BACK TO THE PENINSULA UNDER SIR ARTHUR WELLESLEY.
1809.
In two months I rejoined the Regiment at Hythe. From Hythe we marched
for Dover, where we embarked for Lisbon [25 May] to join the Duke’s[12]
army. Having landed at Lisbon, we commenced our march for Talavera. On
this march—a very long one—General Craufurd compiled his orders for
the march of his Brigade, consisting of the 43rd, 52nd, and 95th, each
upwards of 1000 strong. These orders he enforced with rigour (as it
seemed at the moment), but he was in this way the means of establishing
the organization and discipline of that corps which acquired for it its
after-celebrity as the “Light Division.”
We had some long, harassing, and excessively hot marches. In the last
twenty-eight hours we marched from Oropesa to Talavera, a distance
of fourteen Spanish leagues (56 miles), our soldiers carrying their
heavy packs, the Riflemen eighty rounds of ammunition. But the
battle of Talavera was thundering in our ears, and created a spirit
in the Brigade which cast away all idea of fatigue. We reached the
sanguinary field at daylight after the battle [29 July], greeted as if
we were demi-gods by all the gallant heroes who had gained _such_ a
victory. We took up the outposts immediately, and some of us Riflemen
sustained some heavy skirmishing. The field was literally covered
with dead and dying. The bodies began to putrefy, and the stench was
horrible, so that an attempt was made to collect the bodies and burn
them. Then, however, came a stench which literally affected many to
sickness. The soldiers were not satisfied with this mode of treating
the bodies of their dead comrades, and the prosecution of the attempt
was relinquished. After our stay at Talavera [29 July-3 Aug.], during
which we were nearly starved, the army commenced its retreat, passing
the bridge of Arzobispo in the most correct and soldier-like manner,
our Brigade forming the rear-guard. The army retired on Deleytosa,
the Light Brigade remaining in a position so as to watch the bridge
of Almaraz. Here for three weeks we were nearly starved [6 Aug.-20
Aug.], and our position received the name of Doby Hill.[13] We marched
every evening and bivouacked so as to occupy the passage of the
Tagus, and at daylight returned to our hill. Honey was plentiful, but
it gave dysentery. My mess—Leach’s Company (Leach, Smith, Layton, and
Bob Beckwith)—were not as badly off as our neighbours. We had a few
dollars, and as I could speak Spanish, I rode into the lines of the
Spanish troops, where I could always purchase some loaves of bread
at a most exorbitant price. With this and some horrid starved goats
we lived tolerably for soldiers in hard times. The army retired into
quarters—the headquarters to Badajos, our Division (which had added to
it Sir Rufane Donkin’s Brigade, the 45th, 87th, and 88th Regiments) to
Campo Mayor [11 Sept.], where sickness and mortality commenced to an
awful extent. On our reaching the frontier of Portugal, Castello de
Vidi, wine was plentiful, and every man that evening had his skin full.
During the period we were at Campo Mayor [11 Sept.-12 Dec.], the Hon.
Captain James Stewart and I got some excellent greyhounds. We were
always out coursing or shooting, and were never sick a day; our more
sedentary comrades many of them distressingly so. The seven right-hand
men of Leslie’s Company died in the winter of this year.
While at Campo Mayor the convalescents of my Light Brigade were
ordered to our old fortress, called Onguala, on the immediate frontier
of Portugal, and opposite to Abuchucha, the frontier of Spain. They
consisted of forty or fifty weakly men. I was first for Brigade duty,
and I was sent in command, with a Lieut. Rentall of the 52nd Regiment
and my brother Tom, who was sick. I knew this country well, for we had
had some grand battues there, and shot red deer and wild boars. So
soon, therefore, as I was installed in my command, lots of comrades
used to come from Campo Mayor to breakfast with me and shoot all day.
On one occasion Jack Molloy, Considine, and several fellows came, and
while out we fell into the bivouac of a set of banditti and smugglers.
We hallooed and bellowed as if an army were near us. The bandits jumped
on their horses and left lots of corn-sacks, etc., in our hands; but
on discovering our numbers, and that we fired no balls (for we had
only some Rifle buttons pulled off my jacket), being well armed, they
soon made us retreat. This, after my friends returned to Campo Mayor,
so disconcerted me that I made inquiry about these same rascals, and
ascertained there were a body of about twenty under a Catalan, the
terror of the country. I immediately sent for my sergeant (a soldier
in every sense of the word) to see how many of our convalescents he
could pick out who could _march at all_. He soon returned. He himself
and ten men, myself, Rentall, and my sick brother Tom (who _would_
go) composed my army. I got a guide, and ascertained that there were
several haunts of these bandits; so off I started. We moved on a small
chapel (many of which lone spots there are in all Roman Catholic
countries), at which there was a large stable. On approaching we heard
a shot fired, then a great and lawless shouting, which intimated to
us our friends of the morning were near at hand. So Pat Nann and I
crept on to peep about. We discovered the fellows were all inside a
long stable, with a railed gate shut, and a regular sentry with his
arms in his hand. They were all about and had lights, and one very
dandy-looking fellow with a smart dagger was cutting tobacco to make
a cigar. Pat and I returned to our party and made a disposition of
attack, previously ascertaining if the stable had a back door, which it
had not. I then fell in our men very silently, Mr. Rentall being much
opposed to our attack, at which my brother Tom blew him up in no bad
style of whispering abuse, and our men went for the gate. The sentry
soon discovered us and let fly, but hit no one. The gate was fast and
resisted two attempts to force it, but so amazed were the bandits, they
[never] attempted to get away their horses, although their arms were
regularly piled against the supports of the roof of the stable, and
we took twelve banditti with their captain, a fine handsome fellow,
horses, etc. His dagger I sent to my dear father. I sent my prisoners
on the next day to Campo Mayor, galloping ahead myself, in an awful
funk lest General Craufurd should blow me up. However, I got great
credit for my achievement in thus ridding the neighbourhood of a nest
of robbers; and the captain and five of his men (being Spaniards) were
sent to Badajos and sentenced to the galleys for life, being recognized
as old offenders. The remainder received a lesser punishment. My men
got forty Spanish dollars each prize money, the amount I sold the
horses for. I bought for forty dollars the captain’s capital horse. The
men wanted me to keep him as my share, but I would not. Dr. Robb, our
surgeon, gave sixty Spanish dollars for a black mare. Thus ended the
Battle of the Bandits.