CHAPTER XXVIII.

I RETURN WOUNDED TO IRELAND, AND TRAVEL IN A COACH OF THAT COUNTRY.

This memorable battle, which introduced the victorious British army and their allies into France, commenced before daybreak and continued until after dark. The enemy were beaten back from their strong frontier position, losing fifty-one guns, two thousand prisoners, stores incalculable and some thousands killed and wounded; the nature of the ground prevented the number of these from being ascertained,--it must have been immense. As to our regiment’s advance up the hill to the attack, it may perhaps be alleged that I should not have urged forward the colours so rapidly nor have been so far in front. Our advance, considering the steepness of the hill, was certainly rather rapid; but had we not thus rapidly advanced, as in a continued charge through breastworks, we should have lost double the number of men; and it certainly would not have fallen to the proud lot of our regiment _alone_ to have stormed and carried the enemy’s great redoubt; and this we did, as may be gathered from the remark made by Vincent and L’Estrange about the 61st Regiment. But it is of little consequence whether I kept up with the colours or the colours came on at my pace; anyway it affords proud consolation to reflect that it was in front of them I fell.

[Sidenote: WINNING A STEP IN THE SERVICE.]

Immediately before entering the redoubt, Montgomery, who carried the king’s colour, furled the sheet round the staff, which he used as a lance, and thus armed gallantly charged in amongst the foremost bayonets. Being a powerful and athletic person (afterwards lieutenant of Grenadiers), he made good use of his silk-bound weapon, and never did blood-stained royal banner bear more honourable testimony of personal prowess in war. I know not what became of the staff; it should ever be kept with the regiment and accompany it into action. Besides common promotion arising from casualties, one captain of the regiment got the brevet rank of major; he was _not_ in the action, but I, who was serving voluntarily and had a leg shattered while charging at the head of the regiment, was neglected. Being subsequently asked if I did not get the brevet step for my voluntary services and wound, I answered no, but that I got a permanent step and that was a lame one.

From the Duke of Wellington’s despatch relative to the battle of the Nivelle the following extract is copied: “While these operations were going on in the centre, I had the pleasure of seeing the 6th Division, under Lieutenant-General Sir Henry Clinton, after having crossed the Nivelle and having driven in the enemy’s piquets on both banks, and having covered the passage of the Portuguese division under Lieutenant-General Sir John Hamilton on its right, make a most handsome attack upon the right of the Nivelle, carrying all the intrenchments and the redoubt on that flank.” In justice to the regiment I beg to remark that if the attack of the division was most handsome, that of the 36th Regiment must have been most beautiful, for it was this regiment which managed to take the lead and single-handed carried the redoubt.

Immediately after the redoubt was taken, under which I fell, another fort on our right, not yet attacked, turned some of its guns against the one just captured; and their shot and shell ploughing the ground all around me nearly suffocated me with dust and rubbish. Those who were not very severely wounded scrambled their way down the hill; but I might as well have attempted to carry a millstone as to drag my shattered leg after me. I therefore remained among the dead and dying, who were not few. My situation was not enviable. After some hours Assistant-Surgeon Simpson of the regiment appeared. I then got what is termed a field dressing; but unfortunately there were no leg splints; and so arm splints were substituted. Through this makeshift I suffered most severely during my descent. Some of the band coming up, I was put into a blanket and carried down the hill; but as we proceeded down this almost perpendicular descent, the blanket contracted from my weight in the middle, and then owing to the want of the proper long splints the foot drooped beyond the blanket’s edge; it is almost impossible to imagine the torture which I suffered. Having gained the base of the hill towards dark, a cottage was fortunately discovered and into this I was carried.

