Part 1
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THE
MILITARY SKETCH-BOOK.
VOL. I.
IN THE PRESS.
THE LANCERS.
IN THREE VOLUMES
LONDON: PRINTED BY S. AND R. BENTLEY, DORSET STREET.
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. I.
LONDON: HENRY COLBURN, NEW BURLINGTON STREET. 1827.
In presenting these Sketches to the public, the Author begs leave to say, that although in their production he sometimes indulged his imagination, fancy has only been employed to decorate truth. Facts form the ground-work of his book; and although the ornaments may have been carelessly or tastelessly placed, real incidents have neither been obscured nor distorted.
To the gentleman who supplied the Author with the necessary hints for the sketch entitled “_Mess Table Chat_, (_No._ IV.)” and also to the gallant officer whose memory and kindness furnished him with the facts relative to the Bush-rangers of Van Diemen's Land, the Author returns his most sincere thanks.
CONTENTS
OF
THE FIRST VOLUME.
Page
FIRST WEEK IN THE SERVICE 1
THE SOLDIER'S ORPHAN 43
NIGHTS IN THE GUARD-HOUSE, NO. I.:—STORY OF MARIA DE CARMO 51
OLD CHARLEY 98
MESS-TABLE CHAT, NO. I. 108
A DAUGHTER OF OSSIAN 125
THE MULETEER 136
RATIONS, OR ELSE 153
INFERNAL DUTY 156
NIGHTS IN THE GUARD-HOUSE, NO. II. 160
THE FATE OF YOUNG GORE 173
RECOLLECTIONS OF THE WALCHEREN EXPEDITION 182
JOURNAL OF A CAMPAIGN AT THE HORSE-GUARDS 231
MESS-TABLE CHAT, NO. II. 235
GERAGHTY'S KICK 257
DUELLING IN THE SERVICE 266
NIGHTS IN THE GUARD-HOUSE, NO. III. 284
THE BISCUIT 300
THE BATTLE OF THE GRINDERS 309
A ROUGH PASSAGE TO PORTUGAL 319
THE
MILITARY SKETCH-BOOK.
FIRST WEEK IN THE SERVICE.
“For now sits expectation in the air, And _shews_ a sword from hilt unto the point.”
HENRY V.
Never shall I forget the delightful sensations my mind experienced on reading, in the long-expected _Gazette_, the announcement of my first military appointment. I was in London at the time, and had been residing three weeks at _Old Slaughter's_ Coffee House, in St. Martin's Lane, deferring from Tuesday 'till Saturday, and from Saturday 'till Tuesday, the fulfilment of my mother's strict injunctions “_to take lodgings and live economically_,” when one evening the waiter handed to me, damp from the press, the official sheet which was to terminate all my anxiety. There I was in print,—in _absolute print_; and that, too, in the GAZETTE—by the King's Royal Authority!
There are many youths, who, in such a situation, would, from the ecstatic impulse of their feelings, have upset the table; or have flung the decanter at the waiter's head; or, perhaps, have snatched the wig off the head of any respectable gentleman who might have happened to be sitting within reach; but I acted differently. Had it been an ordinary impulse of gladness, I should, no doubt, have poured forth my ebullition of pleasant feeling upon tables, decanters, waiters, and wigs of elderly gentlemen; but this was no everyday sensation,—no flash in the pan: it was a splendid coruscation, the intensity of which dazzled all my senses, and marvellously heightened my ideas of self-importance. The auditory organs of the Waterloo hero thrilled not more at the first announcement of his Grace's Dukedom, than mine, as my lips pronounced the consummation of my almost wearied hopes—an Ensigncy. I was more than a Duke, more than a King, more than an Emperor: I was a SUBALTERN. In idea, I was already a Captain, a Colonel, a General! I gave the reins to my enthusiastic imagination, and would not, I believe, have exchanged my commission for a coronet.
