Part 1

JOURNAL OF A SOLDIER

OF

THE SEVENTY-FIRST,

OR

GLASGOW REGIMENT,

HIGHLAND LIGHT INFANTRY,

FROM 1806 TO 1815.

EDINBURGH:

PRINTED FOR WILLIAM AND CHARLES TAIT, 78, PRINCE’S STREET; ADAM BLACK, 57, SOUTH BRIDGE; G. AND W. B. WHITTAKER, LONDON; AND JAMES BRASH AND CO. GLASGOW.

1819.

ADVERTISEMENT

_The Publishers have taken pains to ascertain the accuracy of the statements in the following Journal, and the result has confirmed them in the belief, that the Writer of it has related nothing but what passed under his own observation._

_His education sufficiently accounts for his expressing himself better than could have been expected from a private soldier. No alteration has been made upon his language, farther than the correction of a few of the more obvious verbal inaccuracies._

_Edinburgh_, 29_th_ _March_, 1819

CONTENTS.

The Writer’s parentage and education, _page_ 1. Attempts the stage, and fails, 5. Joins a recruiting party, and sails for the Isle of Wight, 9. Adventure there, 16.

Sails for South America, 18. Arrival at Madeira, 19. Arrival at the Cape of Good Hope, and account of Cape Town, _ib._ Arrival at the River la Plata, and situation of the English army, 24. Battle of Monte Video, 25. Account of the inhabitants, 31. Conversation with a Spanish priest, 36.

Arrival of General Whitelock, and departure for Buenos Ayres, 37. Attack of the town, 40. Taken prisoner, 42. Anecdotes of the battle, and prisoners, 43. Generous behaviour of the Spanish priest, 44.

Arrival at Cork, 46. Sails in an expedition under the command of Sir Arthur Wellesley, 52. Battle of Rolleia, 54. Description of Vimiera, 56. Battle of Vimiera, 57. Behaviour of the peasants at night, after the battle, 59.

Marches to Abrantes, 61. Kindness of the Spaniards at Badajos, _ib._ Arrival at Escurial, and retreat to Salamanca, 62. Dreadful state of the weather, _ib._

Commencement of the retreat to Corunna, 64. Duke of Ossuna’s Palace at Benevente much destroyed, 67. Skirmish at Benevente, 68. Arrival at Astorga, Description of General Romana’s army, 69.

Sufferings of the army between Astorga and Villa Franca, 70. March from Villa Franca, 73. Cruelty of the French, 74. Arrival at Castro, 77. March to Lugo, bravery of the stragglers, _ib._ Skirmishes at Lugo, 84. Desperation of the men, 86.

Arrival at Corunna, 87. Battle of Corunna, 90. Noble conduct of the Spaniards, 95.

Arrival in England, and kindness of the people, 98. Sails for Flushing, 99. Bombardment of Flushing, 100. Takes the fever, and sent back to England, 104.

Embarked for Lisbon, 107. Description of the town, 108. Joins the army at Sabral, 111. Action at Sabral, 112. Retreat of the French, 121. Cruelties of the French, 122. Retreat of the French from Santarem, 127.

Battle of Fuentes de Honore, 130. Distressing March to Albuera, 139. March after General Girard, 143. Total route of his army, 146. Storming of Fort Almarez, 152. Retreat from Burgos, 157. Manners of the Spanish peasants, 170. Description of the Fandango, 175. Departure from Boho, 177.

Battle of Vittoria, 180. Action in front of Maya, 186. Battles in the Pyrennees, 188. Dreadful state of the wounded, 189. Battle before Pamplona, 192. Sufferings of our army on the heights, 195. Battle of Orthes, 198. Crosses the Nive, 199. Battle of Bayonne, 202. Severe fighting before Aris, 205.

Battle of Toulouse, 207. Return to Ireland, 211. Embarked for North America, 213. Returns to England, 214. Sails for Antwerp, _ib._ Marched to Louis, _ib._ Arrival at Waterloo, 215.

