THE PENINSULAR ARMY: (_c_) ITS REWARD--1811-14
The previous campaign had practically terminated with the French
evacuation of Portugal. Only Almeida and Badajoz on and about the
frontier line were held, and blocked an advance eastward into Spain;
but beyond the former in that direction lay the stronger fortress of
Ciudad Rodrigo. The two first were besieged or blockaded, by Spencer
at the former, and Beresford at the latter, Wellington lending aid to
either wing as required; and both sieges brought on a battle, that in
the north, Fuentes d’Onoro, where Wellington commanded, and Albuhera in
the south, where Beresford had charge.
Massena, with 40,000 infantry, 5000 cavalry, and 36 guns, moved towards
Almeida, and was met by Wellington, with a force of 32,000 infantry,
1200 cavalry, and 42 guns, at Fuentes d’Onoro, but the Portuguese were
of little value. Supplies had as usual been deficient, and ammunition
was wanting.
The battle presents few features of professional interest. As the Light
Division fell back before the advancing French, there was a skirmish
at Gallegos on the 2nd May, and at Fuentes d’Onoro on the 3rd May; but
the real battle there was not fought until the 5th, and was of a very
desperate character. To say the least, it was indecisive, though the
French claim the victory, as, though they did not themselves advance,
Wellington retired to re-form. But Massena neither raised the siege of
Almeida, nor advanced farther into Portugal. It is rather in personal
incidents that this “soldiers’ battle” is noteworthy. Here it was that
the tactical conditions of artillery were reversed, and the guns
charged through a French column. “A great commotion was observed in
their main body; men and horses were seen to close, with confusion
and tumult, towards one point, where a thick dust and loud cries, and
the sparkling of blades and the flashing of pistols, indicated some
extraordinary occurrence. Suddenly the multitude became violently
agitated, an English shout pealed high and clear, the mass was rent
asunder, and Norman Ramsay burst forth, sword in hand, at the head of
his battery; his horses, breathing fire, stretched like greyhounds
along the plain, the guns bounded behind them like things of no weight,
and the mounted gunners followed close, with heads bent low and pointed
weapons in desperate career.”[40]
Here, too, the Connaught Rangers, stigmatised by Picton, because of
their habit of plundering, as “the greatest blackguards in the army,”
drove the French out of Fuentes d’Onoro with terrible loss, in a
gallant charge which even Picton admired. “Well done, brave 88th,” he
exclaimed, as they returned; and in reply to the remark made by some of
the men, “Are we the greatest blackguards in the army now?” responded
with a smile, “No, no! you are brave and gallant soldiers; this day
has redeemed your character.” Besides the 88th, the 14th Hussars and
16th Lancers, the 24th, 42nd, 43rd, 45th, 51st, 52nd, 60th, 71st, 74th,
79th, 83rd, 85th, 92nd, and Rifle Brigade shared in the glories of
the day. Shortly afterwards, Bremner evacuated Almeida without being
opposed by the 2nd Queen’s, whose regimental badge is the Paschal Lamb,
or the 4th King’s Own, whose badge is the Lion, and hence arose the
following doggerel, the authorship of which is unknown:--
“The ‘Lambs’ were asleep,
The ‘Lions’ were at play,
The Eagle spread his wings
And ’tween them flew away.”
The battle led to the fall of Massena, who was recalled to France, and
Marmont took his place in command of the northern army. Ten days after
Fuentes d’Onoro, the news reached Wellington of Soult’s advance against
Beresford; but though he started to reinforce him with the 3rd and 7th
Divisions, he was not in time to share in the bloodiest battle of the
whole of the Peninsula, that of Albuhera, in which Beresford, with the
Spanish troops under Blake and Castanos, fought to cover his siege of
Badajoz, with the grave anxiety lest defeat should lead to a fresh
invasion of Portugal. Out of the 30,000 men which composed the Allied
force, but 7000 were British, and these were the 3rd Dragoon Guards,
the 3rd, 7th, 23rd, 28th, 29th, 31st, 34th, 39th, 48th, 57th, 60th, and
66th Regiments; and of them only 1800 men were unwounded when the fire
ceased.
