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THE
MILITARY SKETCH-BOOK.
REMINISCENCES OF
SEVENTEEN YEARS IN THE SERVICE
ABROAD AND AT HOME.
BY AN OFFICER OF THE LINE.
“The wight can tell
A melancholy and a merry tale
Of field, and fight, and chief, and lady gay.”
IN TWO VOLUMES.
VOL. II.
LONDON: HENRY COLBURN, NEW BURLINGTON STREET. 1827. */
LONDON:
PRINTED BY S. AND R. BENTLEY, DORSET STREET.
CONTENTS
OF
THE SECOND VOLUME.
Page
NIGHTS IN THE GUARD-HOUSE, NO. IV. 1
ABSENT WITHOUT LEAVE 28
THE PUNISHMENT 36
ECCENTRICITIES OF THE LATE MORRIS QUILL 48
MESS-TABLE CHAT, NO. III. 63
RECOLLECTIONS OF THE LAST CAMPAIGN IN THE PENINSULA 83
NIGHTS IN THE GUARD-HOUSE, NO. V. 182
HOLY ORDERS 199
A LITTLE CONSEQUENCE 206
THE HUSSAR AND THE COMMISSARY 210
ALLEMAR AND ELLEN 217
THE COUP DE GRACE 235
A VOLUNTEER OF FORTY 242
THE HALF-PAY CAPTAIN 261
MESS-TABLE CHAT, NO. IV. (A SKETCH FOR THE “MEDICOS.”) 277
NIGHTS IN THE GUARD-HOUSE, NO. VI.:--THE BUSHRANGERS 293
THE
MILITARY SKETCH-BOOK.
NIGHTS IN THE GUARD-HOUSE.
No. IV.
“Come, you Jack Andrews, lave off your caperin’ about there, and give
us that song the Captain made on the bowld Guerilla,” said private
Mulligan to his comrade, who was taking a lesson from Lance-Corporal
Brogan on the Ballycraggen[1] pushing-step, to set his blood into
circulation; for he had been just relieved from a two hours’ stand
upon the side of as bleak a mountain as ever sentry stood upon; where
the keen winds of a cold frosty night had full play upon his patient
and good-humoured countenance.
“Make room, then, and let me have the next place to the hob,” replied
Jack. He was very soon accommodated with the desired seat; for Andrews
was a good singer, and a still better story-teller: he had seen a
great deal of service, although a young man, and from his uncommonly
retentive memory could detail the most minute circumstances of his
campaigns; he therefore was the very life of the guard-room; and the
men of the regiment used to say, that if Jack Andrews and Corporal
Callaghan were but along with them, they would not refuse two extra
guards in the week.
The fire was soon surrounded, and Peninsular Bob, the sergeant of the
guard, bestirred himself from his snooze in the old arm chair, right in
front of the hearth, to listen to the fine voice and admire the musical
taste of Jack Andrews.
“Why,” said Jack, “the song of ‘The Guerilla’ is a very sweet thing,
when sung by two voices; but without two it is not quite so good.
Corporal Callaghan knows it well, and has often sung it with me; so
as soon as he returns from relieving the sentries, I’ll sing the song
with him, if you can persuade him to it. He knows the air better than
I do, for he learnt it from the Guerillas themselves when there was a
troop of them at Tolosa, and I learnt it from him; but if you have no
objection, lads, I’ll sing a song which the Captain wrote to a fine
bold and romantic French air, which I have heard the French soldiers
singing many a night, close to my own post.”
Of course, the proposal was received unanimously; and when silence
was perfectly restored, (for all spoke on the subject at once,) Jack
Andrews sang the following song, first having taken the precaution of
shutting the door, lest he might happen to be heard outside although
there was very little danger of being surprised by any of the officers
in his melodious dereliction from strict military practice.
THE SENTINEL.
When o’er the camp the midnight moonlight beams,
And soldiers’ eyes are seal’d in happy slumber,
The wakeful sentinel his watch proclaims,
And silence sweetly swells the echoing number:
Oh! then to Heaven his eyes he turns,
And murmurs with a glowing sigh,
“Angels bright that dwell above,
Tell my country, tell my love,
For them--for them I watch, for them I’ll die!”
And, as the foe’s night-fires before him play,
His bosom swells with flames still stronger burning;
He gazes on them--wishes for the day,
With glory and the fight once more returning!
Oh! then to Heaven his eyes he turns,
And murmurs with a glowing sigh,
“Angels bright that dwell above,
Tell my country, tell my love,
For them--for them I’ll fight, for them I’ll die!”
And should he, in the battle’s raging heat,
With valiant heart and arm the foe confounding;
Oh! should the hero then his death-wound meet,
And Victory his glorious knell be sounding,
Again to Heaven his eyes he turns,
And murmurs with his life’s last sigh,
“Angels bright that dwell above,
Tell my country, tell my love,
For them--for them I fought, for them I die!”
