CAPTURE OF FORT BOWYER—DISEMBARCATION ON ILE DAUPHINE—END OF
THE AMERICAN WAR—VISIT TO HAVANA AND RETURN-VOYAGE TO
ENGLAND—NEWS OF NAPOLEON’S RETURN TO POWER—HARRY SMITH AT
HIS HOME AT WHITTLESEY.
After the Army was somewhat refreshed, an attempt on Mobile was
resolved on, for which purpose the fleet went down to the mouth of
Mobile Bay. Here there was a wooden fort of some strength, Fort Bowyer,
which some time previously had sunk one of two small craft of our
men-of-war which were attempting to silence it. It was necessary that
this fort should be reduced in order to open the passage of the bay. It
was erected on a narrow neck of land easily invested, and required only
a part of the army to besiege it. It was regularly approached, and when
our breaching batteries were prepared to burn or blow it to the devil,
I was sent to summon it to surrender. The Americans have no particular
respect for flags of truce, and all my Rifle education was required
to protect myself from being rifled and to procure a reception of my
flag. After some little time I was received, and, upon my particular
request, admitted into the fort, to the presence of Major Lawrence, who
commanded, with five Companies, I think, of the 2nd Regiment. I kept
a sharp look-out on the defences, etc., which would not have resisted
our fire an hour. The Major was as civil as a vulgar fellow can be. I
gave him my version of his position, and cheered him on the ability he
had displayed. He said, “Well, now, I calculate you are not far out in
your reckoning. What do you advise me to do? You, I suppose, are one
of Wellington’s men, and understand the rules in these cases.” “This,”
I said, “belongs to the rule that the weakest goes to the wall, and if
you do not surrender at discretion in one hour, we, being the stronger,
will blow up the fort and burn your wooden walls about your ears. All
I can say is, you have done your duty to your country, and no soldier
can do more, or resist the overpowering force of circumstances.” “Well,
if you were in my situation, you would surrender, would you?” “Yes, to
be sure.” “Well, go and tell your General I will surrender to-morrow at
this hour, provided I am allowed to march out with my arms and ground
them outside the fort.” “No,” I said, “I will take no such message
back. My General, in humanity, offers you terms such as he can alone
accept, and the blood of your soldiers be on your own head.” He said,
“Well, now, don’t be hasty.” I could see the Major had some hidden
object in view. I said, therefore, “Now, I tell you what message I
will carry to my General. You open the gates, and one of our Companies
will take possession of it immediately, and a body of troops shall move
up close to its support; then you may remain inside the fort until
to-morrow at this hour, and ground your arms on the glacis.” I took out
pen and ink, wrote down my proposition, and said, “There, now, sign
directly and I go.” He was very obstinate, and I rose to go, when he
said, “Well, now, you are hard upon me in distress.” “The devil I am,”
I said. “We might have blown you into the water, as you did our craft,
without a summons. Good-bye.” “Well, then, give me the pen. If I must,
so be it;” and he signed. His terms were accepted, and the 4th Light
Company took possession of the gate, with orders to rush in in case of
alarm. A supporting column of four hundred men were bivouacked close
at hand with the same orders, while every precaution was taken, so
that, if any descent were made from Mobile, we should be prepared, for,
by the Major’s manner and look under his eyebrows, I could see there
was no little cunning in his composition. We afterwards learned that
a force was embarked at Mobile, and was to have made a descent _that
very night_, but the wind prevented them. We were, however, perfectly
prepared, and Fort Bowyer was ours.
The next day [12 Feb.] the Major marched out and grounded his arms.
He was himself received very kindly on board the _Tonnant_, and his
officers were disposed of in the Fleet. The fellows looked very like
French soldiers, for their uniforms were the same, and much of the same
cut as to buttons, belts, and pipe-clay.
In a few days after the capture of this fort the _Brazen_ sloop-of-war
arrived with dispatches [14 Feb.]. The preliminaries of peace were
signed, and only awaited the ratification of the President, and until
this was or was not effected, hostilities were to cease. We were
all happy enough, for we Peninsular soldiers saw that neither fame
nor any military distinction could be acquired in this species of
milito-nautico-guerilla-plundering-warfare. I got a letter from my dear
wife, who was in health and composure, with my family all in love with
her, and praying of course for my safe return, which she anticipated
would not be delayed, as peace was certain. I for my part was very
ready to return, and I thanked Almighty God from my heart that such
fair prospects were again before me, after such another series of
wonderful escapes.
Pending the ratification, it was resolved to disembark the whole
army on a large island at the entrance of Mobile Bay, called Isle
Dauphine.[66] This was done. At first we had great difficulty in
getting anything like fresh provisions; but, as the sea abounded with
fish, each regiment rigged out a net, and obtained a plentiful supply.