The Spaniards on the right were first attacked, and soon gave way, and
for the rest of this short four hours’ fight, the brunt of battle lay
with the British contingent. The men behaved with valour extraordinary
even in those days of hard, continuous fighting; and there was heavy
need for it. The Allied right was practically _en l’air_, with
sufficient cover close to a dominating hill, which was not held, to
make a flank attack easy. Against this Girard, with the 5th Corps and
Latour-Maubourg’s Cavalry, were early moved.
Here, when the Spanish broke, was moved Colborne’s Division, one
brigade of which had three of its regiments, the 3rd, 66th, and 48th,
almost destroyed, and only the 31st had time to form square. There
was bitter fighting, round the colours of the Buffs especially, and
confusion reigned supreme for a moment in the right wing. But soon
the 29th pressed into the fight, and on them the Spaniards somewhat
rallied. As their colonel, Duckworth, fell, he cried, “Die hard,
my men, die hard!” whence comes their honoured nickname of the
“Die-hards.” Richly they deserved it, for out of 25 officers 22 fell,
of 570 rank and file 425 were killed or wounded, and the king’s colour
bore thirty bullet wounds.[41]
The battle was almost lost when Colonel Hardinge on his own
responsibility called up Cole’s Brigades, one of which was composed of
the 7th and 23rd Fusilier Regiments, and thrust him into the confused
fight on the right, while Allen turned round to regain Albuhera, which
had been abandoned. The fresh reinforcements were irresistible, though
the fire was terrible. “The Fusilier Battalion, struck by the iron
tempest, reeled and staggered like sinking ships; but, suddenly and
sternly recovering, they closed on their terrible enemies, and then was
seen with what a strength and majesty the British soldier fights. In
vain did Soult with voice and gesture animate his Frenchmen, in vain
did the hardiest veterans break from the crowded columns and sacrifice
their lives to gain time for the mass to open out on such a fair field;
in vain did the mass itself bear up, and, fiercely striving, fire
indiscriminately upon friends and foes, while the horsemen, hovering
on the flank, threatened to charge the advancing line. Nothing could
stop that astonishing infantry. No sudden burst of undisciplined
valour, no nervous enthusiasm weakened the stability of their order;
their flashing eyes were bent on the dark columns on their front,
their measured tread shook the ground, their dreadful volleys swept
away the head of every formation, their deafening shouts overpowered
the dissonant cries that broke from all parts of the tumultuous crowd,
as, slowly, and with a horrid carnage, it was pushed by the incessant
vigour of the attack to the farthest edge of the hill. In vain did the
French reserves mix with the struggling multitude to sustain the fight,
their efforts only increased the irremediable confusion; and the mighty
mass, breaking off like a loosened cliff, went headlong down the steep.”
The losses of individual regiments were enormous. In the 23rd so many
officers had fallen that Corporal Robinson brought his captain’s
company out of action; and the 57th left on the field 23 officers and
400 men out of a total of 570. For this it bears the laurel wreath,
only carried by the six Minden regiments.
So victory remained with the Allies, though little aid had been given
by the Spaniards. The French retreated on Seville in fair order, having
captured several colours, one gun, and some prisoners. Albuhera was
essentially a soldiers’ battle. It was won by sheer hard fighting.
The army now turned to renew the siege of Badajoz, the capture
of which, as well as Ciudad, was essential for further offensive
operations. But though several daring efforts were made to storm the
breaches made, the siege had to be raised on the approach of the
combined forces of Marmont and Soult.
After much manœuvring, marching, and counter-marching on both sides,
during which, at the brilliant little affair of El Bodon, the 5th
charged the French cavalry with fire and bayonet; and at Arroyo des
Molinos, where Girard was surprised by Hill, who, after a forced
march, made a night attack, and the 92nd stormed the village to the
somewhat appropriate tune of “Hey, Johnny Cope, are ye waukin’ yet.”
