp-fires and

blazing huts, while the ill-clothed and worse-disciplined troops of

Spain were hurrying up the mountain path to occupy the ground we had

left. To our right appeared the enemy's watch-fires, blazing brightly

on the distant brow of one of the diverging ridges that jut out from

the main body of the Pyrenees, their pickets little dreaming that we

were worming our way through the intricate windings so near their

posts, in order to rouse them to work in the morning. On our left

a deep, woody ravine, with its roaring stream, skirted our path;

before us the narrow ridge jutted out between two of those ravines,

in a peninsula form, until its extremity overlooked the valley where

we had witnessed the contest on October 6. The path led us down by

many a circuitous and steep descent to the vale of Urdach, which we

reached by daybreak.

"We were now approaching the Nivelle, and all its woody margins were

lined with light troops, our battalions forming in columns about two

furlongs from the bank of the river: not a musket was yet fired.

The guns were already posted on all the commanding eminences on the

left of the river. The generals had given their orders regarding the

attack about to be made, the movements likely to follow, and their

aides-de-camp were flying from corps to corps with the preparatory

directions. No voice was heard, save that of command, until the foot

of the advanced skirmisher was dipped in the stream; the bullet

arrests him in his advance, and, as if at the command of some

necromancer, thick and obscuring clouds rise from bank to bank, from

eminence to eminence, as the loud thunder of war bursts from ten

thousand muskets.

"The river is passed, and the soldiers of France retire or fall

before their stern invaders. We pass through a wood and come to the

bottom of a steep hill (the heights of Ainhoe), the face of which

presents long ridges of formidable breastworks, behind which the

enemy keeps up a heavy fire of musketry, and fears no danger in the

security of his cover. On the summit overlooking these works is a

battery which commands that part of the river within its range.

"The 11th Regiment was now ordered to ascend and storm those

breastworks, and never did a regiment perform a task so dangerous,

so obstructed, and apparently impracticable, with better success or

in better order. Its line was preserved without a break, not only in

climbing the hill but in springing over the breastworks, bayoneting

those that waited its approach, even until it cleared the battery on

the western summit, where, justly proud of its conquest, it made the

hills echo to its loud huzzahs.

"Meantime our regiment advanced more to the right, where, on a gentle

slope of the hill, stood the huts (the recent camp or quarters)

of the enemy. Some of those huts caught fire, and, owing to the

combustible material of which they were constructed, the whole were

nearly enveloped in one blaze. The position which the enemy had

occupied in the morning was now in our possession, and the sixth

division crowned the heights of Ainhoe.

"The regiment's loss this day did not exceed twenty-seven killed and

wounded; among the latter were Captain Mungo M'Pherson and Lieutenant

Kenneth M'Dougall.

"This was the first engagement I was in, and I considered myself no

longer a recruit. I had now smelled the enemy's powder, as the old

soldiers boastingly exclaimed; I had heard his bullets whistling

past my ears, seen them dropping harmless at my feet, and burrowing

in the ground. I had observed, during this contest, the men whom I

knew to be the greatest boasters in the company, men who never ceased

enlarging on the exploits they had accomplished, the actions they had

witnessed, or the hardships they had endured, when they had such a

one as myself to listen to their stories; I observed some of those

boasters very closely, and I could not help remarking that the men

who spoke less acted better.

"It is, perhaps, needless to observe that it is scarcely in the

power of an individual foot-soldier to perform any enterprising

feat in the field of action, unless he be on some detached duty in

front, such as is frequently the case with the skirmishers. If he is

with the battalion he must keep in his ranks; it is on the united

movement of the whole body that general success depends; and he that

rushes forward is equally blamable with him who lags behind, though

certainly the former may do so with less chance of censure, and no

dread of shame. A man may drop behind in the field but this is a

dreadful risk to his reputation, and even attended with immediate

personal danger, while within the range of shot and shells; and woe

to the man that does it, whether through fatigue, sudden sickness,

or fear--let him seek death, and welcome it from the hand of a

foe, rather than give room for any surmise respecting his courage;

for when others are boasting of what they have seen, suffered, or

performed, he must remain in silent mortification.

"I have seen it frequently remarked, in the periodicals of the time,

that the loss in killed and wounded was greater than was actually

acknowledged on our side; that we overrated the enemy's loss, and

underrated our own; but this is not the case. The loss of the enemy,

of course, is a guess rather than a certainty, until we become

possessed of their official returns; but that of our own is never

underrated. Indeed, a soldier feels a greater pride in boasting of

his wounds than in trying to conceal them; mere scratches are often

magnified into wounds, and stated as such in the returns.