Up to the noon of this day I congratulated myself on my good fortune in having served in the first and last battle fought in Spain, and proudly contemplated marching victoriously through France. I recalled too with pleasure and as if it were a propitious omen, that on this day five years ago I first trod Spanish ground. On November 16th, 1808, we marched into Fuentes de Oñoro, under the command of Sir John Moore. Then I was strong hale and joyous, with the glorious prospects of war favourably presented to view; but the afternoon of this, the fifth anniversary, proved a sad reverse. On this day I was carried out of Spain, borne in a blanket, broken in body and depressed in mind, with all my brilliant prospects like myself fallen to the ground. Such is glorious war.

[Sidenote: DRESSING A WOUND.]

After the field dressing Simpson departed in search of other wounded persons; and on his report of my wound two or three other medical officers sought me, fortunately in vain, that they might remove the limb. On the 4th day I was conveyed to a place where a hospital was established; but the inflammation of the leg was then so great (it was as big as my body) that no amputation could be attempted. A dressing took place which was long and painful, for I had bled so profusely while in the cottage that a cement hard as iron was formed round the limb, and before my removal it was absolutely necessary to cut me out of the bed on which I lay. After a considerable time passed in steeping with tepid water, the piece of mattress and sheet which I carried away from the cottage were removed; and now began the more painful operation of setting the leg. Staff-Surgeon Mathews and Assistant-Surgeon Graham, 31st Regiment, were the operators. Graham seized me by the knee and Mathews by the foot. They proposed that four soldiers should hold me during the operation; to this I objected, saying with a kind of boast that I was always master of my nerves. They now twisted and turned and extended my leg, aiming along it like a spirit level. The torture was dreadful; but though I ground my teeth and the big drops of burning perspiration rapidly chased each other, still I remained firm, and stifled every rising groan. After all was concluded I politely thanked Mathews, carelessly remarking that it was quite a pleasure to get wounded to be so comfortably dressed. This was mock heroism, for at the moment I trembled as if just taken from the rack; however, it had a strange effect upon Mathews, who told Lavens that he feared I was somewhat deranged from the great loss of blood and agonising pain which I suffered. Lavens, Assistant-Surgeon of the 28th Regiment and an old messmate, only laughed and offered to be responsible for the soundness of my intellect if no other cause than bodily pain interfered. Some time afterwards Mathews told him that the inflammation had much subsided and he thought that amputation might safely be performed; yet I appeared so strong, doing so well and in such good spirits, he felt some little inclination to give the limb a chance, if he could believe that my good spirits would continue. Lavens, whom I saw every day, replied that he need not dread low spirits on my part under any circumstance, and as to the difference between the loss of life and that of a limb he felt convinced it would be no great matter to me. If therefore he thought the preservation of the limb depended on corporeal or mental constitution, he recommended the trial. Mathews told all this to me, when I willingly concurred in the attempt to save the leg. It had served me well during many a long and weary march, in many a lively skirmish and some hard-fought battles, particularly whilst in the 28th Light Company; I therefore felt extremely unwilling to part with it. One feels regret at losing even a favourite walking-stick; what then must the feeling be at losing a faithful leg? The trial was decided on; but in justice to Dr. Mathews I feel called upon to declare that he most fully pointed out the imminent danger attending the experiment. Thus far I have entered into detail in consequence of a remark made to the General Medical Board, Drs. Weir, Franklin and Car, who said, when I appeared before them in London, that the medical officer who saved my leg was in no way borne out in making the attempt, for there were ninety-nine chances to one against my life. It is true that the wound was as severe as could possibly be inflicted; the tibia and fibula were both shattered, and the orifice made seemed the entrance to a quarry of bones, five-and-thirty pieces of which exfoliated and kept the wound open for several years.

[Sidenote: A GENEROUS SPANIARD.]