Battle of Waterloo, 218. March to Paris, 225. Anecdotes there, 226. Conclusion, 227.

JOURNAL OF A SOLDIER

OF THE

SEVENTY-FIRST REGIMENT OF FOOT.

From motives of delicacy, which the narrative will explain, I choose to conceal my name, the knowledge of which can be of little importance to the reader. I pledge myself to write nothing but what came under my own observation, and what I was personally engaged in.

I was born of poor but respectable parents, in Edinburgh, who bestowed upon me an education superior to my rank in life. It was their ambition to educate me for one of the learned professions; my mother wishing me to be a clergyman, my father to be a writer. They kept from themselves many comforts, that I might appear genteel, and attend the best schools: my brothers and sister did not appear to belong to the same family. My parents had three children, two boys and a girl, besides myself. On me alone was lavished all their care. My brothers, John and William, could read and write, and at the age of twelve years, were bound apprentices to trades. My sister, Jane, was made, at home, a servant of all-work to assist my mother; I alone was a gentleman in a house of poverty.

My father had, for sometime, been in a bad state of health, and unable to follow his usual employment. I was unable to earn any thing for our support. In fact, I was a burden upon the family. The only certain income we had, was the board of my two brothers, and a weekly allowance from a benefit society of which my father was a member. The whole sum was five shillings for my brothers, and six from the society, which were soon to be reduced to three, as the time of full sick-money was almost expired.

I do confess, (as I intend to conceal nothing,) this distressed state of affairs softened not my heart. I became sullen and discontented at the abridgment of my usual comforts; and, unnatural wretch that I was! I vented that spleen upon my already too distressed parents. My former studies were no longer followed, for want of means to appear as I was wont. That innate principle of exertion, that can make a man struggle with, and support him in the greatest difficulties, had been stifled in me by indulgence and indolence. I forsook my former school-fellows, and got acquainted with others, alas! not for the better.

I was now sixteen years of age, tall and well made, of a genteel appearance and address. Amongst my new acquaintances, were a few who had formed themselves into a spouting club, where plays were acted to small parties of friends, who were liberal in their encomiums. I was quite bewildered with their praise, and thought of nothing but becoming another Rosicus,--making a fortune and acquiring a deathless name. I forsook my classical authors for Shakespeare, and the study of the stage. Thus, notwithstanding the many tears of my mother, and entreaties of my father, I hurried to ruin. I was seldom at home, as my parents constantly remonstrated with me on the folly of my proceedings. This I could not endure: I had been encouraged and assisted by them in all my former whims. All my undertakings were looked upon, by them, as the doings of a superior genius. To be crossed now, I thought the most unjust and cruel treatment.

I had, through the interference of my new acquaintances, got introduced to the Manager of the Theatre at Edinburgh, who was pleased with my manner and appearance. The day was fixed on which I was to make my trial. I had now attained the summit of my first ambition. I had not the most distant doubt of my success. Universal applause, crowded houses, and wealth, all danced before my imagination. Intoxicated with joy, I went home to my parents. Never shall the agony of their looks be effaced from my memory. My mother’s grief was loud and heart-rending, but my father’s harrowed up my very soul. It was the look of despair--the expression of his blasted prospects he had so long looked forward to, with hopes and joy,--hopes, that had supported him in all his toil and privations, crushed in the dust. It was too much; his eyes at length filled with tears, and, raising them to heaven, he only said, or rather groaned, “God, thy ways are just and wise--thou hast seen it necessary to punish my foolish partiality and pride. But, O God! forgive the instrument of my punishment.” Must I confess, I turned upon my heel and said, with the most cool indifference, (so much had the indulgence of my former life blunted my feelings towards my parents,) “When I am courted and praised by all, and have made you independent, you will think otherwise of my choice.” “Never, never,” he replied,--“you bring my grey hairs with sorrow to the grave."--“Thomas, Thomas, you will have our deaths to answer for,” was all my mother could say;--tears and sobs choked her utterance.