"I never yet, among the many I have seen wounded, knew but one

individual who kept his wound from being placed on the list; his name

was Stewart. We were evacuating a redoubt on the heights of Toulouse,

when a bullet struck him behind, pierced through his cartridge-box,

cut his clothes, and hit him smartly on the breech. 'I shall give

that to the rascal again,' he said, as he recovered himself and

picked up the bullet. 'I shall be ashamed,' he added, 'to let it be

known that I was struck behind.' Had this bullet struck him on the

breast or limbs, there would have been one more on our list of that

day's casualties."

Late in November the army went into cantonments; but on the night of

December 8, the troops were in motion again. Says Anton:--

"On the night of December 8, our division was under arms in columns

of brigades until nearly daybreak, the artificers being employed

in placing a bridge of pontoons over the river, below the town. As

soon as this was finished, the troops began to pass along, while the

drummers, left behind, beat the reveille at the usual places. This

circumstance induced the enemy to conclude that we still occupied our

quarters, although we were forming our columns silently in their

neighbourhood, concealed amidst a dense mist. As soon as objects were

discernible, a signal gun announced our time of advance. A wooden

bridge still remained over the river at Ustritz, but so far broken

down by the enemy as to be impassable; the discharge of this gun,

however, so alarmed the French conscript sentries posted at the end

of the bridge, on the right bank, that they retired in great haste

towards the picket to which they belonged, and our artificers lost no

time in making the necessary repairs for the passage of the troops

and stores.

"The greater part of this day's action consisted in skirmishing, in

which the light infantry companies sustained the principal brunt.

Towards the close of the day, the enemy retired upon a farmhouse

situated on a commanding eminence, having some of the adjoining

fields enclosed by low dry-stone walls and quickset hedges, behind

which they appeared in considerable force, supported by some

artillery. In dislodging these troops, Captain George Stewart and

Lieutenant James Stewart, both of the light company, were killed on

the spot, and Lieutenant Brander was severely wounded."

A sudden burst of tempestuous weather arrested the movements of the

troops, and the men returned to their camps. Directly the rains ceased,

however, Soult was once more in movement. Swiftly marching to his

right, he threw the whole strength of his army on the British left,

holding the Jean de Luz road. Failing here, he faced about, pushed on

at speed to his left, and leaped on the British right. In the toilsome

marches and bloody combats of these operations, the 42nd had a full

share. Here is a picture by Anton of the fighting near Bayonne:--

"On the sixth division's attaining the heights overlooking Bayonne,

its movements were immediately directed to its right, so as to

support more effectually the left of the second; and Sir Denis Pack

ordered the 42nd to advance to the main road, by which a brigade of

the enemy was retiring. Our colonel was as anxious to execute the

order as the men were proud to have been selected to perform it, but

he led us into such a brake of furze, thorns, and brambles that it

would have been impossible to have taken our bare-thighed regiment

through its impenetrable meshes. The general, observing our painful

but ineffectual struggling, withdrew us from that spot, and pointed

to another place by which we should have advanced, and which would

have been practicable; but by this time the enemy had passed our

mark, and were descending towards the valley of the Adour, where,

joined by another brigade, they made a determined stand against the

92nd Highlanders, that were coming round on the other flank.

"The ground at that place was intersected with deep drains, loose

stone walls, and thorn bushes. Here a contest ensued, which cannot be

described with justice to both parties; perhaps the like seldom or

never occurred during the war. The enemy, although on their retreat,

were within a short distance of their own fortified position of

Bayonne, and in view of their own army and people, from whom praise

or censure was to be expected; they were also in the animating

discharge of an urgent duty, namely, that of opposing the invaders

of their beloved country. Yet, notwithstanding all these stimulants,

the gallant 92nd bore down every opposition. The guns ceased to play

upon this spot, so closely were both parties intermixed. Muskets

were broken, bayonets bent, and stones were thrown with deadly

vengeance. Victory crowned our native band, but it was dearly bought.

Fourteen officers, eight sergeants, and 163 rank and file lay killed

and wounded on the spot, and thrice that number of the enemy were

scattered in heaps around them.