This, sung in admirable style by the manly voice of Jack Andrews, had a
powerful effect upon the listeners, for the air was of a romantically
martial character, composed during the best days of Napoleon’s glory,
when chivalric enthusiasm infused itself into every shade of French
imagination. There was not a man of the guard who had not served
in the Peninsula during the brightest period of England’s military
grandeur, when she stood opposed to Napoleon’s greatest heroes; and
from a recollection of the scenes of that time, awakened by the song,
there arose a feeling in every breast around the humble hearth of
Ballycraggen Guard-house, which commanders might have envied, and
philosophers admired. It brought all back to the romance of war; it
placed them in situations familiar to their fancy; it touched the
most delightful chord of the soldier’s heart, and every tongue became
eloquent upon the source of its sensations. There is no sign in
Nature’s mnemonics like music: it is a talisman of power. Moore has
beautifully expressed this in poetry, but not so effectually as the
following lines, attributed to the unfortunate Ensign Dermody.
To him whose heart is dark with shades of care,
How sweet’s the melody it loved to hear
In days gone by! Yet bitter is the strain:
Oh! ’tis a mingling of delight with pain;
For, though the hand of Time well-nigh efface
Each blur and furrow--each deforming trace,
Which stern Adversity’s harsh hand design’d
To spoil the lively landscape of the mind,
Some passing sound, some melancholy lay,
The favour’d pleasure of some former day,
Falls on his soul; and, as the listener hears,
Forth comes the magic stream of memory’s tears,
Which, dropping on the picture, bright again
Enlivens alike each beauty and each stain,
Casting a varnish of so mix’d a dye
That (by its gloss) ’twill please yet pain the eye!
Bob the sergeant spoke more than any one else on the subject of the
song;--“That’s a ’nation good thing, Jack,” said he; “it puts me in
mind of many a one of my night-guards when I was a private. D--me but
it made me think I was on the side of a hill on the advanced-posts,
stuck behind a tree, or the corner of a rock, watching the enemy in the
moonshine of a fine summer’s night, just as I was immediately before
the first battle Sir Arthur ever fought in Portugal. I think I’m there
now: it was at Roliça. I was on sentry that night, on a hill, close to
the enemy. It was as fine and as calm a night as ever was seen. The
French were posted thick upon the heights in front of us--infernal
steep and craggy precipices, where it was almost impossible to come
at them. There was I about three hundred yards in front of them. On
this advanced-post I was the sentry, and was just leaning against an
old windmill, looking out at the French vidette, who was stuck on
horseback, like the statue at Charing Cross, right out upon a high
rock, at the top of a hill. The moon was rising behind him, and I could
see the figure of the fellow and his horse just like one of those
black shadows they cut out in card. The whole country round was one
of the most beautiful pictures in the world. Down under my eyes was
a little wood of lightish-coloured trees, (cork, I believe,) a small
stream at the end of it: all along, to the distance of about two miles,
I could see different old convents, and houses beset with orange and
olive-trees; and the moonlight threw such a beautiful colouring over
them that I could not help feeling melancholy.--You may smile, lads,
but I was a young man then, and only a few days in a foreign country: I
could almost smell the sea-air; for we were only three miles from the
beach, along which we had been so lately sailing: I had not been many
weeks away from a comfortable home--father, mother, sweetheart and all:
I was then standing between two great armies, ready to start upon each
other: and I did not know but the next day would see my first fight and
my last hour. I’ll leave it to any man here, who ever was in any thing
like such a situation, to say, whether it is not calculated to make an
impression on the feelings.”
“Oh, by my sowl! and that it is, sargeant,” replied private Mulligan;
“particularly when you are not a long time at the work.”
“Well,” continued the sergeant, “it was at that old windmill I heard
the song of ‘The Sentinel’ first, from one of the enemy, who was
sitting with four or five others on the top of one of the heights; and
when he was done, a crowd of our fellows, about two or three hundred
yards from me, gave him three rounds of applause. The night was so
still, that you could hear the cocking of a musket half a mile off, and
the song went most melodiously. God knows whether the poor fellow ever
sang another song! for the next day there was no singing, but plenty of
dancing, to the tune of ‘_over the hills and far away_,’ and I rather
think we made the French pay the piper.”
“Bluranouns! tell us how it _was_, sargeant,” exclaimed Mulligan, with
an anxious smile, and a chuckling twist of his hands. The sergeant was
not sorry to have such a favour asked of him, and he did not lose a
moment in complying with the request, which now became general.
“After I was relieved that night, I lay down in my guard-coat on some
Indian-corn straw, behind a wall or sort of pent-house, where our
advanced piquet was, and I slept a couple of hours; after which Tom
Singleton and I smoked a little while, out of a short stump of a pipe,
which Tom brought with him from England, and warmed our gobs with a
drop out of the canteen. It was broad daylight, and we got up to look
out at the heights over the wall; for the officer of the piquet was
very busy with his spy-glass reconnoitring, and we knew we were soon to
begin a little bit of business with the Mounseers.
“Every body thought Sir Arthur would not let us be long before we
should be ordered to be ready,--for he looked like a sharp one. We
had not been many minutes leaning over the wall, when we saw the blue
fellows moving along the height immediately in front of us, as if to
take up a position on their own extreme left; and, presently, four or
five officers--I suppose the General and his staff--appeared where the
vidette was posted, and planted an eagle-flag on the highest point of
the hill; after which all drew their swords, took off their hats, and
saluted it. Thinks I, ‘Sir Arthur will pay his addresses to that same
flag before long.’ The French General took damned good care to place
the eagle on the top of a rock, where the boys could not _scale her
nest_ very easily.