The brilliant action resulted in the dispersal of the corps, with the
loss of all its artillery, baggage, and military chest, at a cost
of but a few killed and wounded; but though the 9th and 13th Light
Dragoons, as well as the 92nd, 50th, 71st, and 34th took part in the
action, only the standards of the last-named regiment bear the name of
Arroyo des Molinos, the sole case of a battle _not_ a general action
being inscribed on the colours. For capturing the 34th Battalion of
French infantry there, the 34th long wore a red and white pompon; and
it is said, when the French battalion surrendered, the French officers
embraced their English confrères with the words, “Ah, messieurs, nous
sommes des frères, nous sommes du trente-quatrième régiment tous deux.
Vous êtes des braves. Les Anglais se battent toujours avec loyauté et
traitent bien leurs prisonniers.”
There were skirmishes elsewhere, as at Tarifa, where the 47th, 87th,
and 95th Regiments successively defended the breach, and where the 13th
Light Dragoons, the 28th, 34th, 50th, 71st, and 92nd Regiments were
engaged; but this was only preparatory to the siege of Ciudad Rodrigo
and Badajoz, both of which were stormed, and fell. Their capture,
with the seizure of the bridge of Alcantara (which improved the
communications) and the destruction of that of Almanza (which severed
the direct communication between Marmont and Soult), finally opened
the doorway into Spain. In the attack on Ciudad the 5th, 43rd, 45th,
52nd, 60th, 74th, 77th, 83rd, 88th, 94th, and Rifle Brigade shared,
and the men plunged into wild excesses in the sack which followed, and
which the officers seemed powerless to check. It cost the Allies a
total loss of 1702, including Crawford of the Light Division, who was
killed, while Colborne, Gurwood (who afterwards edited the Wellington
Despatches), and Major George Napier, all of the 52nd, were wounded.
But Marmont’s siege train was captured.
At Badajoz, whither Wellington had proceeded after Fuentes, curiously
enough the garrison was never summoned to surrender--an omission for
which many French writers unreservedly blame him, as being an act
contrary to the usages of war, and savouring of a feeling of revenge.
Be that as it may, the place was invested on the 17th March, while Hill
covered the siege against Soult, and on the 7th April was stormed, with
the terrible loss of nearly 5000 men. The defence was most gallant
and desperate. For two hours the storming column tried in vain to
mount the principal breach, defended by mines, _chevaux de frise_ of
sword-blades, and a close fire of musketry, grape, and hand-grenades,
and then fell back sullenly to re-form. But, as in other cases, though
this the “real attack” had failed, the “false attack” had succeeded,
and the 4th, followed by other regiments, penetrated into the town
by escalade. So the place surrendered, and its fall was succeeded by
a butchery more dreadful than that of Ciudad. Men were “literally
drowned in brandy.” Soldiers and camp--followers behaved equally
disgracefully. For two days and nights there seems to have been no
check to the horrors. There was nothing but “shameless rapacity, brutal
intemperance, savage lust, cruelty and murder. Shrieks and piteous
lamentations, groans, shouts, imprecations, the hissing of fires
bursting from the houses, the crashing of doors and windows, and the
reports of muskets used in violence, resounded through the town.”
The plan of the siege itself was by no means a brilliant effort of
genius, and the cost in human life serious. But for the fortunate
action of the 4th, the storming column must have retired with a loss of
3500 men, having effected nothing. The only excuse for the storm of so
strong a place after so brief and imperfect a siege was the necessity
for breaking open this doorway into Spain. The end was believed at
the time to have justified the means, no matter how horrible. The
best excuse is, that the British army was too weak to mask it, dared
not delay for a prolonged siege, which might have led to a French
concentration in overwhelming numbers, and could not pass it by. It was
the old argument of necessity. The regiments who shared in the honours
and dishonours of Badajoz were the 4th, 5th, 7th, 23rd, 27th, 30th,
38th, 40th, 43rd, 44th, 45th, 48th, 52nd, 60th, 74th, 77th, 83rd, 88th,
94th, and Rifle Brigade.
