Part 4

Amidst scenes like these, we arrived at Lugo. Here we were to have obtained two days’ rest, but fate was not yet weary of enjoying our miseries. On our arrival, I tried all in my power to find a place for Donald: The best I could find was a bake-house. He lay down in one of the baking-troughs: I put a sack over him. In two minutes the steam began to rise out of the trough in a continued cloud; he fell asleep, and I went in search of some refreshment. I was not half an hour away when I returned with a little bread; he was still asleep, and as dry as a bone: I was wet as mire. I felt inclined more than once to wake him; I did not, but lay down on a sack, and fell asleep. I awoke before him, quite dry. There were three or four more lying down on the floor beside me, asleep. My haversack had been rifled while I slept, and my little store of bread was gone. It was vain to complain--I had no resource; cautiously I examined those around me asleep, but found nothing. Again I sallied forth; and, to my great joy, I saw a soldier lying unable to rise, he was so drunk. His haversack seemed pretty full: I went to him, and found in it a large piece of beef, and some bread. I scrupled not to appropriate them to myself. I hastened back to Donald, and we had a good meal together. I felt stronger, and Donald was in better spirits. The bridges between Villa Franca and Lugo had been imperfectly destroyed. The French made their appearance on the 5th of January, and took up a position opposite to our rear guard; a small valley only dividing them from it. This night we remained standing in the fields until day broke, our arms piled. The sky was one continued expanse of stars; not a cloud to be seen, and the frost was most intense. Words fail me to express what we suffered from the most dreadful cold. We alternately went to the calm side of each other, to be sheltered from the wind. In this manner, when day at length broke upon us, we had retrograded over two fields from the spot where we had piled our arms. Many had lain down through the night overcome by sleep, from which the last trumpet, only, will awaken them.

On the 6th, the enemy attacked our out-posts; but were received by our fatigued and famished soldiers with as much bravery as if they had passed the night in comfortable barracks: they repulsed the French in every assault. The sound of the battle roused our drooping hearts--“Revenge or death,” said my comrades, a savage joy glistening in their eyes. But the day closed without any attack farther on either side. On the 7th they came upon us again, and were more quickly repulsed than on the day before. From the first moment of the attack, and as long as the French were before us, discipline was restored, and the officers were as punctually obeyed as if we had been on parade at home. We felt not our sufferings; so anxious were we to end them by a victory which we were certain of obtaining. But Soult seemed to know our spirits better than our own commanders; and, after these two last samples, kept a respectful distance. We stood to our arms until the evening, the enemy in front, amidst snow, rain, and storms. Fires were then lighted, and we commenced our retreat after dark.

Before our reserve left Lugo, general orders were issued, warning and exhorting us to keep order, and march together; but, alas! how could men observe order amidst such sufferings? or men, whose feet were naked and sore, keep up with men, who, being more fortunate, had better shoes and stronger constitutions? The officers, in many points, suffered as much as the men. I have seen officers of the guards, and others, worth thousands, with pieces of old blankets wrapt round their feet and legs, the men pointing at them with a malicious satisfaction, saying, “There goes three thousand a-year;” or, “There goes the prodigal son on his return to his father, cured of his wanderings.” Even in the midst of all our sorrows, there was a bitterness of spirit, a savageness of wit, that made a jest of its own miseries. The great fault of our soldiers, at this time, was an inordinate desire for spirits of any kind. They sacrificed their life and safety for drink, in many ways; for they lay down intoxicated upon the snow, and slept the sleep of death; or, staggering behind, were overtaken and cut down by the merciless French soldiers: the most favourable event was to be taken prisoners. So great was their propensity to drown their misery in liquor, that we were often exposed to cold and rain for a whole night, in order that we might be kept from the wine stores of a neighbouring town. Why should I detain the reader longer on our march?--every day of which was like the day that was past, save in our inability to contend with our hardships.

We arrived at Corunna on the 11th January, 1809. How shall I describe my sensations at the first sight of the ocean? I felt all my former despondency drop from my mind. My galled feet trode lighter on the icy road. Every face near me seemed to brighten up. Britain and the Sea are two words which cannot be disunited. The sea and home appeared one and the same. We were not cast down at there being no transports or ships of war there. They had been ordered to Vigo, but they were hourly expected. On the 13th, the French made their appearance on the opposite side of the river Mero. They took up a position near a village, called Perillo, on the left flank, and occupied the houses along the river. We could perceive their numbers hourly increasing. On the 14th, they commenced a cannonade on our position; but our artillery soon forced them to withdraw their guns, and fall back. On this day, our friends the tars made their appearance, and all was bustle, preparing for embarkation. The whole artillery was embarked, save seven six-pounders and one howitzer, which were placed in line, and four Spanish guns, which were kept as a reserve. Our position was such, that we could not use many guns. The sick and dismounted cavalry were sent on board with all expedition. I supported my friend Donald, who was now very weak, and almost blind. On my return to the camp, I witnessed a most moving scene. The beach was covered with dead horses, and resounded with the reports of the pistols that were carrying this havoc amongst them. The animals, as if warned by the dead bodies of their fellows, appeared frantic, neighed and screamed in the most frightful manner. Many broke loose and galloped alongst the beach, with their manes erect, and their mouths wide open.

