COMBAT OF THE 10TH DECEMBER—HARRY SMITH’S DREAM AND THE DEATH OF HIS
MOTHER.
The following day we moved into a most beautiful country, intersected
with hedgerows, and the finest and sweetest second crop of hay I ever
saw, which our horses rejoiced in. We took up our posts in front of
Arbonne [15 Nov.], and the following day had a sharp skirmish at our
advanced posts. We halted here a day or two, and then moved on to a
line more approaching Bayonne. The first Brigade occupied the Chateau
d’Arcangues [17 Nov.], of which Johnny Kincaid recounts some anecdotes;
the second the Chateau of Castilleur, where Colonel Colborne packed the
52nd Regiment as close as cards; and the 2nd Battalion, 95th Regiment,
and the 1st and 3rd Caçadores also had cover. Our posts were here very
close upon each other, and we had far more skirmishing and alarms than
usual.
Upon the morning of the 9th December, the 1st and 7th Divisions came
close up to our rear, which led us to suppose something was going on.
The enemy in our front were alarmed, and stood to their arms. Shortly
after these Divisions moved to our right, for the purpose of crossing
the river [Nive], and our Division moved on to drive back the enemy’s
picquets in the direction of Bayonne. To occupy his attention, our
Riflemen formed up before the firing commenced close to the enemy’s
strongest post, on the high-road to Bayonne, where we had been watching
each other for several days. When I and Beckwith, the A.Q.M.G., rode
up and ordered our people to advance, not a shot was fired. The French
saw we were going to attack, but did not withdraw their picquet. We
beckoned to them to do so, but they would not take the hint. We then
actually fired some shots over their heads. There was positively a
reluctance on our part to shoot any man in so cold-blooded a manner.
The moment a shot was fired the affair became general, and we drove in
the French picquets, who rapidly retired, and we had little fighting
all day. In the evening, having effected the demonstration required,
the Division retired to its old ground, and we resumed our usual line
of picquets.
On the following morning [10 Dec.], having a presentiment the enemy
would create a considerable diversion upon the left of our army, I was
with our most advanced picquets before daylight. I had not been there
many minutes, when I was joined by Beckwith, and soon after up came
Colborne. We said, “The enemy are going to attack us.” Colborne said,
“No; they are only going to resume their ordinary posts in our front.”
I said, “But look at the body in our immediate front, and a column far
off, evidently moving on the 1st Division,” which was on the extreme
left. It was evident we should be attacked immediately, and I said so,
but Colborne asserted it was no such thing. I prayed him to allow me to
order my Brigade under arms. At last he consented, and, although I rode
at the utmost speed, our troops were barely out in time, so furiously
did the French drive us back. They took the Chateau of Castilleur from
us, making at the same time a heavy attack on that of Arcangues. Much
of our baggage fell into the enemy’s hands, although they could not
carry it off. My wife had barely time to slip on her habit and jump
upon her horse; her Vittoria pug-dog in the scuffle was left behind,
so sharp was the fire on the Chateau. A bugler of the 52nd Regiment,
however, knew pug, whipped him up, and put him in his haversack. This
was nearer a surprise than anything we had ever experienced. For some
time the enemy possessed our quarters and bivouac, and—what was of
great importance to Tom Fane—rifled his portmanteau. They also carried
off a goose which was fattening for our Christmas dinner. We soon
repaid our friends with interest and retook our position, but it was
one of as heavy attacks as I have ever witnessed.
In the afternoon of that day, the enemy made a most vigorous attack
on Sir J. Hope, particularly at the Mayor’s House of Biaritz,[45]
sharply skirmishing with us at the same time to occupy our attention.
I thought then, and I think now, if my Brigade had been moved on the
left of the attack on Sir J. Hope, it would have caused the enemy great
loss, as his flank was exposed, but the Duke of Wellington knew better,
and never attempted hazardous and little affairs, but ever played a
great and safe game.
That evening the Regiments of Nassau and Frankfort walked over to
us from the French lines into those of the 7th Division at Arbonne.
Colonel Beyring,[46] Count Alten’s A.D.C., was said to have been for
some time with them, and it was evident the Duke knew about their
intention.