I was immoveable in my resolves. The bills were printed, and I had given my word. This was the last time I ever saw them both. The scene has embittered all my former days, and still haunts me in all my hours of thought. Often, like an avenging spirit, it starts up in my most tranquil hours, and deprives me of my peace. Often, in the dead of night, when on duty, a solitary sentinel, has it wrung from my breast a groan of remorse.

Scarce had I left the house, when a sensation of horror at what I had done pierced my heart. I thought the echo of my steps sounded, “You will have our deaths to answer for."--I started, and turned back to throw myself at the feet of my parents, and implore their forgiveness.--Already I was at the door, when I met one of my new acquaintances, who inquired what detained me? I said, “I must not go; my parents are against my going, and I am resolved to obey them.” He laughed at my weakness, as he called it. I stood unmoved. Then, with an affected scorn, he said I was afraid, conscious I was unable to perform what I had taken upon me. Fired by his taunts, my good resolves vanished, and I once more left my parents’ door, resolved to follow the bent of my own inclinations.

I went to the Theatre, and prepared for my appearance. The house was crowded to excess. I came upon the stage with a fluttering heart, amidst universal silence. I bowed, and attempted to speak; my lips obeyed the impulse, but my voice had fled. In that moment of bitter agony and shame, my punishment commenced.--I trembled; a cold sweat oozed through every pore; my father and mother’s words rung in my ears; my senses became confused--hisses began from the audience--I utterly failed. From the confusion of my mind, I could not even comprehend the place in which I stood. To conclude, I shrunk unseen from the theatre, bewildered, and in a state of despair.

I wandered the whole night. In the morning early, meeting a party of recruits about to embark, I rashly offered to go with them; my offer was accepted, and I embarked at Leith, with seventeen others, for the Isle of Wight, in July, 1806.

The morning was beautiful and refreshing. A fine breeze wafted us from the roads. The darkness of the preceding night only tended to deepen the gloomy agitation of my mind; but the beauties of the morning scene stole over my soul, and stilled the perturbation of my mind. The violent beat of the pulse at my temples subsided, and I, as it were, awoke from a dream. I turned my eyes from the beauties of the Forth, to the deck of the vessel on which I stood; I had not yet exchanged words with any of my fellow-recruits; I now inquired of the sergeant, to what regiment I had engaged myself? His answer was, “To the gallant 71st; you are a noble lad, and shall be an officer.” He ran on in this fulsome cant for some time. I heard him not. Tantallon[1] and the Bass[2] were only a little way from us; we were quickly leaving behind all that was dear to me, and all I ought to regret. The shores of Lothian had vanished; we had passed Dunbar; I was seized with a sudden agitation; a menacing voice seemed to ask, “What do you here? What is to become of your parents?” The blood forsook my heart; a delirium followed, and I fell on the deck.

I have no recollection of what passed for some days. I was roused out of my lethargy by a bustle over my head. It was the fearful noise of a storm, which had overtaken us in Yarmouth roads. The looks of despair, and the lamentable cries of the passengers, pierced me. I looked upon myself as the only cause of our present danger--like Jonah, overtaken in my guilty flight. The thought of acknowledging myself the sole cause of the storm, more than once crossed my mind. I certainly would have done so, had not the violent rocking of the vessel disqualified me from leaving the bed on which I lay. I was obliged to press my feet against one side, and my shoulder against another, to preserve myself from receiving contusions. Striving to assuage the anguish of my feelings in prayer, I was the only composed person there. All around me were bewailing their fate in tears and lamentations. I had seen nothing of the storm, as the passengers were all kept down below, to prevent their incommoding the seamen. During its continuance, I had made up my mind with regard to my future proceedings. As an atonement for my past misconduct, I resolved to undergo all the dangers and fatigues of a private soldier for seven years. This limitation of service I was enabled to adopt, by the excellent bill brought into Parliament by the late Mr. Windham.