“The piquet was very soon after relieved; and when we had been with the
bivouac of our regiment about a couple of hours, we were all ordered
out under arms, along with the other regiments of the brigade. ‘Ho,
ho!’ says I to my comrade, ‘there will be something going on very
quickly, you may depend upon it.’ We stood behind a line of loose trees
and bushes quite covered from the enemy’s view. I could see that other
brigades were also under arms, at about a quarter of a mile off; in
short, between every opening of either walls, or woods, or houses,
upon each plain and little open hill within view, I could see the red
coats either drawn up like ourselves, or moving along at quick time
with their arms and accoutrements glistening like glass. All the army
seemed on the alert--several pieces of artillery passed us down the
road towards the front, and Sir Arthur himself was galloping about
with his staff giving directions. He once stopped behind a small house
along with General Crawford, who commanded us, and showed him a large
map, as if pointing out something very important; after which _our_
General came back to where the brigade was, under the trees, and talked
for ten minutes or so to Colonel Lake, our commanding officer, (God
rest his soul, he was not long alive after that!) I could see by the
men’s faces and their manners, that they expected something which
was strange to them; but still they were joking and laughing: the
officers were uncommonly pleasant, particularly the young ones. It was
a most delightful morning--only a little too hot; but we were under
the trees, and tolerably well shaded from the effects of the sun. A
Portuguese muleteer just then came out from a sandy narrow lane, with
a pannier full of grapes and oranges, and the men at the flank of the
regiment where I was, were helping themselves to the welcome fruit,
which they purchased for little or nothing, when an Aid-de-camp came
galloping down the road behind where we were formed, and spoke a few
words to General Crawford; then galloped away again. We were helping
ourselves to the grapes and oranges, which, with our bread, made a good
breakfast, when the word was given “_attention_,” and the feast was at
an end. The whole of the brigade instantly formed into close column,
and we moved out towards the front, still covered by the wood, and were
joined by three other brigades, all forming into one solid column.
As we marched on, there was not a word spoken, except an occasional
command from the officers. We knew not what was to be expected; but
guessed, from seeing a brigade of artillery not far on our right, ready
at their guns, silent and waiting the word. There seemed to be scarcely
a breeze or a fly to disturb the silence of that fine summer’s day,
and the business upon which all were engaged:--an awful silence it
was--nothing to be heard but the soft tread of our feet, as we moved
over the heath, and the grass, and the sand.
We were now halted--still in the wood; but within half-shot of the
heights; and the French guns were not idle whenever any of our forces
were to be seen; but we were completely covered. Two other brigades
now joined us, and the whole of us were formed into one close column.
A finer body of fellows never stood together. We did not halt many
minutes; and during these few minutes the General officers and staff
were very busy--riding up and down the column, and giving orders, as
coolly and as calmly as if they were in the barrack-yard; but their
countenances were expressive of a seriousness, which I never saw upon
a parade--they seemed as if they were not now _playing_ soldiers, but
on the point of going to work like good ones. Our Colonel now addressed
us in a short but striking manner. He hoped we would show that the
regiment was worthy its name. I think his eye met every one of ours. I
never saw a man say so much by his looks in my life:--we all knew what
he meant, and although we could not speak our mind, we showed it by our
faces. I know the tears came into _my_ eyes, and I did not know why;
for I could have jumped into a mortar’s mouth at the time, and taken a
mile’s ride on a shell; but the fact is, it was the brotherly kindness
Colonel Lake felt for us, and the pride he took in the old 29th, which
affected me.”
“Oh, faith!” said Mulligan, “It’s not always grief nor sorrow that
makes a body’s eyes wathery, sargeant.”
“Well, the moment all was ready, there was nothing but a dead silence.
Every man--Generals and all--were in their places. A minute or two
would take the column out from the wood, and then ‘ware hawk’ from the
guns on the heights. ‘Steady, men,’--‘Forward!’ The curtain was soon
up. Bang went the artillery of the French--right into our column, as
it poured out from the wood; and _rattle_ went our artillery on the
right also, to support us. We moved on steady towards the bed of a
stream (quite dry) that winded up the hill: it was about as broad as
this room; and so steep that we must have bent a good deal to have got
up it: through this passage we were to go and make our way up to the
French fellows. On we moved for about three hundred yards under the
fire, without being much injured; at all events, it did not make a
great difference in our column, although I stood upon three or four
poor fellows as I advanced, who had fallen. I could see on my left, at
a good distance, a large body of our troops moving on also; and this
gave us still more confidence. We were getting vexed from the fire
above by the time we got to the passage up the hill, and our fellows
began to swear vengeance against the Mounseers. If we could have got
up in any numbers at once, I really think we would have eaten the
damned rascals; but we were obliged to go--not more than four or five
abreast; and had to stumble our way over lumps of stones as big as the
big drum. Our orders were to get up as fast as possible, and form above
as soon as we had made good our ground. We scarcely lost a man killed
or wounded in going up the hill through the crags and stones, until
we came nearly to the top. Here the way was a little wider, and our
Colonel formed us up in a pretty fair sort of way, giving us the word
to advance at double-quick time; when out comes a volley from a green
mound of earth in front of us and right in the middle of the way. This
mound was covered with bushes, and from behind these the firing came:
it was by a set of riflemen who were posted there in ambush: but when
they fired they ran like devils back--every one of them, except a few
that fell on their faces; for we gave them a volley that knocked them
over in good style. Several of my comrades dropped at this point, and
our poor Colonel too. He laid himself up against the side of the bank,
and although scarcely able to breathe, smiled, and pointed with his
sword to go on. We never stopped, but mounted like tigers to the top,
although half a regiment let slap at us from the opening. Oh! if they
had only stood till we could have got our bayonets into them! but they