"The sun sank over the blue waves of the Bay of Biscay, and darkness

rested on the fields, before the fire of the skirmishers ceased. Both

armies, wearied of the struggle, rested on the ground during the

night, the pickets occupying the dilapidated remains of the houses in

front; to these the wounded men crawled for shelter, or were carried

thither if near the spot.

"The unfortunate men who had fallen in remote places were suffered to

remain under the inclement sky, until morning brought them relief, or

death ended their sufferings. The rain poured down heavily during the

night, and those who had crawled for shelter to the dry ditches along

the roads or fields breathed their last beneath the gathering floods."

The bitter, incessant rain now drove the army into permanent winter

quarters, and the British troops shivered in their bleak camps from

December 14, 1813, to February 21, 1814. On the latter date camps were

broken up, and the campaign of 1814 began. Anton's account of the first

great fight of that campaign--Orthez--is naturally concerned only in

the doings of his own regiment:--

"On the afternoon of the 25th we were ordered to halt, just as we

were about to ford the Gave, below a large farmhouse, where the river

is fordable, but was said to have been set with spikes, so as to form

an obstruction to our passage. Perhaps there was no truth in this

report; however, we suddenly retrograded and passed on pontoons, not

far from a small village, in which we were quartered for the night.

On the following day we approached the neighbourhood of Orthez, where

we pitched camp on the south side of the gently rising heights, the

north side of which forms the left bank of the Pau and overlooks the

handsome town beyond.

"An explosion, occasioned by the blowing up of a bridge, excited the

curiosity of a few to steal up the height, notwithstanding that we

had been charged against discovering ourselves to the enemy. Others

followed the example, and as no measures were taken, or perhaps were

necessary, to prevent it, the men indulged themselves with a view

of Orthez, the beautiful valley, with the Pau stealing softly along

its south side, while the long range of mountain heights bounding

it on the north rose abruptly over the road leading from Bayonne

and Peyrehorade. Many a man gazed on that mountain range who little

thought that before to-morrow's sun should go down, he would be

stretched upon it a lifeless corpse."

Orthez was, in many respects, a memorable fight. Soult was superior in

numbers, held an almost impregnable position, fought with great skill,

and for one delusive golden moment believed he had beaten Wellington!

As he saw the British columns which had attacked both his right and

left flanks reeling back, broken and disordered, it is said that he

smote his thigh and exclaimed with excitement, "At last I have them!"

The battle was won by the obstinate valour of the British soldiers,

especially of the immortal Light Division and the swiftness of

Wellington's counter-stroke at Soult's centre. Soult's left was covered

by the Pau, and his centre by what seemed to be an impassable marsh.

Two diverging and hilly ridges, thrust out like the horns of a bull,

constituted his right and left flanks.

Beresford's attack on the French right, though urged five times over,

failed. Picton's assault on the horn which formed Soult's left, urged

with equal fire, also failed. Wellington won by sending the Light

Division across the marsh and breaking Soult's centre. The 42nd formed

part of Picton's attacking force, and the onfall of such troops under

such a leader is not easily arrested; but the position held by the

French was practically impregnable. In a private letter Picton wrote:

"We were for nearly two hours exposed to the most continued and severe

cannonade I ever witnessed. One of our 9-pounders had every man killed

by round shot." In Anton's account the fire of this fierce fight is

somehow chilled:--

"Early on the morning of Sunday, the 27th, we marched down the left

bank of the Pau, passed over on a pontoon bridge, and directed

our course upon the main road up the valley towards Orthez. Two

divisions of the army were already on the road before us. The heights

on our left appeared to be in the possession of the enemy, and as

our movements were plainly to attack his centre or his left, which

was posted in and above the town, corresponding movements became

necessary on his part, and his ranks were seen advancing along the

ridge parallel with ours. As the mountain approaches that place

where the road to St. Severe passes over it from Orthez, there is a

downward bend of about a mile; it rises, however, to a considerable

height on the east side of that road, and commands the town and its

approaches.

"On our coming near this bending, our brigade was ordered to move to

its left; several enclosures were in our way, but this was no time

to respect them, as the enemy was welcoming us with round shot and

shell. The gardens and nurseries were trodden down in an instant,

and a forest of bayonets glittered round a small farmhouse that

overlooked a wooded ravine on the north side.