Our preparations continued until the 16th, when every thing was completed; and we were to begin our embarkation at four o’clock. About mid-day, we were all under arms, when intelligence arrived that the French were advancing. We soon perceived them pouring down upon our right wing: our advanced picquets had commenced firing. The right had a bad position, yet if we lost it, our ruin was inevitable. Lord William Bentinck’s brigade, composed of the 4th, 42d, and 50th, had the honour of sustaining it against every effort of the French, although the latter had every advantage in numbers and artillery. They commenced a heavy fire, from eleven great guns, placed in a most favourable manner on the hill. Two strong columns advanced on the right wing, the one along the road, the other skirting its edges; a third advanced on the centre; a fourth approached slowly on the left; while a fifth remained half way down the hill, in the same direction, to take advantage of the first favourable moment. It was at this time that Sir David Baird had his arm shattered. The space between the two lines was much intercepted by stone walls and hedges. It was perceived by Sir John Moore, as the two lines closed, that the French extended a considerable way beyond the right flank of the British, and a strong body of them were seen advancing up the valley. To turn it, one-half of the fourth was ordered to fall back, and form an obtuse angle with the other half. This was done as correctly as could be wished, and a severe flanking fire commenced upon the advancing French. The 50th, after climbing over an enclosure, got right in front of the French, charged, and drove them out of the village Elvina. In this charge, they lost Major Napier, who was wounded and made prisoner. Major Stanhope was mortally wounded. Sir John was at the head of every charge. Every thing was done under his own eye. “Remember Egypt!” said he, and the 42d drove all before them, as the gallant 50th had done. The Guards were ordered to their support. Their ammunition being all spent through some mistake, they were falling back: “Ammunition is coming, you have your bayonets,” said Sir John. This was enough; onwards they rushed, overturning every thing. The enemy kept up their hottest fire upon the spot where they were. It was at this moment Sir John received his death wound. He was borne off the field by six soldiers of the 42d, and the Guards. We now advanced to the support of the right, led by Lord Paget. Colonel Beckwith, with the rifle corps, pushed all before him, and nearly took one of their cannon; but a very superior column forced him to retire. Lord Paget, however, repulsed this column, and dispersed every thing before him: when the left wing of the French being quite exposed, they withdrew and attacked our centre, under Mannington and Leith; but this position being good, they were easily repulsed. They likewise failed in every attempt on our left. A body of them had got possession of a village on the road to Betanzos, and continued to fire under cover of it, till dislodged by Lieutenant-Colonel Nicolls.--Shortly after this, night put a period to the battle of Corunna. At ten o’clock, General Hope ordered the army to march off the field by brigades, leaving strong picquets to guard the embarkation. I remained in the rear guard, commanded by Major General Beresford, occupying the lines in front of Corunna. We had made great fires, and a few of the freshest of our men were left to keep them up, and run round them to deceive the enemy. At dawn there was little to embark, save the rear-guard, and the reserve, commanded by Major-General Hill, who had occupied a promontory behind Corunna. We were scarcely arrived on the beach, ere the French began to fire upon the transports in the harbour, from the heights of St. Lucia. Then all became a scene of confusion. Several of the masters of the transports cut their cables. Four of the transports ran ashore. Not having time to get them off, we were forced to burn them. The ships of war soon silenced the French guns, and we saw no more of them. There was no regularity in our taking the boats. The transport that I got to, had part of seven regiments on board.

The Spaniards are a courageous people: the women waved their handkerchiefs to us from the rocks, whilst the men manned the batteries against the French, to cover our embarkation. Unmindful of themselves, they braved a superior enemy to assist a friend who was unable to afford them further relief,--whom they had no prospect of ever seeing again.

Secure within the wooden walls, bad as our condition was, I felt comparatively happy in being so fortunate as to be on board the same vessel with Donald. In relieving his wants, I felt less my own, and was less teased by the wit and ribaldry of my fellow-sufferers; who, now that they were regularly served with provisions, and exempt from the fatigues of marching and the miseries of cold, were as happy in their rags and full bellies as any men in England.