Upon the 11th [Dec.] we had some partial skirmishing. The 2nd Battalion
Rifle Brigade struck their tents for the purpose of moving their
ground. The enemy were most alarmed, and took up their ground to
receive us. That night, when our armies were dismissed, rations were
served out. In my life I never heard such a row as among the French
when preparing to cook. I was posting the night’s sentries, when I saw
a French officer doing the same. I went towards him, and we civilly
greeted each other. I said I wished to speak to him. He came up with
the greatest confidence and good humour. I showed him my vedette,
and then remarked that his was too far in advance and might create
an alarm at night when relieving. He said he did not see that, but
to please me, if I would point out where I wished he should be, he
would immediately move him—which he did. He presented his little flask
of excellent French brandy, of which I took a sup, and we parted in
perfect amity.
When I returned to Colborne, who was in the Chateau, I found him lying
asleep before a fire just as he had got off his horse. I did not awake
him, nor had I anything to eat. Sleep at night readily supplies the
place of food, and hunger at night on that account is not nearly so
acute and painful as in the morning, when your day’s work is before
you. Down I lay, without one thought in the world, from exhaustion. I
had a long dream, its purport that the enemy had attacked my father’s
house (the front of which opened to the street, the back into a
beautiful garden, by what we children called “The Black Door”). My
father had my mother in his arms; I saw them as plainly as ever I did
in my life, he carrying her through the Black Door, at the moment
calling out, “Now, some one shut the door; she is safe and rescued.”
At the instant I sprang on my feet, and in our usual military words in
cases of alarm, roared out in a voice of thunder, “Stand to your arms.”
Colborne was on his feet like a shot, the light of the fire showed me
the room and my delusion, and I said, “Oh, sir, I beg your pardon; I
have been dreaming.” He said, in his noble way, “Never mind, it is
near daylight, and it shows that, asleep or awake, you are intent on
your duty.” He lay down, and was asleep in a moment. I never felt
so oppressed in my life, so vividly was depicted to my mind the scene
described, and I took out of my pocket a little roster of duties and
picquets bound in calf-skin, and noted down the hour and particulars
of my dream. In a few days I received a letter from my afflicted
father,[47] telling me my mother died on Sunday morning, Dec. 12, at
one o’clock, at the very moment I cried out, “Stand to your arms.” Such
is the fact. When I lay down, I was tired and exhausted, as before
expressed. I had not a thought in the world of home or anything, nor
was I prepared for the probability of the event. I presume to make no
remarks on such intimations from God alone, but the whole day I was
heavy and oppressed, nor did I ever shake off the vivid impression
until the receipt of the letter put me in possession of the loss I had
sustained.
[Illustration: SIR HARRY SMITH’S BIRTHPLACE, WHITTLESEY.
(The “Black Door” is seen to the right.)
_From a photograph by A. Gray, Whittlesey, 1900._
[_Opposite p. 156._]
Her dying moments were perfectly composed; to the last she blessed
her two sons engaged in the wars of their country, and died saying,
“Would I could have seen them after their dangers and good conduct!”