ran off to about a hundred yards distance, and in a few moments our
regiment and two others were up and formed as compactly as you please,
when we received another volley from the French, at both sides and in
front--thick as hail. Many of our men fell, but we closed up, and did
not miss them. ‘_Let us at them_,’ was heard from many mouths. Vexed
and impatient, we soon had the word ‘_Charge!_’ The French were in
full line, and so were we: they advanced to meet us like men,--damned
beardy, tall, raw-boned grenadiers, with long grey frock-coats and
red-worsted epaulettes. On we went; and when within about ten yards
of them, we all gave a yell,--‘Hurrah!’ and Oh, Christ!--We dashed at
them,--they huzza’d as well as ourselves; but in a moment every English
bayonet was bloody to the hilt. Over they went; and the rear-rank of
the French, although they stood a little, and did some execution, was
soon settled. We butted them when we were tired sticking them. I broke
my musket by a blow I made at a fellow, and missed him; but I jumped
at his throat, although he was a tall man, and pulled him right down;
however, there I left him, and ran after my regiment; for he lost his
musket, and must have been taken prisoner by the troops advancing into
the field. The French, now at our right and left, opened a fire on us,
which knocked many a poor fellow off the hooks, and we fell back to
the main-body of our troops; for we were only treating the enemy with
a few steel lozenges, while the remainder of the column was getting
up the hill; and how they got up so soon I cannot imagine. I did not
think we were five minutes at work in all, when I turns and sees the
whole column formed in line, and the right of it pelting away, volley
after volley, at the French, who now showed an immense front. It was a
sort of even ground enough, but covered with grape stumps, and loaded
with bunches; however the _grape-shot_ was of more consequence to
me, so I never minded touching the grape _fruit_. There was nothing
done for half an hour but banging away with the musketry and a few of
the French guns; but while this was going on, our men were getting
up the hill, and forming in our rear as fast as possible. Men were
dropping, both French and English, quick enough, I assure you; and
we were longing for another charge, to put an end to the peppering.
This we were soon indulged with. ‘_Steady, my lads_,’ was the cry from
the officers, ‘_another taste of the bayonet_.’ The French formed a
strong first line, and their battalions in the rear were forming into
a second. ‘Now, men,’ says a General who rode behind _our_ first line,
‘keep steady, and do your duty.’--‘Charge!’ was the word:--in a moment
we were not forty yards from the enemy.--‘Hurrah!’--Oh such a shout
as we gave! But it was answered by the French every bit as loud; and
they did not flinch. At them we went, like devils again; and down
they went like twigs. They found it was no use trying it,--they were
knocked about; and although they did as much as men could do, they were
obliged to start about (those that were not down) and make the best of
their way off. We halted and loaded, as steady as rocks--most of our
gun-barrels were streaming with blood, which wetted the powder as it
went in. I’m sure that was _my_ case; for when we gave them a volley, I
know my musket did not go off, so I threw it away, and took up another
from one of our poor fellows, who lay on his face behind us, with his
head knocked all to pieces. I’m certain it was Jem Ellis, by a ring on
his finger; but you didn’t know Jem, poor fellow! that ring was given
to him by a sweet little girl the day we embarked, and he intended to
marry her if God spared his life; but unfortunately he met his fate
with a cannon-ball. Well, after this second charge, we expected an
attack from the French cavalry; and they certainly came upon our right;
but made no impression. Just as we halted, after scattering the line
of the enemy, their General came galloping in amongst his men, roaring
out to them to rally; it was General Laborde; and at that moment, a
battalion on my left poured in a round upon them; but still they formed
up in good style: one of the balls hit the General: he alighted, and
sat down beside a bank: we could see the surgeons tying up the wound.
There was not much harm done him, for he mounted again and rode away
along the line. At this time we were getting pretty well used to the
business, and the men stood as quiet as logs, wiping their faces,
and damning the French; yet the firing continued as brisk as ever;
and although our first engagement, we went on just as if we were at
a review: whenever a poor fellow dropped, we closed up, and kept our
front complete. In a moment I sees, left and right of the field, at
about half a mile distant, our red boys moving in towards us: they had
got round on the enemy’s flanks--the sight was glorious. We now got
the word for another charge, and went to it as confident of success
as if we were going to upset a parcel of skittles; but we had much
harder work; for the French rather stunned us with a volley just as
we approached: however we closed up, and pegged away, right and left,
huzzaing and roaring like madmen. Away they ran, and we after them,
until we were ordered to form up again: I was just falling in, when I
felt my right leg very heavy and numbed like, and rather difficult to
move; I put down my hand to my ankle, and found my stocking soaked with
blood, but I felt no pain. In a few moments, by George! I could not
move my leg at all; so I very reluctantly sat down under a rising bank,
pulled off my shoe, and was obliged to cut off my stocking: I was hit,
sure enough, right through the fleshy part of my leg, and I felt it now
impossible to move. There was a general shout down on the right, and
I could see our battalions advancing in double-quick time; the staff
galloping about everywhere; and a brigade of artillery of ours blazing
away like hell-fire at the enemy. Several regiments passed by me in
columns and in high spirits; so that I knew the French were retiring:
I gave them three cheers as they passed,[2] in which I was joined by
my wounded comrades, lying about, and several of the lads threw us
canteens of rum and wine, which were very acceptable. I gave a poor
French fellow a drop out of one of them, and I do think it saved his
life; he shook hands with me, and said something in French, I suppose
to thank me: he looked like a ghost before he took it, and after he
lay down a bit, his face got its natural colour, and he seemed much
stronger. Here we all lay until near seven o’clock in the evening; the
field covered up and down with wounded, dying and dead. I lost sight
of the troops in about an hour after I fell; but I had no doubt they
settled the matter very soon, for the artillery could not be heard
in a short time after the advance. I talked as well as I could to the
poor French grenadier beside me, and we seemed happy to speak together,
although not understanding much what each other said, except by signs.