The affairs of Almanza and Alcantara have been already referred to, and
other means were now taken to distract the attention of the French.
The guerillas, more and more exasperated, renewed their efforts at
annoyance, and never were they more successful. It is even said it
took some thousands of men to escort a simple despatch! Under cover
of all this, Wellington moved on Salamanca, and after a brief delay
captured the forts the French had erected to guard the town, and pushed
forward to the Douro, behind which Marmont had retired, holding all
the passages. Then came a series of brilliant manœuvres, in which
the French general once marched fifty miles without a check, and
finally sought to turn the Allied right, so as to seize the road to
Ciudad Rodrigo. Both armies for many hours marched parallel to, and
within sight of, one another, and so marked was the early success of
the French in this manœuvring, that on the 21st, Wellington had more
than half decided to retreat. But the next day fortune favoured him.
Marmont, in his anxiety to close the Ciudad road, overreached himself,
the left wing got separated from the right, and Wellington, seizing the
opportunity, poured in at the gap, and in forty minutes the French
left wing was badly beaten; and but that the Spanish had abandoned the
guard of the Alba ford, the whole army must have been to all intents
and purposes destroyed. Many regiments, both of horse and foot, shared
in the glories of the battle of Salamanca. It was the most skilful of
any of Wellington’s victories, as showing a tactical appreciation of
the situation, which is often not so apparent elsewhere. He understood
the selection of a good position, and how to encourage the fighting
power of his men, to which, in most cases, the success of his battle
may be chiefly attributed. At Salamanca, though he behaved with skill,
the adversaries’ mistake was so glaring as to be apparent to a general
of far meaner capacity.
The troops engaged had been the 5th Dragoon Guards, the 3rd, 11th,
14th, and 16th Light Cavalry Regiments, and the 1st, 2nd, 4th, 5th,
7th, 9th, 11th, 23rd, 24th, 27th, 30th, 32nd, 34th, 36th, 38th, 40th,
43rd, 44th, 45th, 48th, 51st, 52nd, 53rd, 58th, 60th, 61st, 68th, 74th,
79th, 83rd, 88th, 94th, and Rifle Brigade. The result of the operations
so far was, that Marmont, with 42,000 men and 74 guns, had, in twelve
days, marched 200 miles, fought three combats and one general action,
and had lost 1 marshal, 7 generals, and 12,500 men, with 2 eagles,
several colours, and 12 guns.
[Illustration: _BATTLE of SALAMANCA_
_22^{nd} July 1812_]
Pursuing Clauset’s rearguard through Valladolid, which fell back on
Burgos, to be watched by Clinton, the victorious general entered Madrid
in triumph, and there his temporary success suffered a check. There was
the usual complaint; want of supplies and want of cash. The “troops
are now five months in arrears,” he writes, “and we are in debt in all
parts of the country.” Clauset, reorganised, had reoccupied Valladolid,
and Wellington decided on turning against him, and, if possible,
capturing Burgos. But the preparations were notoriously meagre, the
defence bold; so that after five assaults the attempt was abandoned,
and Wellington was compelled to once more retreat to Portugal. The army
had become greatly demoralised by the failure of the Burgos siege.
While the assaults had failed, all the sorties had been more or
less successful. There were skirmishes in the retreat, but the conduct
of the troops was, with the general exception of the Guards and the
Light Division, bad. As in Moore’s retreat, drunkenness prevailed. At
Torquemada 12,000 men were for a time useless. Doubtless the hardships
were severe. “Sometimes divisions were moved too soon, more frequently
too late, and kept standing on wet ground, in the rain, for two hours,
perishing with cold, waiting the order to move. Their clothes were
seldom dry for six hours together, and during the latter part of the
retreat continually wet; sometimes they were bivouacked in a swamp when
better ground was near, they lay down upon the wet ground, fell asleep
from mere exhaustion, were roused to receive their meat, and had then
no means of dressing it. The camp kettles had been sent on, or by some
error were some miles in the rear, or the mules which carried them had
foundered on the way, and no fire could be kindled on wet ground, with
wet materials, and under a heavy rain.”[42]
Meanwhile, the French were concentrating in superior numbers; and, with
more and more indiscipline and suffering, the army, with a loss of 9000
men and much baggage, finally encamped exhausted under the walls of
Ciudad Rodrigo.