When I was carried out of the field my whole fortune consisted of one crusado novo, a Portuguese silver coin value three shillings. This I had much difficulty in persuading the poor cottagers to accept, not from a consideration that the sum was an inadequate remuneration for the mutilation of their mattress and whatever food they supplied, but solely from pure motives of generosity. They wept at my parting, and prayed to every saint in heaven or elsewhere for my speedy and perfect recovery. On my arrival therefore in hospital, I possessed not a single farthing; and in my situation other nourishment was required than that of a ration pound of bread and beef. My host, Don Martin D’Echiparre, continually sat by my bedside. Looking upon him as a generous and liberal person, I, after a few evenings, candidly confessed my pecuniary embarrassments, requesting him to lend me a few dollars and offering him my gold watch until I should receive a remittance from the paymaster. He replied, “Do you take me for a Jew? I never lend less than a hundred guineas; these you may have when you please.” This I considered a bombastical evasion and declined his offer. Next morning he made his usual visit and approaching close said in a low voice, “You refused last night to take a hundred guineas; take at least these fifty,” and he held them forth. I told him that so large a sum was both superfluous and useless; however, after a good deal of controversy, he consented to lend me so small a sum as ten guineas.

After a lapse of three months an order was received to remove the hospital depôt to St. Jean de Luz. What was to be done? I had received no remittance; consequently I had no means of repaying the ten guineas, six of which were already spent--one more was absolutely necessary to defray the cost of my removal to St. Jean de Luz, which would take four days. I was to be carried in a litter borne by inhabitants, to pay whom would require the greater part of the guinea. To pay back the remaining three would be but a poor return; but my truly noble and generous host having entered the room, relieved me from my unpleasant dilemma. After expressing his deep regret at my departure, he thus addressed me: “Being aware that you have had no remittance from the army; and knowing from the hospitable and generous manner in which you have entertained the many officers who continually came to see you, in which hospitality I nightly participated with pleasure, that you must want money, I put these four farthings in my pocket for you,” presenting four Spanish doubloons. “I offer you,” continued he, “this small sum because of your obstinacy in refusing the hundred guineas; but if you will accept that sum and another hundred in addition, you would please me much more. Do not pay me from St. Jean de Luz nor from England, but only when you get home to your friends in Ireland; and if you never pay, it will be of no consequence whatever.” However I declined to accept either hundreds or doubloons: and after mutual protestations of sincere friendship and regard, we bade each other a final farewell and parted with unfeigned regret. This anecdote I relate as highly honourable to the country in which it occurred. D’Echiparre was a Frenchman by birth, but a Spaniard by adoption, and in the Spanish language we always conversed. He was a Valladolid merchant and had realised upwards of ten thousand pounds, which in that part of the country was considered a handsome fortune.

[Sidenote: A POSTCHAISE, BUT NO ROAD.]

On my arrival at St. Jean de Luz I was so fortunate as to procure two months’ pay (not in advance for we were seven months in arrear), when I immediately sent the ten guineas to my generous host.

The time having arrived to get rid of the cumbrous sick and wounded officers, we were removed to los Pasages and there embarked in a transport bound for Portsmouth; but the wind proving contrary prevented our entering the channel and we were compelled to put into Bantry Bay in Ireland. Here we anchored close to a village, if I recollect right, called Castletown, and put up at an inn kept by the widow Martin. The wind continuing very boisterous and contrary, we resolved to travel overland through Ireland. Enquiring for a postchaise, we were informed that there was a postchaise, but that some miles of the road were as yet unfinished, and consequently not carriageable. Upon this we dropped down to the village bearing the name of the bay. Here having learned that the road was perfectly good, we landed our baggage and went ashore; but now to our great dismay we found that this village had no postchaise. In this dilemma we decided to place our baggage on pack-saddles and to travel as in Spain. The operation of packing had commenced, when looking into the courtyard I discovered a hearse. Upon enquiry the waiter said: “Please, your honour, it is an ould lady who died here lately, and her friends thought they would bury her proudly; so they sent to Cork for the hearse and it is going back to-day to Bandon.” I sent for the driver and immediately concluded a bargain; he engaged to carry us to Bandon in the hearse; and thence we were to have two postchaises to take us to Cork for a sum agreed upon. The pack-saddling was relinquished; and the whole party, consisting of Captain Taylor, 28th, with a broken thigh, Captain Girlston, 31st, a broken arm, Captains Bryan and Cone, 39th, sick leaves, and Captain Blakeney, 36th, a broken leg, entered the hearse. Our first stage was Dunmanway, where we made a tremendous meal; the innkeeper complimented us by saying that he never saw travellers in a hearse make so hearty a breakfast. Our appearance must have been extraordinary; for as we moved along in the carriage of death, but not with its usual pace, the country folk, abandoning their legitimate avocations, ran after us for miles.