Then our biscuit ran short. We had abundance of flour, but this began
to act on the men and produce dysentery. The want of ovens alone
prevented our making bread. This subject engrossed my attention for
a whole day, but on awakening one morning a sort of vision dictated
to me, “There are plenty of oyster-shells, and there is sand. Burn
the former and make mortar, and construct ovens.” So I sent on board
to Admiral Malcolm to send me a lot of hoops of barrels by way of
a framework for my arch. There was plenty of wood, the shells were
burning, the mortar soon made, my arch constructed, and by three
o’clock there was a slow fire in a very good oven on the ground.
The baker was summoned, and the paste was made, ready to bake at
daylight. The Admiral, dear Malcolm, and our Generals were invited to
breakfast, but I did not tell even Sir John Lambert why I had asked a
breakfast-party. He only laughed and said, “I wish I could give them
a good one!” Oh, the anxiety with which I and my baker watched the
progress of our exertions! We heard the men-of-war’s bells strike eight
o’clock. My breakfast-party was assembled. I had an unusual quantity
of salt beef and biscuit on the table, the party was ready to fall to,
when in I marched at the head of a column of loaves and rolls, all
piping hot and as light as bread should be. The astonishment of the
Admiral was beyond all belief, and he uttered a volley of monosyllables
at the idea of a soldier inventing anything. Oh, how we laughed and ate
new bread, which we hadn’t seen for some time! At first the Admiral
thought I must have induced his steward to bake me the bread as a joke,
when I turned to Sir John and said, “Now, sir, by this time to-morrow
every Company shall have three ovens, and every man his pound and
a half of bread.” I had sent for the Quartermasters of Corps; some
started difficulties, but I soon removed them. One said, “Where are
we to get all the hoops?” This was, I admit, a puzzle. I proposed to
make the arch for the mortar of wood, when a very quick fellow, Hogan,
Quartermaster of the Fusiliers, said, “I have it: make a bank of sand,
plaster over it; make your oven; when complete, scratch the sand out.”
In a camp everything gets wind, and Harry Smith’s ovens were soon in
operation all over the island. There were plenty of workmen, and the
morrow produced the bread.
The officers erected a theatre, and we had great fun in various
demi-savage ways. Bell, the Quartermaster-General, dear noble fellow,
arrived, and a Major Cooper, and, of some importance to me, my stray
portmanteau. I was half asleep one morning, rather later than usual,
having been writing the greater part of the night, when I heard old
West say, “Sir, sir.” “What’s the matter?” “Thank the Lord, you’re
alive.” “What do you mean, you old ass?” “Why, a navigator has been
going round and round your tent all night; here’s a regular road about
the tent.” He meant an alligator, of which there were a great many on
the island. The young ones our soldiers used to eat. I tasted a bit
once; the meat was white, and the flavour like coarsely-fed pork.
In this very tent I was writing some very important documents for my
General; the sandflies had now begun to be very troublesome, and that
day they were positively painful. I ever hated tobacco, but a thought
struck me, a good volume of smoke would keep the little devils off me.
I called my orderly, a soldier of the 43rd, and told old West, who
chawed a pound a day at least, to give him plenty of tobacco, and he
was to make what smoke he could, for of two evils this was by far the
least. The old Peninsular soldiers off parade were all perfectly at
home with their officers, and he puffed away for a long time while I
was writing, he being under my table. After a time he put his head out
with a knowing look, and said, “If you please, sir, this is drier work
than in front of Salamanca, where water was not to be had, and what’s
more, no grog neither.” I desired West to bring him both rum and water.
“Now, your honour, if you can write as long as I can smoke, you’ll
write the history of the world, and I will kill all the midges.”
The ratification at length arrived [5 March], and the army was prepared
to embark. Sir John Lambert, Baynes his Aide-de-camp, and I were to go
home in the _Brazen_ sloop-of-war, with a Captain Stirling, now Sir
James, who was ultimately the founder of the Swan River Settlement. A
more perfect gentleman or active sailor never existed: we have been
faithful friends ever since. As many wounded as the _Brazen_ could
carry were embarked, and we weighed with one of our noble men-of-war.