I instantly brought my body to an acute angle with my inferior extremities, by placing the latter longitudinally on the seat of the box in which I had placed myself, and, elevating my shirt-collar to a parallel line with my nose, ordered the waiter to bring me a bottle of claret. For the half hour I was engaged in drinking it, I continued to gaze at the Gazette, to the no small mortification of several fidgetty gentlemen who were waiting for a sight of it. Yet all I read, and all I could read, was “W****, A****, B***. _Gent. to be Ensign, vice Thompson, killed in action!_”
I was just turned of nineteen, a well grown and somewhat precocious lad, generally considered by my father and his friends as a shrewd and well-disposed fellow, who was likely one day or other to cut a figure in the army; but, by my mother and her female côterie, (all above the middle age,) I was set down, _nem. con._, as an arch wild dog, on whom a little military discipline would be by no means thrown away; for I was a second son, and my mother, although affectionate enough, did not evince towards me that strength—or, more properly speaking, that _weakness_—of maternal fondness which she lavished on my elder brother, (her favourite,) who was specially designed for the pulpit by her and her devout advisers. My own opinion of my disposition was about half-way between that of my father and mother. I never, to my knowledge, did much harm, except occasionally hoaxing our parson and apothecary; or operating a few nocturnal exchanges of signs[1] between barbers, pawnbrokers, inn-keepers, and undertakers; or perhaps an occasional shot at a villager's cat. But the best cannot please every body; and even in the case of their own fathers and mothers, young fellows experience different opinions upon their merits. However, this I knew—that I pleased myself: I was backed by an indulgent father, health, spirits, and plenty of money; so, in military phrase, I may say that I was ready primed for mischief, and did not care a doit for the devil.
When I had finished my bottle, and tolerably satisfied myself with repeating over and over the terms of my appointment, in a semi-audible tone, I sallied forth. It was a fine evening in the beginning of July 1809, and town was crammed with military men in _mufti_. They had, as it seemed to me, even in plain clothes, an air peculiarly striking; and it excited at once my delight and envy to see them stared at by all; but particularly by the ladies, whose glances, to me, from my earliest age, were always bewitching in the extreme. I burned to mingle in the glory, and to share with my _now_ brother-officers, the smiles of the fair; but my sun-burned drab coat, with broad buttons, together with my slouched hat, white Windsor-cord breeches and top-boots, presented an odious barrier to my hopes and desires. O for a military tailor!—
“That great enchanter, at whose rod's command, Beauty springs forth, and nature's self turns paler; Seeing how art can make her work more grand, When she don't pin men's limbs in like a jailor.”
Of course, I soon found one. My first few paces in the Strand brought me in front of a shop-window, within which were profusely displayed braided coats, epaulettes, sword-knots, and brass heel-spurs. I could no more have passed it, without entering, than could the camel of the desert a clear and gushing spring without dipping his nostrils into it. Although particularly directed, both by my father and mother, to order my regimentals from our family tailor, I immediately proceeded to the man of measures, who, at first, eyed me in a careless, tooth-picking sort of way; but when he learned the nature and purport of my visit, he became the most polite and complaisant of tailors.
“I'm an Ensign in the army,” said I, “and I want a suit of uniform for the ——th regiment of the line.”
“Thank you, _Captain_,” replied he, bowing and fidgetting, “I am much obliged to you, _Captain_, for the order; and I can assure you, _Captain_, that I can furnish you with every article of regimentals, of a superior quality, and at the shortest notice—_Captain_.”
Although I was somewhat disgusted at the first appearance of inattention discovered by the tailor to a man of my rank, (for I thought any body could see I was an officer in the army, even through my sun-burnt coat,) yet his subsequent politeness, and even obsequiousness, joined to my anxiety to put on regimentals for the first time—but, above all, his dubbing me “_Captain_,” at once determined me to order my appointments from him. I soon concluded the business; my regimentals, complete, were to be ready and on my table at 12 o'clock the following day. Scarlet coat, with swallow tail, yellow facings, white pantaloons, silver lace epaulette, sword, sword-knot, sword-belt, and all, except hat, feather, and boots. But for present purposes, what was to be done? I felt that I ought to have something for _that_ evening to distinguish my rank. A fine braided military frock was hung up at the tailor's door, on which I seized, and forthwith jumped into it.