Without further accident, we arrived safe at the Isle of Wight, where I was enlisted, and sworn to serve my king and country faithfully for the space of seven years, for which I received a bounty of eleven guineas. The price thus paid for my liberty was the first money I could ever call my own. Of this sum it required about four pounds to furnish my necessaries, assisted by the sale of my present-clothing; of the remainder, I sent five pounds to my parents, with the following letter:

NEWPORT BARRACKS, _Isle of Wight, July, 1806_.

FATHER,

If a disobedient and undutiful son may still address you by that dear and now much-valued name;--and my mother!--the blood forsakes my heart, and my hand refuses to move, when I think upon that unhallowed night I left your peaceful roof to follow my foolish and way ward inclinations. O, I have suffered, and must ever suffer, for my guilty conduct. Pardon me! pardon me! I can hardly hope--yet--O drive me not to despair! I have doomed myself to seven years’ punishment. I made this choice in an hour of shame. I could not appear in Edinburgh after what had happened. Never shall I again do any thing to bring shame upon myself or you. The hope of your pardon and forgiveness alone sustains me. Again I implore pardon on my knees. Would I could lay my head at your feet! then would I not rise till you pronounced my pardon, and raised to your embrace

Your wretched THOMAS.

Now I began to drink the cup of bitterness. How different was my situation from what it had been! Forced from bed at five o’clock each morning, to get all things ready for drill; then drilled for three hours with the most unfeeling rigour, and often beat by the sergeant for the faults of others--I, who had never been crossed at home--I, who never knew fatigue, was now fainting under it. This I bore without a murmur, as I had looked to it in my engagement. My greatest sufferings were where I had not expected them.

I could not associate with the common soldiers; their habits made me shudder. I feared an oath--they never spoke without one: I could not drink--they loved liquor: They gamed--I knew nothing of play. Thus was I a solitary individual among hundreds. They lost no opportunity of teasing me. “Saucy Tom,” or “The distressed Methodist,” were the names they distinguished me by. I had no way of redress, until an event occurred, that gave me, against my will, an opportunity to prove that my spirit was above insult. A recruit who had joined at the same time with myself, was particularly active in his endeavours to turn me into ridicule. One evening I was sitting in a side-window reading. Of an old newspaper he made a fool’s cap, and, unperceived by me, placed it upon my head. Fired at the insult, I started up and knocked him down.--“Clear the room; a ring, a ring,--the Methodist is going to fight,” was vociferated from all sides. Repenting my haste, yet determined not to affront myself, I stood firm, and determined to do my utmost. My antagonist, stunned by the violence of the blow, and surprised at the spirit I displayed, rose slowly, and stood irresolute. I demanded an apology. He began to bluster and threaten, but I saw at once that he was afraid; and, turning from him, said in a cool decided manner, “If you dare again insult me, I will chastise you as you deserve; you are beneath my anger.” I again sat down, and resumed my reading, as if nothing had happened.

From this time I was no longer insulted; and I became much esteemed among my fellow-soldiers, who before despised me. Still I could not associate with them. Their pleasures were repugnant to my feelings.

There was one of my fellow-soldiers, Donald M‘Donald, who seemed to take pleasure in my company. We became attached to each other. He came up in the same smack with myself: He was my bed-fellow, and became my firm friend. Often would he get himself into altercations on my account. Donald could read and write. This was the sum of his education. He was innocent, and ignorant of the world; only 18 years of age, and had never been a night from home before he left his father’s house, more than myself. To be a soldier was the height of his ambition. He had come from near Inverness to Edinburgh on foot, with no other intention than to enlist in the 71st. His father had been a soldier in it, and was now living at home after being discharged. Donald called it _his regiment_, and would not have taken the bounty from any other.

To increase my grief, I was ordered to embark for the Cape of Good Hope, fifteen days after my arrival in the Isle of Wight, and before I had received an answer to my letter to my father. If my mind had been at ease, I would have enjoyed this voyage much. We had very pleasant weather, and were not crowded in our births. There were six soldiers to a birth, and we were at liberty to be on deck all day if we chose.

