RETURN TO ENGLAND (1818)—HARRY SMITH REJOINS HIS
REGIMENT—SHORNCLIFFE—GOSPORT—DISCHARGE OF THE PENINSULAR
VETERANS.
On reaching Calais I could not avoid calling to memory the British
possession of that celebrated fortress, for so many years the bone of
contention and strife. All was bustle and embarcation. We embarked in
a small vessel [31 Oct.?], and the wind obliged us to go to Ramsgate.
The London Custom House had provided for baggage to be examined at
Ramsgate as well as at Dover, and nothing could be more liberal and
gentlemanlike than the Custom House officers (of course acting under
instructions). My wife had an immense box of French dresses which,
being all extended on account of the large flounces then worn, required
great room. While I was passing my baggage, one of the officers said,
“And that large box—what does it contain?” I said, “My wife’s dresses.”
“I have not the least doubt of it, sir, as you say so, sir; but I
declare I never saw such a box of ladies’ dresses in my life before.”
Then came her guitar. “What is this?” “Oh, hand it along, it’s naught
but a fiddle.”
The celebrated Cavalry officer, Sir John Elley, a very tall, bony,
and manly figure of a man, with grim-visaged war depicted in his
countenance, with whiskers, moustaches, etc. like a French Pioneer,
came over to Dover during the time of our occupation of France. He
was walking on the path, with his celebrated sword belted under his
_surtout_. As the hooking up of the sword gave the coat-flap the
appearance of having something large concealed under it, a lower order
of Custom officer ran after him, rudely calling, “I say, you officer,
you! stop, stop, I say! What’s that under your coat?” Sir John turned
round, and drawing his weapon of defence in many a bloody fight, to the
astonishment of the John Bulls, roared out through his moustache in a
voice of thunder, “That which I will run through your d——d guts, if you
are impertinent to me!”
My Regiment was at Shorncliffe, and thither I and my wife proceeded,
parting with many friends of the Guards, some of whom she has never
seen since. I was given an entirely new Company, that is, one composed
of recruits. I interceded with Colonel Norcott, however, to give me a
few of my dear old comrades into each squad, and with their help and
example I soon inspired the rest with the feelings of soldiers. There
was a pack of hounds too in the neighbourhood, and though it is a
stiff, bad country, fox-hunting is fox-hunting in any shape, and I had
two noble hunters, Lochinvar and a celebrated mare, besides the “Brass
Mare” for my wife. My whole income at the moment was my pay, 12_s._
6_d._ a day. One day, after a capital run with the hounds, Mr. Deedes
asked me to dine with him, and I had a post-chaise to go in to dinner,
which cost me 17_s._ Thus—
“How happy’s the soldier who lives on his pay,
And spends half-a-crown out of sixpence a day!”
My Battalion was ordered to Gosport, and soon after at Shorncliffe,
which had been the depôt of the Regiment during the whole war, not
a Rifleman was left. I marched [about Dec. 24-28] in command of the
Headquarters Division, all our old soldiers. Neither they nor I could
help remarking the country as a difficult one to make war in. You would
hear the men, “I say, Bill, look at that wood on the hill there and
those hedgerows before it. I think we could keep that ourselves against
half Soult’s Army. Ah, I had rather keep it than attack it! But, Lord,
the war’s all over now.”
When I first joined at Shorncliffe we heard of nothing but “the French
are coming over.” We have been in among _them_, I take it, since. They
never could have got to London through such a stiff country. We would
have destroyed the roads and cut down the trees to make those d——d
things they used to do—_abattis_[79]; besides, where would be the use
of all their capering cavalry, etc.?
During this march, when the men were billeted in the inns and scattered
over the country, I could not divest myself of the feeling of
insecurity I had acquired after so many years’ precautionary habits;
and although I repeated to myself a hundred times daily, “You are
in England,” the thought would arise, “You are in the power of your
enemy.” Before dismissing the men, I always told them the hour I should
march in the morning, and men who were billeted either ahead or on the
sides of the road were to join their Companies as I arrived. During
the whole march I never had a man absent or irregular. Such a band of
practised and educated soldiers may never again traverse England.
My wife posted from Shorncliffe into Sussex—to Beauport, Sir John
Lambert’s temporary seat, where the kind family insisted on her staying
until I came to fetch her to Gosport, which I did soon after. On
arrival at Gosport we were led to believe we should be a year or two
there, and we began to (what is called) make ourselves comfortable.
We had a great number of guards and sentries literally over nothing.
One night, however, on visiting the different guards and counting
them, I found every man present. I asked, “What! no man on sentry?”
“Oh no, sir; the 86th, whom we relieved, say they always bring in all
sentries at night.” “Why, this is a new way—new to us.” “Certainly,”
the sergeants said.
The following day I and two or three officers went to inspect every
sentry’s post. We found some with orders “to see that no one took that
gun away” (a 32-pounder dismounted), one “to see as them goats did not
leave the rampart.” He was one of our soldiers, and I said, “Confound
you, did you take such an order from a storekeeper?” He said, “Why, I
hardly look on it as a _horder_, only civil-like of me; and you know,
sir, goats were worth looking after at Dough Boy Hill” (near Almaraz,
so called from our having nothing to eat for three weeks but dough and
goats’ flesh, and very little of either).[80] I represented all this to
Lord Howard of Effingham, who very readily entertained the report, and
sentries were all taken off, where not required. Colonel Norcott soon
after joined.
While we were here 300 of our oldest and best soldiers were discharged.
Every one came to say farewell to my wife; and there was a touching
parting between officers and soldiers, now about to be dispersed
through Great Britain, after so many years’ association under such
eventful circumstances. There was not one who could not relate some act
of mutual kindness and reciprocity of feeling in connexion with the
many memorable events in which they had taken part. I and many of the
officers marched several miles on the road with these noble fellows.
In the Barrack Square they had prayed me to give them the word of
command to march off. “Sure,” says an Irishman, “it’s the last after
the thousand your honour has given us.” I did so; but when the moment
arrived to part every man’s tears were chasing each other down his
bronzed and veteran cheeks. They grasped their officers’ hands,—“God
bless your honour!” then such a shout and cheer. Such feelings in times
of peace are not, cannot be acquired. My faithful old West was of
the party; but he parted from me and his mistress in our house. Poor
faithful, noble fellow, as gallant as a lion, he had been with me from
Vimiera and Coruña until 1819.
The 18th June, the first anniversary of the Battle of Waterloo which
we had spent in England, was such a day throughout the Regiment,
with dinners for the soldiers, non-commissioned officers, wives and
children. Among the officers there was such a jubilee of mirth, mingled
with grief for our lost comrades, as must be conceived, for never was
there a Regiment in which harmony and unanimity were more perfect.
In the autumn the manufacturing districts, Glasgow, Manchester,
Birmingham, etc., became much disturbed, and our soldiers, who
invariably know everything first, insisted on it we should go to
Glasgow. My Company was out at target practice with others, when we
heard the assembly sound. “Hurrah for Glasgow!” said the men. We
all marched home, and found we were to embark on board a man-of-war
immediately. By four o’clock that afternoon [18 Sept.] we were all
on board the _Liffey_. Sir James Kempt had succeeded Lord Howard of
Effingham in the command at Portsmouth, and proud he was to see one of
his old Battalions in peace the same ready soldiers they were in war.
My wife remained behind to go in the _Spartan_ frigate, which had been
recently fitted up for the Duchess of Kent. The Captain put her up
superbly, and she reached Leith Roads in time to join my Company on the
march.[81]