On our arrival at Bandon thousands of the inhabitants followed and impeded our way. I recollect that a regiment of militia quartered there ran like others to see the novel show, when hundreds of the runabout crowd cried out to them: “Get ye out of the way! What have ye to do with the honours of war? Look there!” and they pointed to our crutches, which stuck out from the open hearse in all directions, like escutcheons emblasoning the vehicle of death. At length we got safe to our inn, attended as numerously as if the hero of the Peninsula himself had been present. Here I called upon a lady who lived close to our inn--a Mrs. Clarke. She had two sons in the army, with both of whom I was intimately acquainted, particularly the eldest; he was a brother officer of mine in the 28th Regiment and was afterwards removed to the 5th Regiment, in which he lost a leg. To him we are indebted for that valuable publication, _The United Service Journal_. The other I knew in the 77th Regiment; he also had been severely wounded in the leg, so that the lady had seen both her sons on crutches. When she saw the rough crutches which I carried, or rather which carried me, she offered me a pair more highly finished, belonging to one of her sons; but since mine were made of the halberts of two sergeants who lost their lives charging into the redoubt under which I fell, I declined the lady’s very polite offer.

[Sidenote: A ROAD, BUT NO POSTCHAISE.]

Next morning we set out for Cork; and being actually enclosed within postchaises we contrived to screen our honours of war from public notice and therefore were not cheered to our hotel. At Cork the party separated, each making his way to England as best he could. On my arrival in London, I waited on Sir Henry Torrens, military secretary to His Royal Highness the Commander-in-chief. I mentioned to the secretary my intention of memorialising the Duke of York for promotion by brevet, in consideration of my voluntary services and severe wounds received whilst so serving. Sir Henry after hearing my statement said that I was perfectly right, but at the same time advised me to procure testimonials of my services from my different commanding officers in support of my memorial. With this advice I willingly complied, conscious of my having on every occasion endeavoured to perform my duties to the fullest extent of my abilities. After such encouragement from so high an authority as the Commander-in-chief’s secretary and firmly relying on the nature of the testimonials which I should receive, I considered my promotion certain. I immediately wrote to Colonel Cross, commanding 28th Regiment at Fermoy, and to Colonel Browne (late 28th), commanding 56th Regiment at Sheerness. With their replies and a memorial to His Royal Highness, I waited on the secretary; but on presenting them, he, without even opening them, said: “Recollect, Captain Blakeney, that I did not promise you promotion. I cannot give away majorities.” I replied that I did not apply for a majority; I only asked for the rank by brevet, which was throughout the army considered as a reward for meritorious officers when regimental promotion might be attended with difficulty. I received no answer. Chagrined and disappointed because, when the secretary had told me that I was right in making a memorial and had advised me to get my commanding officer’s testimonials, he now opposed that memorial before he even submitted it to the Commander-in-chief, I retired with strong impressions, which I now decline to state. In a short time I received an answer to my memorial stating that I could not at the present moment be promoted by brevet, but that I should get a majority when a favourable opportunity offered. Unbounded confidence was not inspired by this promise from the Horse Guards, particularly after what had passed on the subject. How far this diffidence was justified may be seen in the sequel.

The above statement may appear extraordinary; but between the time of my first interview with Sir Henry Torrens and the arrival of those testimonials from my various commanding officers, which the secretary had suggested, the star of Napoleon had begun to set. His abdication soon followed; war was no longer contemplated; and the claims of officers, of whatever nature, were abandoned to a heartless neglect.