"The light companies which had preceded the brigade were keeping up a

sharp fire upon the enemy's skirmishers, and our Grenadier company

was ordered to take post along the bank overlooking the ravine, and

commanding a narrow road below. No place seemed less practicable for

cavalry to act, but the enemy were determined to make every effort

to re-establish their lines on the heights from which they had

been driven by the light troops, and some of their squadrons were

seen approaching to drive back our advance, which by this time was

reinforced by the Grenadiers, but the more effectually to repel an

attack, two additional companies were despatched to reinforce those

already sent, and these had scarcely been formed when the charge of

cavalry was announced; it was met and repulsed; men and horses were

tumbled over the steep bank on the narrow road below, skirting the

ravine.

"The gallant young officer who led that charge, passed through the

ranks like a lion pouncing on his prey, and was made prisoner by

M'Namara of the Grenadier company. This man, if my memory serve

me well, gave the horse and sword to one of our captains, who was

afterwards appointed brevet-major; but poor M'Namara, who was more of

a soldier than a courtier, rose not to corporal. After this repulse

of the cavalry, we passed through the ravine, and moved towards the

road that passes over the bending of the hill. The light infantry

companies of the brigade, under the command of Major Cowel, were

skirmishing in front. The major was severely wounded, and carried to

the rear.

"The hill rises rather abruptly on the east side of the road, and

slopes gradually towards the north side, to which our advance was

directed, in order to turn the enemy's right, which had fallen back

as we advanced. There is a small village consisting of one street on

that brow of the hill towards the north, upon which the enemy was

driven back, and from this kept up a destructive fire of musketry

from garden walls, windows, and loopholes. Our regiment was ordered

to drive him from that annoying post, which I may say had now become

the right of his position. The bearer of this order was Lieutenant

Innes, who was then acting brigade-major to Sir D. Pack; he preceded

the regiment, and may be said to have led it on. The word of command

to advance at the charge was received with loud animating cheers.

"No movement in the field is made with greater confidence of success

than that of the charge; it affords little time for thinking,

while it creates a fearless excitement, and tends to give a fresh

impulse to the blood of the advancing soldier, rouses his courage,

strengthens every nerve, and drowns every fear of danger or of death;

thus emboldened, amidst the deafening shouts that anticipate victory,

he rushes on and mingles with the flying foe.

"In an instant the village was in our possession, and the fugitives

were partly intercepted by the advance of the second division of the

army, under Lord Hill, which had passed the Pau above Orthez, and was

now approaching round the east end of the heights.

"The enemy, thus dispossessed of his last position of any importance,

commenced a hasty retreat through some enclosed fields and young

plantations, through which his columns directed their course, until

impeded by intersecting ditches which induced them to take the main

road; there the ranks were broken, confusion ensued, and a complete

rout was the consequence.

"Fortunately for them the sun was nearly set, and although the

pursuit continued for several miles, they succeeded in keeping the

lead, and having reassembled during the night, continued their

retreat towards the Adour.

"The loss of the regiment in this battle was four officers, six

sergeants, and eighty-eight rank and file. We left behind us our

dead, our dying, and our wounded; the former careless who shut those

eyes that looked up to heaven from their gory bed, or who should

consign their naked limbs to a grave in the field of a strange land.

Night suspended hostilities, and the army bivouacked in columns on

the fields bordering the road leading to St. Severe.

"Night after a battle is always glorious to the undisputed victors;

they draw close to one another to hear and tell of the hazards of

the day, while some show the petty prizes snatched off the field,

and curse some inter-meddling satrap that would not let them linger

behind to get a better. The batmen and baggage-guard join the jocund

circles round the camp-fires, and exhibit some full canteens of

wine, the hastily snatched spoil of the day, or the plunder of some

poultry-house, baker's oven, or farmer's pantry, no less acceptable

to men long used to mouldy ship biscuit and scanty fare than silver

or gold would have been to those who experienced no want.

"Midnight shuts our eyes in welcome slumber, and nought is heard

to break the awful stillness that prevails, save the tinkling of

the mule-bells and the tread of a silent soldier round the expiring

embers of a camp-fire."

The pursuit of the enemy after Orthez witnessed some wild and some

amusing scenes:--

"On the 28th we advanced on the road leading to St. Severe, our

cavalry in front pursuing and harassing the enemy's rear, and making

a number of his stragglers prisoners. Many of these were deeply

gashed by sabre wounds, and, being unable to get on so fast as the

escorts urged, they fell down by the roadside faint from loss of

blood, or panting with thirst, frequently soliciting a little water

to cool their parched tongues. It is but justice to say that the

British soldier attended to their appeals and relieved them when in

his power so to do, and sympathised as much for them as if they had

never fired a shot at him.