“Let me assist you, _Captain_,” said the tailor. “There—what a fit! It was made for Colonel Mortimer, of the Dragoons. Let me button it up to the neck, _Captain_. There—may I never cut a coat, but it is a superb article, Captain; and as cheap at twelve pounds, as my shears for a penny.”
There was no looking-glass in the shop, and therefore I could not positively be certain as to the truth of what Snip asserted with regard to the “fit.” I must confess, however, that I suspected a wrinkle or two across the shoulders, and the waist was not quite so tight as I could have wished: but then this coat was the only one in the shop; and, as it was too late to look for another, I resolved to keep it on; for, to have given up that night's exhibition of my military importance in the throng at the West-End of the town, would have been an act of self-denial, more becoming a member of the Abbey of _La Trappe_, than an ensign of one of His Majesty's regiments of the line. Accordingly, I paid the twelve pounds, which produced a double volley of complimentary “_Captains_” from the tailor, and having been again assured that my regimentals should be punctually sent home next day, I departed.
Whether it arose from the hurry in which I was to launch my first military coat among the loungers that swelled the passages about Leicester Square, Piccadilly, Bond Street, and St. James's, or whether it was from a lack of knowledge of the etiquette of military costume, I do not now recollect; but certain it is, that I quite overlooked the necessity of providing for the nether portion of my person articles of dress corresponding with those which decorated my upper half. When I think of the figure I must have cut, I blush, even to this hour. Yet I know not why I should blush. I am now about seventeen years older, and my vision shows me everything with a far different aspect from what it wore at nineteen. Yet happiness has not increased with years; and objects, although now more perfect to my sight, have lost their former delightful colouring. Perhaps it may be better that eyes thus change their power, and that boys are neither philosophers nor men of the world; if they were, where would be the enviable sweetness of boyhood—that freshness of life, which makes youth laugh at futurity, and which the wisest sage cannot retrospectively contemplate without a sigh?
But to my subject. I proceeded along the Strand, Cockspur Street, Haymarket, and Piccadilly, to the Green Park promenade, with an air of importance perfectly consistent with the occasion: and that my new attire produced a change in the countenances of the crowd was manifest. To my great delight all eyes were on me—every body turned to look after me as I passed; but when I got into the Green Park, and was surrounded by its elegant evening loungers, the remarks made upon me became very insulting: these, however, I set down to the account of envy in the men, and a spirit of flirtation in the ladies. Six or eight fellows of _ton_ followed me in line along the parade, admiring, and _envying_ (as I then thought), the beauty of my braided frock; but, I now believe, with no other view but that of quizzing the oddity of my appearance.—And such an appearance—such incongruity of dress never presented itself in the Green Park either before or since that memorable evening. Had I been downright _shabby-genteel_ (as the phrase is) I might have escaped; but every article upon me was new, “spick and span.”—A highly expensive military coat, of the most abominable fit, down to my ankles, and as wide as a sentry-box, white cord breeches, yellow top-boots, cross-barred Marseilles waistcoat, white cravat, and a most incorrigibly new _woolly_ hat! But the braiding on the coat I thought covered, like charity, a multitude of offences; and I, myself, could see no impropriety whatever in my “turn out.” The line of coxcombs continued to follow, but never ventured to address me directly: they kept up a sort of hedge-fire, which, I confess, a good deal galled me; but, as I said before, if I had not then thought their remarks sprung from pure envy, one or two of them should have gone headlong into the pond by which we walked.
“He's a griffin,” said one.
“Perhaps he's a golok.”
“Not at all,” said another; “the gentleman's a _heron_ just _bagged_.”
