afternoon. We were in extended order, firing and retiring. I had just
risen to run behind my file, when a spent shot struck me on the groin,
and took the breath from me. “God receive my soul!” I said; and sat down
resigned. The French were advancing fast. I laid my musket down, and
gasped for breath. I was sick, and put my canteen to my head, but could
not taste the water: however, I washed my mouth, and grew less faint. I
looked to my thigh, and seeing no blood, took resolution to put my hand
to the part to feel the wound. My hand was unstained by blood; but the
part was so painful that I could not touch it. At this moment of
helplessness the French came up. One of them made a charge at me, as I
sat pale as death. In another moment I would have been transfixed, had
not his next man forced the point past me: “Do not touch the good Scot,”
said he; and then, addressing himself to me, added, “Do you remember
me?” I had not recovered my breath sufficiently to speak distinctly: I
answered, “No."--“I saw you at Sobral,” he replied. Immediately I
recognized him to be a soldier whose life I had saved from a Portuguese,
who was going to kill him as he lay wounded. “Yes I know you,” I
replied. “God bless you!” cried he; and giving me a pancake out of his
hat, moved on with his fellows, the rear of whom took my knapsack, and
left me lying. I had fallen down for greater security. I soon recovered
so far as to walk, though with pain, and joined the regiment, next
advance. We were quartered in wine stores, where we lay for a
considerable time, sending out a regiment, each night, on duty. The 71st
happened to be the regiment on duty, on the night in which the French
evacuated Toulouse. We immediately gave notice, and marched into the
town; halted half an hour, until the cavalry passed through it, and then
moved on after them. We fell in with a number of the enemy’s sick and
wounded, whom we sent back to the town. We halted at Villa Franca, and
were cantoned. Soult lay in a town on the heights, in front, about one
league and a half from us. We remained here two or three days; when we
were all turned out, cavalry and artillery, the French being under arms.
Three guns were fired. The French did not seem inclined to attack us. We
were encamped again. In the course of the day, flags of truce were
passing between the armies. At length, General Soult came in his
carriage, guarded by a squadron of his cavalry. We then got word that
Buonaparte was deposed, and we were soon to have peace. Joy beamed on
every face, and made every tongue eloquent. We sung and drank that whole
night, and talked of home. Next morning falling back to Toulouse, we
were cantoned there, and lay for a long time, looking anxiously for
orders to embark for England. At length we marched to Bourdeaux, were
reviewed by Lord Wellington, and embarked for Ireland.
We arrived at Cork in June 1814. I had now been seven years and eleven
months a soldier, and, therefore, hoped for my discharge. I had still
one year to serve, although enlisted for seven. Being only sixteen years
of age, my seven years were counted from my eighteenth. Had I called
myself seventeen, I should have now been free: but I scorned to lie;
neither was I aware of this circumstance. Upon our arrival at Cork, we
were marched to Limerick, and lay there a long time; then got the route
for Cork to embark for America. I wanted but a few months to be free. I
sought my discharge, but was refused. I was almost tempted to desert. I
lamented my becoming a soldier at this time more than I had done on the
retreat, or upon the Pyrennees. To be so near home and almost free, and
yet to be sent across the Atlantic, was very galling. I knew not what to
do. I kept my honour, and embarked. What vexed me, was some being
discharged who had not been so long soldiers as I had been; only they
were above eighteen when they enlisted.
We lay on board six weeks before setting sail. When on our way, a
schooner fired a gun and brought us to, and gave us orders for Deal. My
heart bounded with joy: “Freedom, freedom!"--I would not have taken a
thousand pounds to stay,--I would have left the army without a shirt. I
was oppressed all the time I was on board; my mind dwelt on nothing but
home. If any one asked a question or spoke to me, I was so absent that I
seldom answered to the point. After the ship was put about for England,
a load was taken from my mind, and I became more happy. We landed all
our heavy baggage at Deal, then sailed round to Gravesend and
disembarked. We lay there only one afternoon, then were put on board the
smacks, and were landed at Antwerp.