About six o’clock I sees a Portuguese fellow, with a great slouched
hat, poking about amongst the dead, and rifling them of money, watches,
clothes, and whatever he could get. A French officer who lay upon a
sort of rise was attacked by this fellow: the officer was a powerful
man, and resisted being robbed, although he could not stand up. I had
no idea what the rascal of a Portuguese meant to do; when I saw him
hit the officer with an immense pole, on the head, and the unfortunate
man fell flat. There was an English sergeant of the 91st regiment near
me, severely wounded, and says I to him, ‘Sergeant, do you see that?’
‘I do,’ says he. ‘Have you a musket near you?’ says I. ‘Yes, here
is one,’ says he. ‘Then keep it, and load,’ says I, ‘for I’ll knock
that fellow over with mine.’ The sergeant loaded while lying down,
having got a cartridge from a pouch of a dead man near him:--‘Are you
ready?’ says I. ‘Yes.’ ‘Then if I miss him, and he should come up to
us, wait till he is close--then make sure of him.’ The Portuguese had
now left the Frenchman, and was engaged at a dead English officer:
he was stooping down. I raised myself up, and leaned my musket on
the French grenadier’s shoulder to take good aim--I covered my mark,
and fired:--the rascal jumped two feet off the ground, roared out
‘Ai! Jesus!’ and dropped like a cock on his face. He did not lift his
long-pole again, I warrant you.
“In a very short time after this, a detachment arrived on the ground,
to take away the wounded, and the surgeons had us removed into a house
where there was plenty of straw--French, English, and all together.
From the men who took us off the field, I learned that the enemy were
completely beaten, and retired, leaving their artillery behind.
“This was the very first brush our troops had under Sir Arthur, and for
beginners, I never saw better boys in my life. In about five days after
this, they had another trial, at the battle of Vimiera; and I wish I
had not been wounded so soon, or I should have had a finger in the pie.
“This was before you came to our regiment, Sergeant--wasn’t it?” said
Jack Andrews.
“Yes,” replied the sergeant, “I was drafted into this corps two years
after that battle.”
“It was a right good shot you made at the Portuguese scoundrel?” said
Mulligan; “By the powers o’ Moll Kelly, you sarved him right; an’ if it
was my case, I’d just a’ done the self same thing. The rascals used to
follow the army, whenever there was a likelihood of a battle, an’ not
only rob, but murdther the wounded. The Spaniards were no betther;--ay,
an’ what’s worse than all that, some of our own army’s women, at the
battle of Vittoria, were seen doin’ the same thing. Several of them
were caught in the act by the provost, an’ flogged well, though they
_were_ women,--an’ the devil’s cure to them for it.”
“Hush--I think the sentry has challenged. Here comes Callaghan,” said
the Sergeant, listening: and the word “Halt!” outside, convinced him
that he was right in his conjecture.
The Corporal, with four men as cold as the weather without, now entered
the guard-house, and joined their comrades at the fire. They brought
with them a stranger, an exciseman, whose face was somewhat disfigured;
and the Corporal informed the Sergeant, that some countrymen, who kept
a private still, had attacked him, and would perhaps have killed him
but for the guard who were within call. “Captain Jones met us,” said
Callaghan, “an’ desired me to conduct this man safe to the guard-house;
an’ said that he would send the ordtherly officer down to you with
further ordthers. The man is supposed to be very active about private
stills here; an’ this is the way they have rewarded him.--Pon my sowl,
Sir, you got a hell of a dthrubbing.”
“I think I did,” returned the exciseman; “but I’ll make them pay for
that through the nose, please the pigs.”
The orderly officer now entered the guard-room, and directed the
Sergeant to take three men of the guard, and to conduct the exciseman
safely home across the mountain; for which the latter returned thanks.
The party set out immediately, and the orderly officer returned to his
quarters; while Corporal Callaghan took a snooze in the Sergeant’s
chair, during his absence.
ABSENT WITHOUT LEAVE;
OR,
GONE TO SEA IN A COACH.
Ay; now we see it,
And there’s the coach!----
_Southey._
In many, if not in most, of the regiments of our army, there is to
be found a sort of officer who is a privileged oddity,--who takes
liberties with all his brethren of the mess with impunity, and who
pockets every thing short of a blow with the best possible humour.