“He belongs to the first regiment of _light buldhoons_,” muttered a third.
“My life on't, Tom, you're wrong,” rejoined one of the critics; “I'll bet any of you a dozen of Champaigne that he is a _thorough-bred horse-marine_; you may see that by his jockey boots.”
Thus they went on at intervals during several turns on the walk. All this time my angry feelings were forcibly getting the better of my judgment, and I began to experience a strong desire to come to the point with these gentlemen, and to show them that I was neither a griffin, nor a golok, a heron, nor a horse-marine, but an Ensign in the regular service of his Majesty.
I immediately determined on addressing them; and, in a very few moments, had an opportunity of doing so; for the whole line, arm-in-arm, on our next meeting, attempted to surround me; at which moment I fixed upon the individual who had been most forward in his observations upon me, and a scene of complete confusion followed. I demanded an exchange of cards, but he declined with a sneer, and a horse laugh rung from his companions. I found myself beset on all sides with such a clamour, that I could not have made a word heard, even if I had attempted to do so through a speaking-trumpet.
It was evident that I had no chance of obtaining satisfaction. My assertion that I was an officer in the army was only treated with contempt; and I had no means of finding out the address of any one of my opponents.
I was in the midst of this disagreeable rencontre, when an elderly gentleman, whose weather-beaten front and military air convinced me that he belonged to “the cloth,” took me by the arm, and, leading me aside, asked whether I was really an officer in the service? On my answering in the affirmative, he replied, “I know the young men you disputed with; so make yourself easy, Sir. Walk this way, and let me have your address. I have been an eye-witness of the affair, and you shall have satisfaction to-morrow, I promise you.”
I instantly gave the gentleman my card, thanking him warmly at the same time for the kindness with which he seemed to treat me. He then requested me to retire, and assured me that he would certainly be with me next morning.
I proceeded to my hotel, on the whole not displeased, considering that there was some importance attached to the adventure, and that I had something like a duel already on my hands, although but one day in the service. The idea of a newspaper paragraph setting forth an affair of honour between Ensign B—— of the Line, and Mr. So-and-So, of So-and-so, with a challenge, dated from SLAUGHTER'S _Coffee House_,—an address peculiarly military at that time,—was by no means a displeasing source of reflection; and although I occasionally read myself a different version of the said paragraph, in which the words “_mortally wounded_” took up an unpleasant position, I slept soundly and dreamt delightfully.
Next morning I was up early, determined to have all things arranged _comme il faut_ before the arrival of my volunteer friend, who was to manage matters for me. The first thing I did was to send for an engraver, in order to have my card-plate prepared, with my _rank_ properly displayed thereon. This I managed to have executed in one hour, on condition of paying five shillings _extra_ for dispatch; although the _brazen_ artizan told me at first his orders were so “_numerous_” that he _feared_ he could not get the plate done for three days: but a _crown_ has often wonderful effect in altering the minds of people.
Forty cards, duly printed, were on my breakfast-table at half-past nine o'clock, and I think I had almost as much pleasure in reading my rank upon them, as I experienced the evening before in seeing it in the Gazette.
My expected visitor soon entered the room where I was at breakfast, and by his manner I perceived that he was just as warm and determined in my behalf as he was the previous evening. Perfectly frank with me, he inquired into the nature of my family connexions, my age, how long had I been in the service, and other matters. Having satisfied himself upon certain points, he requested me to accompany him to ——, in St. James's Street, whither we immediately proceeded.
The waiter showed us into a private room, and my conductor asked if Mr. **** was yet up. On being informed that he was, and at breakfast, my friend expressed his wish to see him. The waiter withdrew, and returned in a few minutes, with an answer that Mr. **** was sorry he could not be seen for an hour. Upon this, my friend drew forth a card, and desired that it should be given to him immediately; observing, that he wished _particularly_ to see him. The waiter obeyed; and had not been out of the room two minutes, when all the bells in the house seemed to have been set in motion, and the servants began to run to and fro about the lobbies, as if they had all been under the influence of the laughing gas.