The first serious attempt to reconquer Spain had failed, save for the
moral effect of the occupation of Madrid, the defeat of the French at
Salamanca, and the restriction of the French armies now to the northern
part of Spain. It was, none the less, the beginning of the end.
That end, the “deliverance of Spain,” dawned in the early days of 1813,
when all the Allied armies were reorganised, and had recovered their
tone.
Napoleon, too, was no longer in a position to help the armies whose
opponents were bleeding his empire to death. Russia first, and then
united Europe, were keeping his hands far too full to attend to a
danger almost nearer home. The last French campaign in the Peninsula
was like that in Central Europe in the same year, 1813, a campaign
of despair. The numbers on both sides were more equal than they had
ever been. The Allies had learned in the bitter school of dreadful
experience, and were better organised and somewhat more homogeneous and
concentrated than their opponents.
The general plan of Wellington’s last campaign here was to directly
threaten the French communications with France. It will be remembered
that there were but two real lines of invasion from that country, one
at the east, the other at the west of the Pyrenees. So, threatening the
French right, the strong line of the Douro, behind which the French
army lay, was turned at Toro. They fell back behind Burgos, therefore,
and then behind the line of the Ebro. This, again, was turned at its
upper reaches by a most difficult march. “Neither,” says Napier, “the
winter gullies, nor the ravines, nor the precipitate passes amongst the
rocks retarded even the march of the artillery--where horses could not
draw, men hauled; when the wheels would not roll, the guns were let
down or lifted up with ropes--six days they toiled unceasingly, and on
the seventh (that is, 20th June), they burst like raging streams from
every defile, and went foaming into the basin of Vittoria.”
* * * * *
So the battle area of Vittoria was reached, and Joseph stood to fight
on a front parallel to his line of retreat on Bayonne. As Wellington
had been _strategically_ turning the right of the general line of
defence so far, so in the battle he _tactically_ continued the same
idea, and the result was complete. “Never,” says Napier, “was an
army more hardly used by its commander, and never was a victory more
complete”; while General Gazan writes that the French “lost all their
equipage, all their guns, all their treasure, all their papers, so
that no man could prove even how much pay was due to him; generals and
subordinate officers alike were reduced to the clothes on their backs,
and most of them were barefooted.”
[Illustration: _Private 20^{th} Reg^{t} 1812._]
The following regiments were engaged in the battle:--3rd and 5th
Dragoon Guards, 3rd, 14th, 15th, 16th, 1st, 2nd, 4th, 5th, 6th, 7th,
9th, 20th, 23rd, 24th, 27th, 28th, 31st, 38th, 39th, 40th, 43rd, 45th,
47th, 48th, 50th, 51st, 52nd, 53rd, 57th, 58th, 59th, 60th, 61st, 66th,
68th, 74th, 79th, 83rd, and 84th.
The deliverance of Spain was nearly complete. Only the extreme
north-west of Spain and that close to the frontier was left to Joseph,
erstwhile King of all Spain. Even this was soon abandoned. Joseph fell
back by Pampeluna, and this, with San Sebastian, was blockaded. The
former eventually capitulated, and the latter, which was to furnish a
new base of operations for Wellington, now too far from Portugal to
use his former base, was stormed by the 1st, 4th, 9th, 38th, 47th,
and 59th, and fell. Desperate as was the gallantry of the troops,
especially of the 52nd, the other side of the picture showed horrors
and utter indiscipline, far worse even than those which disgraced the
storm of previous sieges. The soldiery perpetrated villainies which
would have shamed the most ferocious barbarians of antiquity. At Ciudad
Rodrigo intoxication and plunder had been the principal object; at
Badajoz lust and murder were added to rapine and drunkenness; but at
San Sebastian the direst, the most revolting cruelty was added to the
catalogue of crimes.[43]
After sundry operations, including the series of extraordinary combats
classed as the “Battles of the Pyrenees,” in which the 2nd, 3rd, 6th,
7th, 11th, 20th, 23rd, 24th, 27th, 28th, 31st, 34th, 36th, 39th, 40th,
42nd, 45th, 48th, 50th, 51st, 53rd, 57th, 58th, 60th, 61st, 66th, 68th,
71st, 74th, and 79th took part, the lines of the Bidassoa, Nivelle, and
Nive were successively forced. In these actions the above regiments
took part, as well as the 5th, 9th, 20th, 32nd, 38th, 43rd, 46th, 52nd,
62nd, 82nd, 83rd, 87th, 88th, 91st, 94th, 84th, 85th, and Rifle Brigade
and 16th Lancers.