In general, the individuals of this description are designated in
the mess-room vocabulary, “_Good-tempered Old Stagers_,” and “_Old
Stickers_,” meaning thereby, that they can “go” at the bottle, and
“stick” at the table till “all’s blue.”
One of these, a Quartermaster of infantry, with a nose of the genuine
Bardolph complexion, a rosy and eternal smile, a short figure, and
a big head, having dined with a party of brother officers at the
_Three Cups_, Harwich--the day on which his regiment marched into the
barracks of that town--was in the best possible spirits: so much so,
that he gave the bottle no rest until about eleven o’clock; and became
“glorious,” just as the company broke up--right or wrong he _would_ go
along with three of the youngest subalterns to ramble by the sea-side
in the moonshine, having been “_so long i’ the sun_.” They permitted
him reluctantly; perhaps, indeed, because they could not prevent him;
but when the party got down to the place where passengers and goods are
usually embarked, the Quartermaster became totally overpowered, and
sank senseless into a snore. The officers whom he accompanied could
not think of carrying his _corpus_ back to the inn; nor were there
any persons near whom they could employ for the purpose: one of them,
therefore, opened the door of a private carriage which stood near,
“unshipped” from the wheels--ready for embarkation, and in a moment the
sleeper was bundled into it, where he was left to his repose with the
door fast shut upon him.
Next morning at daybreak (about three o’clock) the coach, with its
contents, was put on board the Hamburg packet, and stowed away at the
very bottom of the hold: in half an hour after this, the vessel put to
sea.
For the whole of the day the packet had a brisk breeze, and at midnight
was a good hundred miles away from Harwich: a dead calm set in. It was
a beautiful night in July, and the passengers were not all gone to bed:
some walked the deck, and others sat below at cards--every thing was
silent, except the rattling of the ropes as the ship yielded to the
smooth and gentle swell of the sleeping North Sea. About this time, the
Quartermaster, it is supposed, awoke; at least he had not been heard
before to utter his complaints, probably from the bustle consequent
on the managing of the vessel in a stiff breeze. However, it was at
this time that his cracked and buried voice first fell upon the ears
of the crew; and for about twenty minutes the panic it created is
indescribable. The whist company in the cabin, at first thought it was
one of the sailors in a chest, and called the captain; who declared he
had been that minute examining into the cause of the unearthly sounds,
and had mustered his crew, all of whom were on deck, as much astonished
as he was--nay, more so, for one of them, a Welshman, felt convinced
that the voice proceeded from the speaking trumpet of the ghost of
David Jones, his former shipmate, “who had died in ill will with him.”
“Hallo--o--o--o--o!”--“Murder!”--“Murder!” now rose upon all ears, as
if the voice were at the bottom of the sea. The Welshman fell upon his
knees, and begged forgiveness of his injured and departed friend, David
Jones: the rest of the crew caught a slight tinge of his fears, and
paced about in couples to and fro; some declaring the voice was below
the rudder, and others that it was at the mast-head. The passengers,
one and all, hurried on deck; in short, none on board, not even the
Captain and the oldest seaman, were free from alarm: for they had
searched every _habitable_ place in the vessel without discovering the
cause of their terrors, and the hold, it was evident, could not have
contained an extra rat, it was so crammed with luggage, &c. “Let me
out, you d----d rascals! let me out--let me out, I say!” screamed the
voice with increased vigour. These exclamations the Welshman declared
were addressed to devils, that were tormenting his deceased enemy
David; and he uttered a fervent prayer for the peace of the wandering
and unhappy soul: but a different idea was awakened in the mind of the
Captain by the words “_Let me out_,” “There is somebody packed up in
the hold,” exclaimed he; and instantly ordering the men to follow him
down, all began to remove the upper layer of articles; which being
done, the voice became louder and more distinct.
“Where are you?” bawled the Captain.
“I’m here in a coach, d----n you!” answered the Quartermaster.
The mystery was now solved, and the Welshman made easy; but no one
could imagine how a human being could have got _into_ the carriage.
However, satisfaction on this point was not to be waited for; so
the men fell to work, and after about half an hour’s hard exertion,
succeeded in disincumbering the vehicle. They then proceeded to unpack
the Quartermaster, whose astonishment amounted almost to madness, when
he found that he had not only been confined in a coach, but in a ship,
and that the said ship was then in the middle of the German Ocean!
It was impossible to put back to Harwich, so no remedy was left the
little fat gentleman but to proceed to the end of the voyage, and to
take a passage back from Hamburg as soon as possible. This was bad
enough; but his hopes of an early return were almost destroyed by the
setting in of adverse winds, which kept the vessel beating about in a
most bile-brewing and stomach-stirring ocean, for ten days and nights;
during which time, when not sea-sick, the Quartermaster was employed
in profoundly meditating _how_ he could have got into the coach; and
even after having taken the opinion of the captain, the crew, and all
the passengers, upon the matter, he felt himself as much in the dark as
ever. The last thing he could recollect of “the land he had left,” was
that he dined and _wined_ at the “Three Cups,”--what followed was chaos.