Next morning we were marched to Louis, where we lay, quartered in the
different villages around, until the 16th of June, 1815. We used to be
drilled every day. We were going out, for a field day, on the 16th, when
we were ordered back and formed on one side of the village. We stopped
here a short time; then were sent to quarters to pack up every thing and
march. We immediately marched off towards the French frontier. We had a
very severe march of sixteen miles, expecting to halt and be quartered
in every town through which we passed. We knew not where we were
marching. About one o’clock in the morning, we were halted in a village.
A brigade of Brunswickers marching out, we took their quarters, hungry
and weary. Next morning, the 17th, we got our allowance of liquor, and
moved on until the heat of the day; when we encamped, and our baggage
was ordered to take the high road to Brussels. We sent out fatigue
parties for water, and set a cooking. Our fires were not well kindled,
when we got orders to fall in, and move on along the high road towards
Waterloo. The whole length of the road was very much crowded by
artillery and ammunition carts, all advancing towards Waterloo. The
troops were much embarrassed in marching, the roads were so crowded. As
soon as we arrived on the ground, we formed in column. The rain began
to pour. The firing had never ceased all yesterday and to day, at a
distance. We encamped and began to cook; when the enemy came in sight,
and again spoiled our cooking. We advanced towards them. When we reached
the height they retired; which caused the whole army to get under arms
and move to their positions. Night coming on, we stood under arms for
some time. The army then retired to their own rear, and lay down under
arms, leaving the 71st in advance. During the whole night, the rain
never ceased. Two hours after day-break, General Hill came down, taking
away the left subdivision of the 10th company to cover his recognisance.
Shortly afterwards we got half an allowance of liquor, which was the
most welcome thing I ever received. I was so stiff and sore from the
rain, I could not move with freedom for some time. A little afterwards
the weather clearing up, we began to clean our arms and prepare for
action. The whole of the opposite heights were, covered by the enemy.
A young lad, who had joined but a short time before, said to me, while
we were cleaning: “Tom, you are an old soldier, and have escaped often,
and have every chance to escape this time also. I am sure I am to
fall."--“Nonsense, be not gloomy."--“I am certain,” he said: “All I ask
is, that you will tell my parents, when you get home, that I ask God’s
pardon for the evil I have done, and the grief I have given them. Be
sure to tell I died praying for their blessing and pardon.” I grew dull
myself, but gave him all the heart I could. He only shook his head: I
could say nothing to alter his belief.
The artillery had been tearing away, since day-break, in different parts
of the line. About twelve o’clock, we received orders to fall in, for
attack. We then marched up to our position, where we lay on the face of
a brae, covering a brigade of guns. We were so overcome by the fatigue
of the two days’ march, that, scarce had we lain down, until many of us
fell asleep. I slept sound for some time, while the cannon-balls,
plunging in amongst us, killed a great many. I was suddenly awakened. A
ball struck the ground a little below me, turned me heels-over-head,
broke my musket in pieces, and killed a lad at my side. I was stunned
and confused, and knew not whether I was wounded or not. I felt a
numbness in my arm for sometime. We lay thus about an hour and a half
under a dreadful fire, which cost us about 60 men, while we had never
fired a shot. The balls were falling thick amongst us. The young man I
lately spoke of, lost his legs by a shot, at this time. They were cut
very close: he soon bled to death. “Tom,” said he, “remember your
charge: my mother wept sore when my brother died in her arms. Do not
tell her all how I died; if she saw me thus, it would break her heart:
farewell, God bless my parents!” He said no more, his lips quivered, and
he ceased to breathe. About two o’clock, a squadron of lancers came
down, hurraying, to charge the brigade of guns: they knew not what was
in the rear. General Barnes gave the word, “Form square.” In a moment,
the whole brigade were on their feet, ready to receive the enemy. The
General said, “Seventy-first, I have often heard of your bravery, I
hope it will not be worse, than it has been, to-day.” Down they came
upon our square. We soon put them to the right-about. Shortly after, we
received orders to move to the heights. Onwards we marched, and stood
for a short time in square, receiving cavalry every now and then. The
noise and smoke were dreadful. At this time, I could see but a very
little way from me; but, all around, the wounded and slain lay very
thick. We then moved on, in column, for a considerable way, and formed
line; gave three cheers, fired a few volleys, charged the enemy, and
drove them back. At this moment, a squadron of cavalry rode furiously
down upon our line. Scarce had we time to form. The square was only
complete in front, when they were upon the points of our bayonets. Many
of our men were out of place. There was a good deal of jostling for a
minute or two, and a good deal of laughing. Our quarter-master lost his
bonnet in riding into the square,--got it up,--put it on, back foremost,
and wore it thus all day. Not a moment had we to regard our dress. A
French General lay dead in the square; he had a number of ornaments upon
his breast. Our men fell to plucking them off, pushing each other as
they passed, and snatching at them. We stood in square for some time,
whilst the 13th dragoons and a squadron of French dragoons were engaged.