"We halted this day about three leagues from St. Severe, where the

road is crossed by a considerable stream. A considerable quantity of

vine-supporters lay scattered in bundles contiguous to our regiment's

camp ground, and dry wood being always a desirable article for those

who had the culinary duties to perform, a general charge was made in

order to secure a quantity before the other regiments came to the

knowledge of it.

"Our colonel had just dismounted, and was about to proceed to a

farmhouse adjoining to stable his horse, when the sudden rush of the

men, after having piled their arms and thrown down their knapsacks,

attracted his attention. He gazed upon them with astonishment,

hesitated a moment, and asked one of the guard the cause of so sudden

a movement. This soon discovered itself, for the men were loaded

with armsful of sticks, and rejoicing over their booty and good

luck, anticipating the comfortable warmth it would afford during

the drizzly night. Sir Denis Pack had taken up his quarters in the

farmhouse, or was supposed to have done so, and nothing was more

likely than that he would take an interest in protecting the owner's

property. The colonel, whether in dread of the general, or a mistaken

sense of justice, called out to the marauders, as he was pleased to

call them, to carry back their burdens. Some obeyed, others dropped

them at their feet, and a few less obedient persisted in bringing

them along; but the whole seemed rather unwilling to comply. The

colonel, dissatisfied at the apathy displayed in obeying his orders,

darted among the offenders and personally chastised those who seemed

the most reluctant to obey.

"Among the most refractory of those wood foragers were two men of

singular dispositions; their names were Henderson and Doury. The

former was a contradictory, obstinate, careless, awkward fellow. His

visage was long, his lips thick, his mouth always open, and, to use

a Scotch term, slavering. His feet were flat-soled, without any

spring, and he marched like a wearied pedlar under a pack, jolting

along the road. He had not seen much service, but, like many old

soldiers, he had much to say--he was nicknamed 'the Gomeral.' Doury

was a silly, good-natured simpleton, the butt of every man's jest,

yet no jester himself; for, when excited, his utterance failed so far

that it was little else than a breathless gibbering of inarticulate

sounds. Such another couple was not in the regiment, or perhaps in

the brigade, and would not be accepted of for the service in time

of peace. Those two were bringing in their burdens notwithstanding

the interdiction, and had entered the field on which the colonel was

standing. The colonel, observing that Henderson led the other on,

strode hastily forward to enforce obedience. Doury was the first to

observe him, fled past his companion, dropped the sticks at his feet,

and escaped. Not so Henderson: he fell over the bundle dropped at his

feet, with his face pressed against the soft, miry field; the colonel

overtook him as he recovered, seized him by the kilt, the pins of

which yielded to the tug, and left his naked flesh to some merited

chastisement. This excited bursts of laughter from all the men, and

the poor fellow afterwards declared that he was more vexed at the

laughter than hurt by the punishment."

War is a rough school, and under its hard experiences all the finery of

an army quickly vanishes. Colours fade, feathers moult, bright metals

turn rusty, uniforms grow ragged, and the once "smart" army becomes,

from the tailor's point of view, a thing to weep over or to shudder at.

Here is a picture of a gallant army in rags and sandals:--

"At this time the clothing of the army at large, but the Highland

brigade in particular, was in a very tattered state. The clothing of

the 91st Regiment had been two years in wear; the men were thus under

the necessity of repairing their old garments in the best manner they

could: some had the elbows of their coats mended with grey cloth,

others had the one-half of the sleeve of a different colour from the

body; and their trousers were in equally as bad a condition as their

coats.

"The 42nd, which was the only corps in the brigade that wore the

kilt, was beginning to lose it by degrees; men falling sick and

left in the rear frequently got the kilt made into trousers, and on

joining the regiment again no plaid could be furnished to supply

the loss. Thus a great want of uniformity prevailed; but this was

of minor importance when compared to the want of shoes. As our

march continued daily, no time was to be found to repair them until

completely worn out; this left a number to march with bare feet

or, as we termed it, to pad the hoof. These men being occasionally

permitted to straggle out of the ranks to select the soft part of

the roads or fields adjoining, others who had not the same reason to

offer for this indulgence followed the example, until each regiment

marched regardless of keeping in rank, and sometimes mixed with other

corps in front and rear. To put a stop to this irregularity, the

men without shoes were formed by themselves and marched, under the

command of officers and non-commissioned officers, in rear of the

brigade.