Thinks I to myself, the card has had a good effect: and I thought rightly; for in a moment the door of our apartment opened, and the most polite and powdered valet imaginable bowed himself into our presence, to inform us that Mr. **** would wait upon us immediately. Scarcely had he bowed himself out again, when Mr. **** himself, the very man I had singled out the night before, entered.
His demeanour was now completely changed, and his air subdued; the fire of his insolence had burnt out, and a placid ray of the purest sunshine of good humour beamed from his gentlemanly countenance. The very honey of politeness was on his tongue, as he uttered the introductory words, “_General_, I hope I have not kept you waiting?” By the bye, my importance was not a little swelled on hearing the rank of my friend; yet my gratitude, I felt, swelled higher; for, in proportion to the rank I found him to hold, I felt my sense of his kindness[2] increase.
The General, when all the parties were seated, carelessly threw his right leg across his left knee, and thus addressed Mr. ****. “I have called upon you, Sir, not officially, but as a private individual, in which light I request to be received; and my object in calling, is to demand a satisfactory adjustment of an affair which occurred yesterday evening in the Green Park, in which you took a very prominent part. This is the gentleman, whose feelings you and your companions trifled with so freely on that occasion. Like yourself, he is an officer in the service, and entitled to its privileges and the support of its members. I was an eye-witness of the scene; and, during the many years I have been in the army, I never saw a more wanton insult passed by one officer upon another, than was inflicted upon this unoffending young gentleman last night by you and your party. I am an old officer, Mr. ****, and would wish to prevent quarrelling as much as possible; but in this case an ample apology must be made to this young officer, or he must have another kind of satisfaction.”
At the conclusion of this address, my opponent put on the most _engaging_ smile; and, offering his opened gold snuff-box to the General, replied, as nearly as I can recollect, in the following words:—“I assure you, General, we had been swallowing ‘_the enemy_’ last night pretty freely, and as freely did he ‘_steal away our brains_,’ as our immortal Shakspeare says. We were perfectly _ambrosial_, General—three bottles a man, exclusive of Champagne; and, 'pon my honour, I have but a very faint recollection of what occurred between your friend and us. However, I-a-rather suspect we were rude; but quite unintentionally so, I assure you, General,—had not the slightest idea of any thing in the world but good-humour. Sir, (addressing himself to me,) I beg you will accept my apology. You must, my dear Sir, give me your hand: you shall dine with us to-day,—you must indeed,—six precisely. We take no excuse.”
There was such an air of frank good-nature in this apology, that both the General and myself were highly pleased, and about to express ourselves to that effect, when Mr. **** ran out of the room, calling out “Sir John!”—“Captain Jackson!”—“Williams!”—“Smith!”—and God knows how many names more; and in a moment returned with the identical posse that had attacked me the evening before, each of whom were introduced to us by Mr. ****, and apologized to me as he had done,—a circumstance which appeared to please the General as much as it delighted me.
Thus ended all unpleasant feelings on the matter; and we sat together for about an hour, during which time the General gave us his opinions on the laws of honour, commenting on the impropriety of their violation by officers in the army in particular. Indeed, by what fell from his lips, on that morning, as well as by his conduct in my affair, I am convinced that he was a highly prudent man, who was brave but inoffensive. Had the business been taken up by a hot-headed fire-eating subaltern or Captain, who possessed but a smattering of the laws of honour, I am convinced that a duel must have been the consequence; but instead of taking a “_message_,” or directing me to send one, the General first sought an _explanation_, knowing that the offenders did not believe, from the oddity of my appearance, that I was what I wished to be considered; and that it was only necessary to make them sensible of their error, to end the matter satisfactorily.
We separated: the General went to Bath, and I returned to my hotel in St. Martin's Lane. I declined the invitation to dinner which I had received from my apologizing friends; but we nevertheless continued thenceforward on very good terms.