The 13th dragoons retiring to the rear of our column, we gave the French
a volley, which put them to the right-about; then the 13th at them
again. They did this for some time, we cheering the 13th, and feeling
every blow they received. When a Frenchman fell, we shouted; and when
one of the 13th, we groaned. We wished to join them, but were forced to
stand in square. The whole army retired to the heights in the rear, the
French closely pursuing to our formation, where we stood, four deep, for
a considerable time. As we fell back, a shot cut the straps of the
knapsack of one near me: it fell, and was rolling away; he snatched it
up, saying, “I am not to lose you that way, you are all I have in the
world;” tied it on the best manner he could, and marched on.
Lord Wellington came riding up. We formed square, with him in our
centre, to receive cavalry. Shortly the whole army received orders to
advance. We moved forwards in two columns, four deep, the French
retiring at the same time. We were charged several times, in our
advance. This was our last effort; nothing could impede us; the whole
of the enemy retired, leaving their guns and ammunition, and every other
thing behind. We moved on towards a village, and charged right through,
killing great numbers, the village was so crowded. We then formed on the
other side of it, and lay down under the canopy of heaven, hungry and
wearied to death.
We had been oppressed, all day, by the weight of our blankets and great
coats, which were drenched with rain, and lay upon our shoulders like
logs of wood. Scarce was my body stretched upon the ground, when sleep
closed my eyes. Next morning, when I awoke, I was quite stupid. The
whole night my mind had been harassed by dreams: I was fighting and
charging, re-acting the scenes of the day, which were strangely jumbled
with the scenes I had been in before. I rose up and looked around, and
began to recollect. The events of the 18th came before me one by one;
still they were confused, the whole appearing as an unpleasant dream. My
comrades began to awake and talk of it; then the events were embodied as
realities. Many an action had I been in, wherein the individual
exertions of our regiment had been much greater, and our fighting more
severe; but never had I been where the firing was so dreadful, and the
noise so great. When I looked over the field of battle, it was covered
and heaped in many places; figures moving up and down upon it, the
wounded crawling along the rows of dead, was a horrible spectacle: yet I
looked on with less concern, I must say, at the moment, than I have felt
at an accident when in quarters. I have been sad at the burial of a
comrade who died of sickness in the hospital, and followed him almost
in tears, yet have I seen, after a battle, fifty men put into the same
trench, and comrades amongst them, almost with indifference. I looked
over the field of Waterloo as a matter of course--a matter of small
concern.
In the morning we got half an allowance of liquor, and remained here
until mid-day, under arms, then received orders to cook. When cooking
was over, we marched on towards France. Nothing particular happened
before reaching Paris, where we lay in the lines until the French
capitulated. We had our posts planted at each side of the city. The
French troops retired, and we got under arms and marched towards the
gates. We had a cannon on each side of the gate, and gunners with
lighted matches standing by them. We marched into the city; passed Lord
Wellington, who stood at the gates, and were encamped on the main road
in the Thuilleries, where we remained all the time we were here.
In marching through the city, a lad, dressed as a Frenchman, was looking
up the companies very anxiously: one of our men said, “Knock the French
fellow down.” “Dinna be sae fast man,” said he; we stared to hear broad
Scotch in Paris at this time: “I am looking for my cousin,"--he added,
naming him; but he had been left behind, wounded.
When we were in camp before the Thuilleries, the first day, two girls
were looking very eagerly up and down the regiment, when we were on
parade: “Do you wish a careless husband, my dear?” said one of our
lads.--“May be; will you be’t?” said a Glasgow voice. “Where the devil
do you come from?” said the rough fellow. “We’re Paisley lasses; this is
our regiment: we want to see if there’s ony body here we ken.” The
soldier, who was a Glasgow lad, could not speak. There is a music in our
native tongue, in a foreign land, where it is not to be looked for, that
often melts the heart when we hear it unexpectedly. These two girls had
found their way from Paisley to Paris, and were working at tambouring,
and did very well.