"It is impossible to describe the painful state that some of those

shoeless men were in, crippling along the way, their feet cut or

torn by sharp stones or brambles. To remedy the want of shoes, the

raw hides of the newly-slaughtered bullocks were given to cut up, on

purpose to form a sort of buskins for the bare-footed soldiers. This

served as a substitute for shoes, and enabled the wearers to march in

the ranks of their respective companies.

"Our knapsacks were also by this time beginning to display, from

their torn ends, their worthless contents; and as our line of march

was in an opposite direction from our expected supplies, our exterior

appearance was daily getting worse; but the real spirit of the

soldier was improving, and I make little doubt but we would have

followed our leaders to the extremity of Europe without grumbling. We

were getting hardier and stronger every day in person; the more we

suffered, the more confidence we felt in our strength; all in health,

and no sickness. The man in patched clothes and a piece of untanned

hide about his feet, when he looked around him, saw others in some

respects as ill appointed as himself; and he almost felt a pride in

despising any new-comer with dangling plumes, plaited or crimped

frills, white gloves, and handsome shoes--all good-for-nothing

frippery to the hardy, toil-worn soldier, the man of flint, powder,

and steel, as he thought himself. His was the gloveless hand and the

shoeless foot that braved alike the cold and the heat, the toil of

the field and the fatigue of the march; nothing came wrong to him; he

started in the morning from his hard pillow and harder bed, required

no time to blacken his shoes, but braced up his knapsack, regardless

of the state of the roads or weather, and was ready to march off.

"I have already mentioned that there was some skirmishing with the

enemy this day, as we advanced. Here we had three men killed and

several wounded. One of those who were killed had been doing the duty

of pioneer previous to this day; doubtless he had considered this a

degrading duty, and had pressingly requested to be permitted to join

the ranks. His request was granted; this was his first entry on the

field since he obtained that indulgence, and here he fell. He lay

on the field adjoining the road; some one had rifled his knapsack,

but had thrown the blanket over him. Having the general's baggage

in charge I was following the brigade with the guard and the mules

when I observed some soldiers examining to what regiment the killed

belonged; one bore off the knapsack, but left the blanket carelessly

cast on the corpse, a batman was making a prize of the blanket, and a

Portuguese muleteer was about to take off the kilt.

"I could be at no loss to know to what regiment he belonged, as the

42nd was the only corps in the division that had that dress, and

I desired one of the guard to recover the blanket, and to spread

it over the body, for we had no time to inter it. He sprang on the

spoilers in an instant, snatched the blanket from the batman, and

seizing the muleteer rather roughly, tumbled him into the ditch that

lined the road; then, spreading the blanket over the corpse, left it;

but doubtless to be soon stripped again. Thus falls the poor soldier."

CHAPTER III

THE HILLSIDE AT TOULOUSE

Anton attempts a more ambitious account of the battle of Toulouse than

of any other fight in which he was engaged; and there is some reason

for this. It was a cluster of Scottish regiments--the 42nd conspicuous

amongst them--which, by mere invincible and all-enduring valour,

saved Wellington from failure in that great fight. Soult, it will be

remembered, knew Toulouse almost with the familiarity of a native. A

strong place by nature, he had made it almost impregnable by the energy

and skill with which he had multiplied its defences during the long

pause before the British advanced.

Wellington delivered his attack at three points. Hill assailed the west

front of the city; Picton the north; Beresford the east. The first

two attacks were, perhaps, not seriously meant, and certainly failed.

Freire, with his Spaniards, whose task it was to carry the northern

shoulder of Mont Rave, fell on gallantly, but was smitten into utter

rout, extorting from Wellington the grim comment, "Well, ---- me, if

ever I saw ten thousand men run a race before!" Beresford's task was

perilous in the highest degree; to any other troops than those he led,

it might well have proved impossible. He had to toil for two miles

along a road which was little better than a strip of marsh, past the

flank of Mont Rave, strongly held by the French. On his left was the

river Ers. The road was so difficult that the guns were left behind.

There was deadly peril at every step that the French might overwhelm

the toiling column with a flank attack; or break through betwixt it and

the main body of the British army.