For two days after we came on board, I felt the most severe pains through my whole body: the change was so great from the extreme cold of the winter nights, which we had passed almost without covering, to the suffocating heat of a crowded transport. This was not the most disagreeable part: vermin began to abound; we had not been without them in our march, but now we had dozens for one we had then. In vain we killed them, they appeared to increase from the ragged and dirty clothes, of which we had no means of freeing ourselves. Complaint was vain. Many were worse than myself; I had escaped without a wound, and, thank God! though I had not a shirt upon my back, I had my health, after the two first days, as well as ever I had it.

On the morning of the tenth day after our embarkation, I was condoling with Donald, who was now quite blind. “I will never be a soldier again, O Thomas! I will be nothing but Donald the blind man. Had I been killed,--if you had left me to die in Spain,--it would have been far better to have lain still in a wreath of snow, than be, all my life, a blind beggar, a burden on my friends. Oh! if it would please God to take my life from me!"--“Land a-head! Old England once again!” was called from mouth to mouth. Donald burst into tears: “I shall never see Scotland again; it is me that is the poor dark man!” A hundred ideas rushed upon my mind, and overcame me. Donald clasped me to his breast: our tears flowed uninterrupted.

We anchored that same day at Plymouth, but were not allowed to land; our Colonel kept us on board until we got new clothing. Upon our landing, the people came round us, showing all manner of kindness, carrying the lame and leading the blind. We were received into every house as if we had been their own relations. How proud did I feel to belong to such a people!

We were marched to Ashford barracks, in the County of Kent, where we remained from the month of February, 1809, until we were marched to Gosport camp, where the army was forming for a secret expedition. During the five weeks we lay in camp, Donald joined us in good health and spirits. All the time I lay at Ashford, I had letters regularly from my mother, which whiled away the time.

We sailed from the Downs on the 28th of July, and reached Flushing in thirty hours, where we landed without opposition. Our regiment was the first that disembarked. We were brigaded, alongst with the 68th and 85th regiments, under the command of Major-General De Rollenburgh. Here, again, as in South America, I was forced to work in the trenches, in forming the batteries against Flushing. On the night of the 7th of August, the French sallied out upon our works, but were quickly forced back with great loss. They were so drunk, many of them, that they could not defend themselves; neither could they run away: we, in fact, gave up the pursuit, our hearts would not allow us to kill such helpless wretches, a number of whom could not even ask for mercy.

On the evening of the 10th, we had a dreadful storm of thunder and rain. At the same time the French Governor opened the sluices, and broke down the sea dikes, when the water poured in upon us, and we were forced to leave the trenches. However, on the 13th, in the evening, we commenced a dreadful fire upon the town, from the batteries and vessels in the harbour, which threw bombs and rockets on one side, whilst the batteries plyed them with round-shot on the other. I was stunned and bewildered by the noise; the bursting of bombs and falling of chimneys, all adding to the incessant roar of the artillery. The smoke of the burning houses and guns, formed, altogether, a scene not to be remembered but with horror, which was increased, at every cessation from firing, (which was very short,) by the piercing shrieks of the inhabitants, the wailings of distress, and howling of dogs. The impression was such as can never be effaced. After night fell, the firing ceased, save from the mortar batteries; the noise was not so dreadful; the eye was now the sense that conveyed horror to the mind; the enemy had set fire to Old Flushing, whilst the New Town was kept burning by the shells and rockets. The dark flare of the burning, the reflection on the water and sky, made all the space, as far as the eye could reach, appear an abyss of fire. The faint tracks of the bombs, and luminous train of the rockets, darting towards and falling into the flames, conveyed an idea to my mind so appalling, that I turned away and shuddered.

This night our regiment was advanced a good way in front, upon a sea dike, through which the enemy had made a cut to let the water in upon our works. Towards midnight, when the tide was ebb, Colonel Pack made a sally into one of the enemy’s batteries. We crossed the cut in silence; Colonel Pack entered first, and struck off the sentinel’s head at one blow. We spiked their guns, after a severe brush. At the commencement, as I leaped into the works, an officer seized my firelock before I could recover my balance, and was in the act to cut me down; the sword was descending, when the push of a bayonet forced him to the ground: It was Donald, who fell upon us both. I extricated myself as soon as possible, rose and fell to work; there was no time to congratulate. The enemy had commenced a heavy fire upon us, and we were forced to retire with forty prisoners. We lost a great number of men, killed, wounded, and missing. Donald was amongst the latter, but joined in the morning.

Next morning, Monnet surrendered, and we marched into Flushing, scarce a house of which had escaped; all was a scene of death and desolation. The wet and fatigue of the last few days had made me ill. I was scarce able to stand, yet I did not report myself sick. I thought it would wear off. Next night I was upon guard: the night was clear and chill; a thin white vapour seemed to extend around as far as I could see; the only part free from it were the sand heights. It covered the low place where we lay, and was such as you see early in the morning before the sun is risen, but more dense. I felt very uncomfortable in it; my two hours I thought never would expire; I could not breathe with freedom. Next morning, I was in a burning fever at times, at other times trembling and chilled with cold; I was unfit to rise or walk upon my feet. The surgeon told me I had taken the country disorder. I was sent to the hospital; my disease was the same as that of which hundreds were dying. My spirits never left me; a ray of hope would break in upon me the moment I got ease between the attacks of this most severe malady.