We lay three months in Paris. All that time I saw very little of it: I
did not care to ask leave from the camp. At length we were marched to
Flanders, to winter quarters; and I got my discharge. I left my comrades
with regret; but the service with joy. I came down to the coast to
embark, with light steps and a joyful heart, singing, “When wild war’s
deadly blast was blawn.” I was poor as poor could be; but I had hope
before me, and pleasing dreams of home, I had saved nothing this
campaign; and the money I had before was all gone. Government found me
the means of getting to Edinburgh. Hope and joy were my companions,
until I entered the Firth. I was on deck; the morning began to dawn; the
shores of Lothian began to rise out of the mist. “There is the land of
cakes,” said the captain. A sigh escaped me,--recollections crowded upon
me--painful recollections. I went below to conceal my feelings, and
never came up until the vessel was in the harbour. I ran from her, and
hid myself in a public-house. All the time I had been away was forgot. I
felt as if I had been in Leith the day before. I was so foolish as to
think I would be known, and laughed at. In about half an hour, I
reasoned myself out of my foolish notions, but could not bring myself to
go up the Walk to Edinburgh. I went by the Easter Road. Every thing was
strange to me, so many alterations had taken place; yet I was afraid to
look any person in the face, lest he should recognise me. I was
suffering as keenly, at this moment, as when I went away: I felt my face
burning with shame. At length, I reached the door of the last house I
had been in, before leaving Edinburgh. I had not power to knock: happy
was it for me, that I did not. A young girl came into the stair. I asked
her if Mrs. ---- lived there. “No,” she said, “she has flitted long
ago.” “Where does she live?” “I do not know."--Where to go I knew not. I
came down stairs, and recognised a sign which had been in the same place
before I went away. In I went, and inquired. The landlord knew me.
“Tom,” said he, “are you come back safe? Poor fellow! give me your
hand.” “Does my mother live?"--“Yes, yes; come in, and I will send for
her,--not to let the surprise be too great.” Away he went. I could not
remain, but followed him; and, the next minute, I was in the arms of my
mother.
* * * * *
I have been with my mother, these fourteen months. She is sinking fast
to the grave. I am happy I am here to lay her head in it.--Jeanie has
been married, these five years, and goes between her own and her
mother’s house, to take care of her.--John is in London, following out
his business.--William has been in Glasgow.
_Letter by the Writer of the Journal to
his Friend, inclosing the last part of
the manuscript._
_Edinburgh, May, 1818._
DEAR JOHN,
These three months, I can find nothing to do. I am a burden on Jeanie
and her husband. I wish I was a soldier again. I cannot even get
labouring work. God will bless those, I hope, who have been good to me.
I have seen my folly. I would be useful, but can get nothing to do. My
mother is at her rest,--God receive her soul!--I will go to South
America. Maria de Parides will put me in a way to do for myself, and be
a burden to no one. Or, I shall go to Spain, and live in Boho.--I will
go to Buenos Ayres.--Farewell! John, this is all I have to leave you.
It is your’s: do with it as you think proper. If I succeed in the South,
I will return and lay my bones beside my parents: if not, I will never
come back.
FINIS.
FOOTNOTES:
[1] A ruinous castle on the shore.
[2] A rocky islet in the river Forth.
[3] Many of the Scottish Highlanders are Roman Catholics, particularly
those of the name of M‘Donald.
[4] A favourite national air.
[5] The last day of the year is so called in Scotland.
[6] Kitt, a term for a soldier’s necessaries.
[7] Thin flat cakes.
[8] From purgatory.
* * * * *
Typographical errors corrected by the etext transcriber:
better than our own commandders;=> better than our own commanders; {pg
85}
On the the fourth=> On the fourth {pg 122}
but never came up up with the enemy=> but never came up with the enemy
{pg 129}
and giving me a a pancake => and giving me a pancake {pg 210}
when we we were all turned out=> when we were all turned out {pg 211}