But Beresford--who had fought Albuera--was exactly the man for a task

which required blind and desperate valour. His men splashed doggedly

on their way; on their right the foe, tormenting their flank with

his fire; the fordless river to their left; their guns left behind

them. When they had reached the southern extremity of the ridge, the

regiments brought up their left shoulder, and proceeded to carry the

hill. It was seamed with trenches, and bristled with guns. Soult,

who saw that this was the one point of peril to his battle-line, had

brought up two divisions to the threatened point, and the French,

gallantly led, and confident in their numbers, in their advantage of

position, and in their success at the other attacked points, came

boldly down the hill to crush Beresford's slender and extended line.

Nothing, however--not the slippery hill-slope, the cruel fire of the

French guns, nor the onfall of the solid French battalions--could stay

Beresford's men. Soult's columns were smashed with rolling musketry

volleys. The batteries were carried with the bayonet, and the hill

was won. The 42nd played a most gallant part in this great fight, and

endured dreadful losses. Anton came through it all untouched, and tells

the whole story in a spirited fashion. He sees nothing, however, and

describes nothing, but what takes place immediately about himself:--

"We broke up camp a little after midnight, on the morning of Easter

Sunday, April 10, and marched towards Toulouse. The moon shone bright

in the unclouded heavens, and reflected a stream of light from the

muskets of our advanced columns, for our arms had not then received

the brown varnish that now 'dims their shine.'

"General Pack's brigade was formed in contiguous columns of regiments

to the left of the road leading to Toulouse. At this time the

Spaniards, who were in advance and ascending the heights, were

attacked with such fury that they gave way in all directions. It

was apprehended that the enemy would have borne down upon us in

the impetuosity of the movement, and we deployed into lines. The

79th Regiment was at this time in front of the 42nd, and General

Pack, anticipating a charge from the enemy's victorious and elated

infantry, after thus scattering the Spaniards, gave orders to the

79th to receive them with a volley, immediately form four deep, face

about, and pass through the ranks of the 42nd. The latter received

orders to form four deep, as soon as the former had given its fire;

let the line pass through, then form up, give a volley, and charge.

This was providing against what might have taken place, but did not,

for the enemy was recalled, and the Spaniards were afterwards rallied.

"We now moved off to our left, along a green embankment, a small

lake or large pond [really a flooded river] on our left, and a wet

ditch and marshy meadow on the right. The shot and shell were flying

over our heads into the lake, but the range was too elevated to

hurt us, and we ran along the bank until we came to a place where

we could leap the ditch and form on the swampy ground beyond it. We

had scarcely formed, when a strong column of the enemy, with drums

beating a march, descended the hill in our front, and thinking from

the nature of the ground that we should be neither able to advance

nor retreat, rushed down confident of success. For us to retire would

have been scarcely practicable; the bank from which we had leaped

down and over the ditch was too high in several places for us to

leap back from such uncertain footing, for we were sinking to the

ankles, and sometimes deeper at every step; to advance was the only

alternative, and it was taken.

"The light companies of the division were by this time in our front,

and without any hesitation dashed forward; we followed fast, and

the opposing column reascended the hill, and left us the undisputed

masters of the valley. We now ascended at double quick time, and the

whole of the division crowned the eastern summit of the heights.

Here we were exposed to a destructive fire of round shot, shell,

grape, and musketry, while we had not as yet got up one gun, owing

to the numerous obstructions that lay in the way. The ground we

occupied sloped towards one of the main roads that run over the hill

to the city, and the fields on the opposite side of the road were in

possession of the enemy, and extremely broken and intersected by deep

cross-roads, breastworks, and redoubts, but could, from our present

position, have been commanded by artillery, had it been practicable

to bring a few guns forward; but this required some time, and

indefatigable labour.

"The light companies of the division advanced beyond the road, and

maintained a very unequal skirmish with the enemy, who lay securely

posted behind their breastworks and batteries, and in their redoubts,

from all of which they took the most deadly aim. The 61st Regiment

was ordered forward to support the skirmishers, and became the marked

object of the enemy's batteries, from which incessant showers of

grape cut down that corps by sections, while Soult was, perhaps, not

losing a man, being so safely sheltered from our musketry; it was,

therefore, seen necessary to withdraw the skeleton of that regiment

to the road, on which we had taken post after its advance. It was now

warmly welcomed back, for its retreat was no defeat, and its loss was

scarcely equalled by any corps in the field. Not a subaltern left the

field without a wound, and the honour of the colours was assigned to

sergeants.

"The enemy, emboldened by this momentary success, on his part, began

to advance towards the road, and our regiment was ordered to advance

by wings and storm one of the redoubts.