But the worst of the affair, decidedly, was that the day on which
he had been _put to sea_ was the 22d of the month, and as it was
impossible for him to make his appearance with his regiment on the
24th, he knew he must, as a matter of course, be reported “_Absent
without leave_” at head quarters, and that he would most probably
be _superseded_. This reflection was even worse than the weather
to the Quartermaster, though the rough sea had already almost
“brought his heart up.” However, he had great hopes of being able
to join his regiment on the 10th of the following month--the next
_return-day_--and, by due application, he thought he might contrive
to prevent supersession. Ten days of this time was, however, consumed
before he set a foot upon the German shore, and then only half of his
excursion was over: all his hopes rested upon a quick passage back to
Harwich. This, however, the Fates denied him; for having drawn on the
agent--got the cash--engaged his passage to England--laid in sea-stock,
and all things necessary--the packet, just as she was leaving Hamburg,
was run foul of by a five-hundred-ton ship, and so much injured that
she was obliged to put back, and the unfortunate Quartermaster was thus
compelled to wait a fortnight for another opportunity of returning
to England. He not only was delayed beyond the 10th (return-day) but
beyond the following 24th, and when he _did_ arrive, he found that he
had been not only superseded by the Commander-in-chief, but considered
dead by all his friends and relations!
However, on personally applying for reinstatement, he obtained it, and
once more joined his old corps at Harwich, where he many a night amused
the mess with the recital of his trip to sea in the coach; which was
always given with most effect when he was _half-seas-over_.
THE PUNISHMENT.
The image of this suffering quite unmans me.
_Lee._
“Parade, Sir!--Parade, Sir!--There’s a parade this morning, Sir!”
With these words, grumbled out by the unyielding leathern lungs of my
servant, I was awakened from an agreeable dream in my barrack-room bed
one morning about a quarter before eight o’clock.
“Parade!”--I reflected a moment;--“Yes,” said I, “_a punishment_
parade.”
I proceeded to dress; and as I looked out of my window I saw that the
morning was as gloomy and disagreeable as the duty we were about to
perform. “Curse the punishment!--curse the crimes!” muttered I to
myself.
I was soon shaved, booted, and belted. The parade-call was beaten, and
in a moment I was in the barrack-yard.
The non-commissioned officers were marching their squads to the ground:
the officers, like myself, were turning out: the morning was cold as
well as foggy: and there was a sullen, melancholy expression upon every
man’s countenance, indicative of the relish they had for a punishment
parade: the faces of the officers, as upon all such occasions, were
particularly serious: the women of the regiment were to be seen in
silent groups at the barrack-windows--in short, every thing around
appealed to the heart, and made it sick. Two soldiers were to receive
three hundred lashes each! One of them, a corporal, had till now
preserved a good character for many years in the regiment; but he had
been in the present instance seduced into the commission of serious
offences, by an associate of very bad character. Their crimes, arising
doubtless from habits of intoxication, were, disobedience of orders,
insolence to the sergeant on duty, and the making away with some of
their necessaries.
The regiment formed on the parade, and we marched off in a few minutes
to the riding-house, where the triangle was erected, about which the
men formed a square, with the Colonel, the Adjutant, the Surgeon, and
the drummers in the centre.
“Attention!” roared out the Colonel. The word, were it not that it was
technically necessary, need not have been used, for the attention of
all was most intense; and scarcely could the footsteps of the last men,
closing in, be fairly said to have broken the gloomy silence of the
riding-house. The two prisoners were now marched into the centre of the
square, escorted by a corporal and four men.
“Attention!” was again called, and the Adjutant commanded to read the
proceedings of the court-martial. When he had concluded, the Colonel
commanded the private to “_strip_.”
The drummers now approached the triangle, four in number, and
the senior took up the “_cat_” in order to free the “tails” from
entanglement with each other.
“Strip, Sir!” repeated the Colonel, having observed that the prisoner
seemed reluctant to obey the first order.
“Colonel,” replied he, in a determined tone, “I’ll volunteer.”[3]
“You’ll volunteer, will you, Sir?”
“Yes; sooner than I’ll be flogged.”
“I am not sorry for that. Such fellows as you can be of no use to the
service except in Africa. Take him back to the guard-house, and let the
necessary papers be made out for him immediately.”
The latter sentence was addressed to the Corporal of the guard who
escorted the prisoners, and accordingly the man who volunteered was
marched off, a morose frown and contemptuous sneer strongly marked on
his countenance.
The Colonel now addressed the other prisoner.
“You are the last man in the regiment I could have expected to find
in this situation. I made you a corporal, Sir, from a belief that you
were a deserving man; and you had before you every hope of farther
promotion; but you have committed such a crime that I must, though
unwillingly, permit the sentence of the court which tried you to take
its effect.” Then turning to the Sergeant-major, he ordered him to cut
off the Corporal’s stripes from his jacket: this was done, and the
prisoner then stripped without the slightest change in his stern but
penitent countenance.