Finally, after further actions at Bayonne and the passage of the Adour,
the last important battles took place at Orthez and Toulouse, and the
long war in the south was practically at an end.
At Orthez were the 14th Hussars, and the 5th, 6th, 7th, 11th, 20th,
23rd, 24th, 27th, 28th, 31st, 32nd, 34th, 36th, 39th, 40th, 42nd, 45th,
48th, 50th, 51st, 52nd, 58th, 60th, 61st, 66th, 68th, 71st, 74th, 82nd,
83rd, 87th, 88th, 91st, 92nd, 94th, and Rifle Brigade. There had been,
in addition, minor actions at Bordeaux and Bayonne, and at the latter
place war rockets were used for the first time in the British Army; but
these actions effected little, and were the last expiring struggles of
the Peninsular War. For a time, at least, there was peace in Europe.
The British marched across France, and embarked for England and
America. The Spanish and Portuguese armies retired to their respective
territories, and the French armies dispersed over France. The now fully
established standing army of Great Britain had, notwithstanding the
indiscipline and violence that at times unfortunately characterised its
fighting, earned a reputation which it has never lost. Its undaunted
courage had broken down altogether the civilian fear of an army. It was
for the future only to be regarded economically or financially, not as
a possible danger to the public peace. There was scarcely a family,
hardly a village throughout the land which had not to mourn, but mourn
with pride, the loss of some of its sons. It had earned the respect of
foe as well as friend. It had dauntlessly shown that Englishmen were
not afraid to die. This spirit is touchingly referred to by Thorburn in
some poetry relating to a drummer boy of the 43rd, a regiment that, now
linked with the 52nd, and, like it, in Peninsular days a component part
of the famous Light Division, distinguished itself from the Coa to the
Pyrenees. As the story is told, it is that of an old grenadier who, in
the rush of the charge which then formed the most important element in
battle, as fire and the bullet do now, was wounded, but struggled on to
find in his way
“’Twas a little drummer boy, with his side
Torn terribly with shot;
But still he feebly beat his drum,
As though the wound were not.
But when the Mameluke’s wild horse
Burst with a scream and cry,
He said, ‘O men of the Forty-third,
_Teach me the way to die_.’”
And so the story goes on to tell how the wounded grenadier, with a
bullet in his hip, pressed on into the fight, to fall himself later.
The story is, of course, probably mythical, but there is a certain
_ring_ in it that shows the spirit of those old fighting days.
Equally mythical is that of the drummer boy and Sergeant Matcham in the
Ingoldsby “Legend of Salisbury Plain,” where “one Mr. Jones,” hearing
certain groans, states--
“That he followed the moans, and, led by their tones,
Found a raven a-picking a drummer boy’s bones!
Then the Colonel wrote word,
From the King’s _Forty-third_,
That the story was certainly true that they heard.”
It must not be imagined that the final result of the war on the French
side was other than creditable in the highest degree to Soult. No one
recognises this more than Napier, and his eulogy is worth quoting.
“Vast combinations, inexhaustible personal resources, a clear judgment,
unshaken firmness and patience under difficulties, unwavering fidelity
to his sovereign and his country, are what no man can justly deny him.