I was sent, with many others, to Braeburnlees, where I remained eight weeks ill--very ill indeed. All the time I was in the hospital, my soul was oppressed by the distresses of my fellow-sufferers, and shocked at the conduct of the hospital men. Often have I seen them fighting over the expiring bodies of the patients, their eyes not yet closed in death, for articles of apparel that two had seized at once, cursing and oaths mingling with the dying groans and prayers of the poor sufferers. How dreadful to think, as they were carried from each side of me, it might be my turn next! There was none to comfort, none to give a drink of water with a pleasant countenance. I had now time to reflect with bitterness on my past conduct; here I learned the value of a parent’s kindness. I had been unable to write since my illness, and I longed to tell my mother where I was, that I might hear from her. I crawled along the wall of the hospital to the door, to see if I could find one more convalescent than myself, to bring me paper. I could not trust the hospital men with the money. To see the face of heaven, and breathe the pure air, was a great inducement to this difficult exertion. I feebly, and with anxious joy, pushed up the door: horrid moment! dreadful sight! Donald lay upon the barrow, at the stair-head, to be carried to the dead-room; his face was uncovered, and part of his body naked. The light forsook my eyes, I became dreadfully sick, and fell upon the body. When I recovered again, there was a vacancy of thought and incoherence of ideas, that remained with me for some time; and it was long before I could open a door without feeling an unpleasant sensation. When I became convalescent, I soon recovered my wonted health; the regiment arrived at Braeburnlees upon Christmas day, and I commenced my duties as a soldier. By the death of Donald, I had again become a solitary individual, nor did I again form a friendship while we lay here, which was until May, 1810; at which time we got the route for Deal. We remained there until the month of September, when an order came for a draught of 600 men for service in Portugal, of which number I was one.

* * * * *

There were six companies of 100 men each, embarked in two frigates, 300 in each. I was on board the Melpomene. During the six days’ sail to Lisbon, my thoughts were not the most agreeable. I was on my way to that country in which I had already suffered so much. My health was good, but my spirits were very low; I could not yet bring myself to associate with the other men, so as to feel pleasure in their amusements. I found it necessary to humour them in many things, and be obliging to all. I was still called saucy, and little courted by my comrades to join them. I had changed my bed-fellow more than once, they not liking my dry manner, as they called it. On the seventh day after leaving Deal, we were landed at Blackhorse Square, Lisbon, amidst the shouts of the inhabitants. We were marched to the top of the town, and billeted in a convent. A good many were billeted in the town, the convent being not large enough to contain us. I was billeted upon a cook-shop. Two years before, while encamped before Lisbon, I had often wished to enter the town; now, I as ardently wished to leave it. I was sickened every hour of the day with the smell of garlic and oil; every thing there is fried in oil that will fry. Oil and garlic is their universal relish. Cleanliness they have not the least conception of. The town is a dunghill from end to end; their principal squares are not even free from heaps of filth. You may make a shift to walk by the side of the streets with clean shoes, but cross one if you dare. I inquired at one of our regiment, who had been left sick, if they had any scavengers? “Yes,” said he, “they have one.” “He will have a great many under him?” “None.” “What folly, to have only one to such a city!” “And that one only when he may please to come.” “You joke with me.” “No, I don’t; the rain is their street-cleaner; he will be here soon, there will be clean streets while he remains; then they prepare work for him again.”

To my great joy, we paraded in the grand square, on the seventh day after arrival, and marched in sections to the music of our bugles, to join the army, having got our camp equipments, consisting of a camp-kettle and bill-hook to every six men, a blanket, a canteen and haversack, to each man. Orders had been given that each soldier, on his march, should carry alongst with him three days’ provision. Our mess of six, cast lots who should be cook the first day, as we were to carry the kettle day about; the lot fell to me. My knapsack contained two shirts, two pair of stockings, one pair overalls, two shoebrushes, a shaving-box, one pair spare shoes, and a few other articles; my greatcoat and blanket above the knapsack: my canteen with water was slung over my shoulder, on one side; my haversack with beef and bread, on the other; sixty round of ball cartridge, and the camp-kettle above all.

I was now well broke down by what I had been in my first campaign with Moore. How different was Tom marching to school with his satchel on his back, from Tom with his musket and kitt[6], a private soldier, an atom of an army, unheeded by all, his comforts sacrificed to ambition, his untimely death talked of with indifference, and only counted in the gross with hundreds, without a sigh.