Every one of the regiment felt for the unfortunate Corporal’s
situation; for it was believed that nothing but intoxication, and
the persuasion of the other prisoner who had volunteered, could have
induced him to subject himself to the punishment he was about to
receive, by committing such a breach of military law, as that of which
he was convicted. The Colonel, himself, although apparently rigorous
and determined, could not, by all his efforts, hide his regret that
a good man should be thus punished: the affected frown, and the loud
voice in command, but ill concealed his real feelings;--the struggle
between the head and the heart was plainly to be seen; and had the
head had but the smallest loophole to have escaped, the heart would
have gained a victory. But no alternative was left; the man had been
a _Corporal_, and, therefore, was the holder of a certain degree of
trust from his superiors: had he been a private only, the crime might
have been allowed to pass with impunity, on account of his former good
character; but, as the case stood, the Colonel could not possibly
pardon him, much as he wished to do so. No officer was more averse to
flogging in any instance, than he was; and whenever he could avert
that punishment, consistent with his judgment, which at all times was
regulated by humanity, he would gladly do it. Flogging was in his eyes
an odious punishment, but he found that the _total_ abolition of it was
impossible; he therefore held the power over the men, but never used
it when it could be avoided. His regiment was composed of troublesome
spirits; and courts-martial were frequent: so were sentences to the
punishment of the lash; but seldom, indeed, were those punishments
carried into execution; for if the Colonel could find no fair pretext
in the previous conduct of the criminal, to remit his sentence, he
would privately request the Captain of his company to intercede
for him when about to be tied up to the triangle; thus placing the
man under a strong moral obligation to the officer under whose more
immediate command he was: and in general, this proved far more salutary
than the punishment ever could have done.
It is not _flogging_ that should be abolished in the army, but the
cruel and capricious opinions which move the lash. Humanity and sound
judgment are the best restrictions upon this species of punishment;
and when they are more frequently brought into action than they have
formerly been, there will be but few dissentient opinions upon military
discipline.
The prisoner was now stripped and ready to be tied, when the Colonel
asked him why he did not volunteer for Africa, with the other culprit.
“No, Sir,” replied the man; “I’ve been a long time in the regiment, and
I’ll not give it up for three hundred lashes; not that I care about
going to Africa. I deserve my punishment, and I’ll bear it; but I’ll
not quit the regiment yet, Colonel.”
This sentiment, uttered in a subdued but manly manner, was applauded
by a smile of satisfaction from both officers and men; but most of
all by the old Colonel, who took great pains to show the contrary.
His eyes, although shaded by a frown, beamed with pleasure. He bit
his nether lip; he shook his head--but all would not do; he could not
look displeased, if he had pressed his brows down to the bridge of his
nose; for he felt flattered that the prisoner thus openly preferred a
flogging to quitting him and his regiment.
The man now presented his hands to be tied up to the top of the
triangle, and his legs below: the cords were passed round them in
silence, and all was ready. I saw the Colonel at this moment beckon to
the surgeon, who approached, and both whispered a moment.
Three drummers now stood beside the triangle, and the sergeant, who was
to give the word for each lash, at a little distance opposite.
The first drummer began, and taking three steps forward, applied the
lash to the soldier’s back--“_one_.”
Again he struck--“_two_.”
Again, and again, until _twenty-five_ were called by the Sergeant.
Then came the second drummer, and he performed his twenty-five. Then
came the third, who was a stronger and a more heavy striker than his
coadjutors in office: this drummer brought the blood out upon the right
shoulder-blade, which perceiving, he struck lower on the back; but the
surgeon ordered him to strike again upon the bleeding part: I thought
this was cruel; but I learnt after, from the surgeon himself, that it
gave much less pain to continue the blows as directed, than to strike
upon the untouched skin.
The poor fellow bore without a word his flagellation, holding his
head down upon his breast, both his arms being extended, and tied at
the wrists above his head. At the first ten or twelve blows, he never
moved a muscle; but about the twenty-fifth, he clenched his teeth and
cringed a little from the lash. During the second twenty-five, the part
upon which the cords fell became blue, and appeared thickened, for the
whole space of the shoulder-blade and centre of the back; and before
the fiftieth blow was struck, we could hear a smothered groan from the
poor sufferer, evidently caused by his efforts to stifle the natural
exclamations of acute pain. The third striker, as I said, brought the
blood; it oozed from the swollen skin, and moistened the cords which
opened its way from the veins. The Colonel directed a look at the
drummer, which augured nothing advantageous to his interest; and on the
fifth of his twenty-five, cried out to him, “Halt, Sir! you know as
much about using the cat as you do of your sticks.” Then addressing the
Adjutant, he said, “Send that fellow away to drill: tell the drum-major
to give him two hours _additional_ practice with the sticks every day
for a week, in order to bring his hand into--a--proper movement.”
The drummer slunk away at the order of the Adjutant, and one of the
others took up the cat. The Colonel now looked at the Surgeon, and
I could perceive a slight nod pass, in recognition of something
previously arranged between them. This was evidently the case; for
the latter instantly went over to the punished man, and having asked
him a question or two, proceeded formally to the Colonel, and stated
something in a low voice: upon which the drummers were ordered to take
the man down. This was accordingly done; and when about to be removed
to the regimental hospital, the Colonel addressed him thus: “Your
punishment, Sir, is at an end; you may thank the Surgeon’s opinion for
being taken down so soon.” (Every one knew this was only a pretext.) “I
have only to observe to you, that as you have been always, previous to
this fault, a good man, I would recommend you to conduct yourself well
for the future, and I promise to hold your promotion open to you as
before.”
The poor fellow replied that he would do so, and burst into tears,
which he strove in vain to hide.
Wonder not that the hard cheek of a soldier was thus moistened by a
tear; the heart was within his bosom, and these tears came from it.
The lash could not force one from his burning eyelid; but the word of
kindness--the breath of tender feeling from his respected Colonel,
dissolved the stern soldier to the grateful and contrite penitent.