As soon as the word was given, we sailed to the Havannah for fresh
provisions. We spent a merry week there, when Stirling and I were
inseparable. We were all _fêted_ at the house of a Mr. Drake, nominally
a wealthy merchant, but actually in every respect a prince. I never saw
a man live so superbly. He put carriages at our disposal; one for Sir
John Lambert, and one for me and Stirling. He was married to a Spanish
woman, a very ladylike person, who played and sang beautifully. I could
speak Spanish perfectly, and the compatriot connexion I told her and
her maiden sisters of made us friends at once. My spare time, however,
was spent in the house of the Governor, Assuduco, who had a daughter
so like my wife in age, figure, etc., and speaking English about as
much as she could, I was never so much amused as in her society; and
my wife and she corresponded afterwards. We stayed in the Havannah a
week, and the public drives brought us all back again to the Prado of
Madrid. Although the beauty of the ladies of the capital was wanting,
the costumes were equally elegant.
The celebrated Woodville, the cigar manufacturer, asked us to a public
breakfast at his house, four or five miles out of the city. He was
about six feet two, as powerful a man as I ever saw; his hair in
profusion, but as white as snow; the picture of health, with a voice
like thunder. He was rough, but hospitable, and after breakfast showed
us the various processes of his manufactory, and the number of hands
each went through. “Now,” says he, “Sir John, I have another sight to
show you, which few men can boast of.” With his fingers in his mouth,
he gave a whistle as loud as a bugle, when out ran from every direction
a lot of children, of a variety of shades of colour, all looking happy
and healthy. Not one appeared above twelve or thirteen. “Ah,” he
said, “report says, and I believe it, they are every one of them my
children.” “Count them,” he said to me. I did; there were forty-one. I
thought Stirling and I would have died of laughing. Sir John Lambert,
one of the most amiable and moral men in the world, said so mildly,
“A very large family indeed, Mr. Woodville,” that it set Stirling and
me off again, and the old patriarch joined in the laugh, with, “Ah,
the seed of Abraham would people the earth indeed, if every one of his
descendants could show _my_ family.”
After a week of great amusement we sailed from Havana. The harbour and
entrance are perfectly beautiful: the works most formidable, but the
Spaniards would not let us inside. Sailing into the harbour is like
entering a large gateway; the sails are almost within reach of the
Moro rock, and there is a swell setting into the harbour, which gives
the ship a motion, as if every wave would dash her on the Moro.
In the Gulf of Florida we encountered a most terrific gale, wind and
current at variance, and oh, such a sea! We lay to for forty-eight
hours; we could not cook, and the main deck was flooded. Sir John
and I never got out of our cots: he perfectly good-humoured on all
occasions, and always convincing himself, and endeavouring to convince
us, that the gale was abating. The third morning Stirling came to my
cot. “Come, turn out; you will see how I manage my craft. I am going to
make sail, and our lubberly cut may set us on our beam-ends, or sink
us altogether.” A delightful prospect, indeed. He was and is a noble
seaman, all animation, and he was so clear and decided in his orders!
Sail was made amid waves mountains high, and the _Brazen_, as impudent
a craft as ever spurned the mighty billows, so beautifully was she
managed and steered, rode over or evaded seas apparently overwhelming;
and Stirling, in the pride of his sailor’s heart, says, “There, now,
what would you give to be a sailor?” It really was a sight worth
looking at—a little bit of human construction stemming and resisting
the power of the mighty deep.
As we neared the mouth of the British Channel, we had, of course, the
usual thick weather, when a strange sail was reported. It was now
blowing a fresh breeze; in a few minutes we spoke her, but did not
make her haul her main-topsail, being a bit of a merchantman. Stirling
hailed as we shot past. “Where are you from?” “Portsmouth.” “Any news?”
“No, none.” The ship was almost out of sight, when we heard, “Ho!
Bonapart_er_’s back again on the throne of France.” Such a hurrah as I
set up, tossing my hat over my head! “I will be a Lieutenant-Colonel
yet before the year’s out!” Sir John Lambert said, “Really, Smith, you
are so vivacious! How is it possible? It cannot be.” He had such faith
in the arrangements of our government, he wouldn’t believe it. I said,
“Depend upon it, it’s truth; a beast like that skipper never could have
invented it, when he did not even regard it as news: ‘No, no news; only
Bonaparte’s back again on the throne of France.’ Depend on it, it’s
true.” “No, Smith, no.” Stirling believed it, and oh, how he carried
on! We were soon at Spithead, when all the men-of-war, the bustle, the
general appearance, told us, before we could either see telegraphic
communication or speak any one, where “Bonaparter” was.
We anchored about three o’clock, went on shore immediately, and shortly
after were at dinner in the George. Old West had brought from the
Havannah two pups of little white curly dogs, a dog and bitch, which
he said were “a present for missus.” They are very much esteemed in
England, these Havana lapdogs; not much in _my_ way.