The first land I saw after leaving the Channel, was Porto Santo. It is very low, yet we could distinguish it plainly while we were 30 miles off. It has the appearance of a collection of small hills ending in peaks. In a short time after, we had a most pleasant sight; the island of Madeira, covered with delightful verdure. The view of it calmed me greatly, and I felt just as I had done the first time I saw the country after a long illness, in which my life was despaired of. How much was that pleasure increased when we anchored between the Desertas and the island! The weather was beautiful and clear; we lay at a distance of not more than six or seven miles, at most, from the shore. The island is quite unlike Porto Santo. It seems to be one continued mountain, running from east to west, covered with stately trees and verdure. Every spot looked more luxuriant than another. As it is approached from the east, it has the appearance of a crescent, or new moon, the corners pointed towards you.

While we lay there, we had boats alongside every day with oranges, lemons, figs, and many other fruits, which we purchased at a rate that surprised us, considering how dearly we had been accustomed to purchase them in England. As soon as we cast anchor, the health-boat came alongside, to inquire the state of the crew and passengers. This is always done before any communication is allowed with the island. We had the pleasure to tell them that there was not a sick person onboard; that we only wanted a supply of water, and were to sail as soon as possible.

Funchal is the largest town on the island. It is situated on the north side of a hill towards the ocean, covering the hill from the summit to the base. The houses reach to the water’s edge, and they all look as if they were newly built, they are so white and clean. Another range of hills is seen rising above the one on which the town is built; these are also covered with houses, vineyards, and plantations of fruit trees. Nothing could be more charming to our eyes, which had ached so long in looking over a boundless expanse of sea.

Having completed our supply of water, we set sail for the Cape of Good Hope. As we sailed onwards, I was often surprised at the immense numbers of fishes of all descriptions that played round our vessel. When the weather was calm, fish of every kind, the dolphin, flying-fish, &c. were mixed harmlessly together. The shark was seen playing amongst them, and they not in the least alarmed. Small and large, all seemed collected before us to display the beauties and riches of Divine Providence in the great deep. In a dark night, the sea seemed sparkling with fire.

I inquired the cause of this assemblage of fishes, and their tameness, at an old sailor. He informed me, that the cause was the reflection of the copper on the ship’s bottom, and that they were never seen unless the vessel was coppered.

It was early in the morning when we first beheld the land about the Cape of Good Hope. We soon after could distinguish a hill, called the Sugar Loaf, and next reached a low island, called Robben Island. We anchored in Table Bay, and were, disembarked next day.

Cape Town lies in a valley, the sides of which rise gently to the foot of the mountains that encompass it on all sides; those near the town are of a great height. The houses of the town are all coloured white or yellow. They are mostly built of stone, and appear as if they were not a month old, they are so clean. The streets are paved with flagstones, which I am told are brought from India. They are very agreeable in so hot a climate, being very cool.

I expected to see few people here but Dutch, but I found a collection of all the nations in the world. No doubt the Dutch are the most numerous, but there are a great many Germans, Swiss, French, British, Irish, &c. all very much assimilated to each other: The Dutch have made the French more grave; the French, the Dutch less sedate. Every class of foreigners seems the better for being thus mixed with others. All are equally industrious, all seem happy and content.

I remained only three weeks at the Cape. I was again embarked in an expedition against South America, under Sir Samuel Achmuty and Brigadier-General Lumley. We arrived in the River La Plata in October 1806, when we were informed that the Spaniards had retaken Buenos Ayres, and that our troops only possessed Maldonado, a small space on the side of the river, about five or six miles farther up than Monte Video. On our disembarkation, we found the remains of the army in the greatest want of every necessary belonging to an army, and quite disheartened. On the land side, they were surrounded by about 400 horsemen, who cut off all their foraging parties, and intercepted all supplies. These horsemen were not regular soldiers, but the inhabitants of the country, who had turned out to defend their homes from the enemy.