La Bourgade, Jan. 8th, 1797.
You will comprehend the sentiment which associates your image with the
sadness of the present hour. It is one of those periods when the
sickened mind turns from all common objects, and clings to the
remembrance of those we hold most dear. Having just returned from the
funeral of one of my comrades, who died in the adjoining chamber this
morning, and whose remains I have this evening followed to the grave, I
find that the heavy depression of my spirits admits of no relief from
the immediate circumstances around me: I take up my pen, therefore, to
seek alleviation in an appeal to the bosom of friendship and of
sympathy. I had before experienced the impressive solemnity of a
military funeral, but the awful gloom, connecting with the procession,
had not weighed upon me with all the affliction of the present moment.
Of six gentlemen who accompanied me from Barbadoes, as assistants in the
hospital department, three had died, one was sent to England with
invalids, and the other two had, for some time past, resided in the same
house with myself. Early this morning I was called from my bed to visit
one of these, who had been a very short time ill, and was taken worse in
the night. You will believe that I lost not a moment in putting on my
clothes, and hastening to his room; but, on reaching his bed-side, I
found him a corpse! The case of this young man shows the very perilous
situation of Europeans in this climate, and proves with how much truth
it may be said that to-day we are well, to-morrow in fever, and—next day
in the grave! Nor do health and vigour give any security; for he who
to-day boasts the greatest strength, to-morrow, perhaps, is stretched in
his coffin.
Most of the officers of the garrison attended the funeral, and, when
following the corpse in slow and doleful procession, with the band
playing the dead march, and the minute-drum beating in hollow sound, the
agonized feelings of the occasion became still more poignant from the
conviction that, perhaps, before another day had passed, others of us
might be extended at the side of the comrade, whose loss we now
deplored.
I have before remarked to you, that from the strong tendency of such
awful ceremonies to spread dispiriting apprehensions among the living,
it is desirable that the parade of military funerals should be dispensed
with, in a climate where the troops may, at all moments, be under
feelings of alarm from the peril of disease; yet may it be a question,
with some, how far it would be politic to deprive the soldier of this
last and honorable mark of distinction; the sentiment attaching to which
is, no doubt, one among the many causes which lead to noble and heroic
conduct.
Among the soldiers of our own battalions, its disuse has been found both
wise and necessary; for if it were to be employed on all occasions, in
this climate, it might call those in health too often to the performance
of a distressful duty, and become a painfully frequent memento to the
sick; the effect of which, added to the common apprehension with respect
to disease, might produce a degree of depression, which no means could
remedy. Still among the Dutch troops the practice is continued; for it
were easier, perhaps, to overturn the Alps, than to do away the
prejudices of the Hollanders. Questions of expediency yield to questions
of usage, and it must be proved to be a glaring injury, indeed, to the
living, before a Dutchman could consent to forego an established
observance to the dead.
It is remarkable, that among the papers of our deceased comrade, we find
an unfinished letter, begun only a day or two ago, to his father, in
which he speaks of being uncommonly well, and gratefully offers thanks
to the Deity for the blessing of such excellent health.
Soon after he expired, a man called who had some business with him, and
on being told that he was dead, would not leave the house, but insisted
that we were deceiving him, saying that he had seen him in the town
_perfectly well_ “only a day or two before!”
It is a long while since we received news from your side the Atlantic;
but a single paper is now brought to us by the captain of a ship from
Glasgow, and you will not be surprised to learn that it is worn to
shreds, by passing through the hands of the whole garrison.
After being for some weeks without fresh animal provisions, it has
happened that the hospital has been supplied with them several times
within the last few days: but, unhappily, their action upon the bowels
of the sick, has more than counteracted the benefit which they might
have derived from them. Aware that this was not an unfrequent
occurrence, we had endeavoured to guard against it by issuing the fresh
meat only in small portions at a meal, yet, from their stomachs having
been so long unaccustomed to it, and from the debilitated state of the
patients, the laxative effect was very considerable, nearly the whole of
the convalescents having been attacked with a troublesome diarrhœa.