The charm of novelty which I experienced on my former visit to England
after seven years’ absence, was much worn off, and I thought of
nothing but home. Sir John and I started for London in a chaise at
night, and got only as far as Guildford. I soon found our rate of
progression would not do, and I asked his leave to set off home. At
that time he was not aware of all my tale. I never saw his affectionate
heart angry before; he positively scolded me, and said, “I will report
our arrival; write to me, that I may know your address, for I shall
most probably very soon want you again.” My wife and Sir John were
afterwards the greatest friends.
So Mr. West and I got a chaise, and off we started, and got to London
on a Sunday, the most melancholy place on that day on earth. I drove
to my old lodgings, where I had last parted from my wife. They
could assure me she was well, as she had very lately ordered a new
riding-habit. So I ordered a post-chaise, and ran from Panton Square to
Weeks’ in the Haymarket, and bought a superb dressing-case and a heavy
gold chain; I had brought a lot of Spanish books from the Havannah. So
on this occasion I did not return to my home naked and penniless, as
from Coruña.
I got to Waltham Cross about twelve o’clock. I soon found a pair of
horses was far too slow for my galloping ideas; so I got four, and we
galloped along then as fast as I could wish. I rattled away to the
Falcon Inn in my native place, Whittlesea; for I dare not drive to my
father’s house. I sent quietly for him, and he was with me in a moment.
The people were in church as I drove past. My wife was there, so as
yet she was safe from any sudden alarm. She and my sisters took a walk
after church, when servants were sent in every direction in search of
them, with orders quietly to say that my father wanted my sisters. A
fool of a fellow being the first to find them, and delighted with his
prowess, ran up, shouting, “Come home directly; a gentleman has come
in a chaise-and-four”—who, he did not know. My poor wife, as he named
no one, immediately believed some one had arrived to say I was killed,
and down she fell senseless. My sisters soon restored her, and they ran
home, to their delight, into my arms. My wife and I were never again
separated,[67] though many an eventful scene was in store and at hand
for us.
[Illustration: ST. MARY’S, WHITTLESEY.
_From a photograph by A. Gray, Whittlesey, 1900._
[_Opposite p. 260._]
We were now all happiness. During my few months’ absence nothing had
occurred to damp their contentment; so we all blessed God Almighty
that I had again been protected in such awful situations both by land
and sea, while so many families had to grieve for the loss of their
dearest relatives. Pug and Tiny recognized me. I heard from Sir John
Lambert that he was to be employed with the army assembling at Brussels
under the Duke, that I had better be prepared to join him at a few
hours’ notice, that my position near him would require horses. I knew
that “Major of Brigade” was the berth intended for me. My wife was
to accompany me again to the war, but nothing affected us _when
united_; the word “separation” away, all was smooth. All was now
excitement, joy, hope and animation, and preparation of riding-habits,
tents, canteens, etc., my sisters thinking of all sorts of things for
my wife’s comfort, which we could as well have carried as our parish
church. My youngest brother but one, Charles, was to go with me to join
the 1st Battalion Rifle Brigade, as a Volunteer,[68] and his departure
added to the excitement. I never was more happy in all my life; not a
thought of the future (though God knows we had enough before us), for
my wife was going and all the agony of parting was spared.
I immediately set to work to buy a real good stud. Two horses I bought
at Newmarket, and two in my native place; and as Tiny the faithful was
voted too old, as was the mare I had with me in Spain and Washington, I
bought for my wife, from a brother, a mare of great celebrity, bred by
my father, a perfect horse for a lady who was an equestrian artist.
In a few days I had a kind letter from Sir John Lambert, saying I was
appointed his Major of Brigade; and as he was to proceed to Ghent in
Flanders, recommending me, being in Cambridgeshire, to proceed _viâ_
Harwich for Ostend, as I must find my own passage unless I went on a
transport. West was therefore despatched with my four horses _viâ_
Newmarket for Harwich, and I intended so to start as to be there the
day my horses would arrive.
The evening before we started, my father, wife, sisters, myself, and
brothers had a long ride. On returning, at the end of the town, there
was a new stiff rail, with a ditch on each side. I was riding my dear
old mare, that had been at Washington, etc., and off whose back poor
Lindsay had been killed;[69] she was an elegant fencer, and as bold
as in battle. I said to my sisters, “I will have one more leap on my
war-horse.” I rode her at it. Whether she had grown old, or did not
measure her leap, I don’t know, but over she rolled. One of my legs was
across the new and narrow ditch, her shoulder right upon it; I could
not pull it from under her. I expected every moment, if she struggled,
to feel my leg broken, and there was an end to my Brigade Majorship! I
passed a hand down, until I got short hold of the curb, and gave her a
snatch with all my force. She made an effort, and I drew my leg out,
more faint than subsequently in the most sanguinary conflict of the
whole war. I never felt more grateful for an escape.