In this celebrated campaign of nine months, although counteracted by
the treacherous hostility of many of his countrymen, he repaired and
enlarged the works of five strong places, and entrenched five great
camps with such works as Marius himself would not have disdained; once
he changed his line of operations, and, either attacking or defending,
delivered twenty-four battles and combats. Defeated in all, he fought
the last as fiercely as the first; remaining unconquered in mind, and
still intent upon renewing the struggle, when peace came to put a stop
to his prodigious efforts. These efforts were fruitless, because Suchet
renounced him; because the people of the south were apathetic, and
fortune was adverse; because he was opposed to one of the greatest
generals of the world at the head of unconquerable troops.”
Wellington, patient under difficulties, had fully succeeded in his task
of freeing the Peninsula from French domination. And if at Salamanca
he showed a tactical skill which stands out in contrast to some of his
other victories, the final campaign of Vittoria shows a strategical
grasp which is not, in the opinion of foreign experts in the art of
war, so brilliantly apparent in the years before 1813-14. But one thing
may be mentioned, of which many are now ignorant. A common cry among
the French throughout the prolonged war was the cruelty with which
their prisoners in England were treated. The charge embittered the
already bitter contest, and though foreign nations were little better
than ourselves, if at all, there was more than a sub-stratum of truth
in what was openly proclaimed in France.
However much abuse may have been lavished on France in the time past,
and which lives to our shame and sorrow below the surface even now,
this is one of the evil heritages of that war-stricken time. This
is the recorded story of how the prisoners were treated: “They were
consigned in huge batches, like so many convicts, to the hulks at
Chatham and Portsmouth, and to inland prisons at Dartmoor and in some
rural districts of Scotland. The history of the hulks is one simple
tissue of horrors. The Government had no active wish to maltreat
its prisoners, but the officials placed in authority over them were
often rude, and oftener drunken, and did not understand the character
of their guests. Worse than that, they did not care about such
understanding; and at the time it was rather patriotic than otherwise
to detest a Frenchman. The prisoners were not systematically starved,
but they were fed as men-of-war’s men were then victualled--on weevilly
biscuit, salt junk, and jury rum. They had no means of cooking their
food in their own fashion; they were pent-up between the decks of
old vessels, all but deprived of exercise, and denied the commonest
appliances of cleanliness. So they had the scurvy, dysentery, typhus,
and a host of other ailments; now and then an epidemic would break
out among them, and they would die like sheep afflicted by the rot.
The most horrible profligacy was rampant on board those floating
pandemoniums. The prisoners had nothing whatever to do, and vast
numbers of them belonged to the lowest and most ignorant classes.
So they swore and gambled, they quarrelled and fought; scarcely a
week passed in which some fatal duel did not take place among them.
Such were the hulks,--the dreaded _pontons_,--descriptions of which,
not much overcharged, were drawn up by the order of Napoleon, and
distributed among the French peasantry, in order to inflame their minds
against the English.”
Can one wonder at the revengeful feeling that lived afterwards? So
Thackeray thought, in telling with marvellous brilliancy the fictional
story of that 17th of June in Brussels, when “the cannon of Waterloo
began to roar,” when “from morning until past sunset” the sound never
ceased, and “it was dark when the cannonading stopped all of a sudden.
“All of us have read of what occurred during that interval. The tale
is in every Englishman’s mouth; and you and I who were children when
the great battle was won and lost, are never tired of hearing and
recounting the history of that famous action. Its remembrance rankles
still in the bosoms of millions of the countrymen of those brave men
who lost the day. They pant for an opportunity of revenging that
humiliation; and if a contest, ending in a victory on their part,
should ensue, elating them in their turn, and leaving the cursed legacy
of hatred and rage behind to us, there is no end to the so-called
glory and shame, and to the alternation of successful and unsuccessful
murder, in which two high-spirited nations might engage. Centuries
hence we Frenchmen and Englishmen might be boasting and killing each
other still, carrying out bravely the devil’s code of honour.” No one
who lives now but must most fervently hope that the remembrance of that
evil heritage may be buried so deep as never to rise again!