Among all our relations and friends we receive kindness and attention
and unbounded love, but the love of a mother is distinct in character;
youth in distress turns to the mother for sympathy and pardon; in
joy it desires to impart its feeling to the mother, who participates
in it with the warmth of a mother’s heart. The mother is the friend,
the counsellor, the pardoner of offences, and, happen what may, the
mother ever clings to her offspring. When I first parted from my
mother to join my Regiment, the French Army was assembled at Boulogne,
and every day was full of news that the French were coming. We dined
early that day, I and my father, who was kindly to accompany me to
Brabourne Lees, in Kent. At dinner I held up manfully. Then I ran to
the stable to part with a beautiful little horse I had reared almost
from a foal—he was thoroughbred, and carried me hunting in such a style
that no one could beat me. I threw my arms round Jack’s neck, and had
a good cry. I saw my poor mother observed what I had been doing, and a
smile of approbation curled upon her placid lip. The awful moment now
approached: the buggy was at the door. I parted with my dear brothers
and sisters (five boys and five girls) tolerably well, my poor mother
glad to observe in me a force of character which _she hoped_ in greater
and more eventful scenes I might evince. It came next to her turn. She
seized me in her arms, and wept awfully. Suddenly, with an effort I
shall never forget, her tears were dried, she held me at arm’s length,
and, gazing at me most intently, said, “I have two favours to ask of
you: one is that you never enter a public billiard-room; the next—our
country is at war—if ever you meet your enemy, remember you are born a
true Englishman. Now, God bless and preserve you, which I hope He will,
and listen to the constant, the fervent prayers, I will offer up for
your welfare.” I exclaimed, “Dear mother, I promise!” God knows the
first request I have honestly fulfilled, the latter I hope I have—at
least, my superiors and comrades ever gave me credit for a bold and
courageous bearing. I returned to her beloved embrace after South
America, and got a commission for my brother Tom, and again to her
nearly naked and a skeleton after the retreat to Coruña. I was covered
with vermin, and had no clothes but those on my back. _To her alone_
did I impart what, although I felt no disgrace, I did not want to be
known. She dressed me, and put me in a hot bath, and we preserved our
secret mutually inviolate. I soon again left her for Talavera, restored
to health by her care, never to see her again, but our intercourse by
letters was constant. The last she received from me was after we had
carried the heights of Vera in such a brilliant manner, and it told
her that for my conduct I was promised the brevet rank of Major. May
every soldier obey the fifth commandment as I did! I never was in a
situation of appalling death, mortality, and danger, but my mother’s
words rang in my ears, “Remember you were born an Englishman.” My dear
wife participated and sympathized in all my grief, for I admit it was
excessive, saying ever, “I have lost father and mother, and my brother
died in my arms of his wounds. Your home and relatives you have still
left, while I live alone for you,—my all, my home, my kindred.”
The morning after my dream [12 Dec.] I was very early at our advanced
posts, and I saw some French soldiers coming on in a very unusual
manner to attack us, while the mass of their force were dismissed in
bivouac. The 1st Caçadores had the advance. I never saw the French
so daring since the retreat to Coruña, and they were most excellent
shots, and actually astonished our Caçadores. Colborne, hearing a smart
firing, rode up, and stopped in the road opposite one of the barricades
of our picquets. I said, “I don’t know what the devil we have got in
our front to-day. Don’t stand there, you will be shot in a moment!”
He laughed, but would not move. In a second a ball went through his
cap just above his noble head. He moved then and laughed. “Look at the
fellows,” he says, “how viciously they come on; it is evident it is no
general attack, for the troops in their bivouac are not under arms.
They want this post.” “Which,” says I, “they will have in ten minutes,
unless I bring up the 2nd Battalion Rifle Brigade,” for our Caçadores
were evidently not equal to their task. Colborne says, “Fetch them!”
In a very short time our Riflemen came up. By this time the enemy had
driven in everything beyond the barricade, and were prepared to assault
it. Our 95th fellows had a few men wounded as they were coming up the
road, before they could be extended, which made them as savage as the
enemy, who were capering about the fields in our front as if drunk.
Our fellows turned to, and soon brought them to repent any pranks or
exposure. We took a few prisoners, and ascertained the Regiment was
the 32nd Voltigeurs, a crack corps of Suchet’s army which had joined
the night before, when we heard all the noise going on in the bivouac.
These gentlemen had ever previously been venturous and laughed at the
tales of British prowess; that morning’s lesson, however, seemed to
have made converts of them, for I never after observed any extra feats
of dancing; but Colborne and all of us were perfectly astonished when
the fact was known, and our 2nd Battalion 95th Regiment were rather
elated in having thus shown themselves such able instructors.
We were very much on the alert all day, and a few shots were exchanged.
At night our picquets were strengthened, for we were not aware if our
friends, the new Voltigeurs, intended a fresh prank. After these three
days’ fighting and vigilance, the enemy withdrew close to Bayonne,
their and our advanced posts being nearly as before. Notwithstanding
the loss of our goose, we had a capital Christmas dinner, at which, of
course, we had the Commissary of the Brigade, and induced him to find
us champagne, which many commissaries were able to do.