Part 9

The guard, under the command of the officer, immediately repaired to the place for the purpose of executing their orders, and demanded admission in the most ferocious manner; but not waiting for reply, the men began to batter the door with their muskets, and apply their shoulders to the panels. The door was too strong for them: they grew still more outrageous, and the officer still more abusive to those within: again they demanded admittance, but this was peremptorily refused by Captain Gore. With the old English maxim in his mind, “_my house is my castle_,” no doubt he believed that he was acting in a justifiable manner; and perhaps he was right in the line of conduct he pursued, because there was a British commandant in the town—and a British officer situated as he was, in the theatre of war, would act with perfect correctness in questioning any authority but that of his own nation:—however, nobody ever suspected the modern Spaniards of good military discipline, or prudence in their actions. As allies, and under a Commander-in-Chief who always listened to the complaints of the Spaniards against his officers or men, the British, in the case of Captain Gore, were treated in a most unwarrantable manner.

The insolent and imprudent officer of the guard was now determined to do all the injury he could, and hearing the voice of Captain Gore inside the door, drew up his men in front of, and close to it; then motioning his orders, which were but too well understood, the whole of the guard fired; the door was not thick enough to resist the bullets, and the unfortunate young man within, fell lifeless in an instant. Would that he had fallen a few weeks before in that battle which defended the rights of Spain, and not thus by the murderous hands of those he defended in that action! He was _not_ a seducer: _this_ his _mistress_ declared over his dead body; and he did not mean to abandon her, as the melancholy catastrophe but too clearly proved.

The young lady was borne almost heart-broken away, and placed within the cheerless walls of a convent many leagues from the scene that was the source of all her love and of all her sorrows.

FOOTNOTES:

[10] These were not, properly speaking, the true Spanish bull-fights, for there was not a convenient place for such an entertainment; but exhibitions much less harmless and more exhilarating. The four gates of the square were shut at twelve o'clock in the day, enclosing a vast concourse of people within an area of about the same extent as one of the smaller squares in London, on each side of which the houses were supported by piazzas. At a given signal, one of seven bulls was let in amongst the people, who fled, of course, at his approach, with the exception of two or three expert men, armed with a small dart and a red cloak; the latter to deceive the animal and cover his eyes, as he fiercely ran at it; while the former was to serve as an irritating instrument against him, in order to increase his fury. When the animal was quite wearied with running after the populace, he was withdrawn, and another bull, fresh and fierce, was let in. Thus they continued until six o'clock; and, considering the nature of the exhibition, it is astonishing that but few received any injury.

[11] Several French prisoners of war (chiefly surgeons) appeared that night in the ball-room, and mingled as cordially with their _enemies_ as if they had been their best friends.

RECOLLECTIONS OF THE WALCHEREN EXPEDITION.

—— tristesque ex æthere Diræ, Et scissâ gaudens vadit Discordia palla, Quam cum sanguineo sequitur Bellona flagello.

_Virgil._

On the 20th of July, 1809, about seven o'clock in the morning, I started from Gracechurch-street on the box of a stage coach, for Deal, where I was to join my regiment (from which I had been six weeks absent), and to proceed with it upon the “_secret_ expedition.” I took with me one good-sized trunk, pretty well stocked, and a cocked-hat case, which contained its proper lodger, one epaulette, two feathers, two black silk handkerchiefs, two pairs of white leather gloves, hat and hair brushes. This case and its contents I lost; and, for the sake of all young officers who may hereafter travel by coach, as well as by way of a hint to stagecoach owners to be more careful, I mention the matter. The articles were left behind in changing coaches at Canterbury, _by mistake_, as Coachee said; but neither personal application at the coach-office, nor epistolary remonstrance with the proprietors, could obtain for me a proper consideration of my _case_, and, like one in Chancery, there it remains.

A more delightful day never shone, and a more bustling time the Deal and Dover road never knew; it was crowded like a fair along the whole of the way. All appeared to have been put into commotion by the “expedition;” and from the number of tars, soldiers, and their never-neglected or forgotten associates, who thronged the road, mounted and otherwise, it may be easily imagined that there was nothing like dulness to be either seen or felt.

I arrived at the Crown Inn at Deal about dusk, where I found some of my brother-officers just set up; for they had returned on shore after having embarked that day. To get a _bed_ was out of the question, either in the house at which I stopped, or any other in the town; for every hole and corner, crack and cranny, was crammed. My friends, consisting of five as jolly _subs_ as ever looked out for a _company_, and myself, sat down in the coffee-room, and there we “kept it up” until three o'clock A.M.; when, stretching ourselves at full length upon the carpet, in company with about two dozen more, we slept until half-past nine o'clock, and arose as refreshed as if we had reposed all night upon a bed of down.

The afternoon of that day I spent in providing those little articles which were pointed out to me as necessary by an old campaigner,—one of Sir John Moore's; and having done this, as well as replaced what I had lost at Canterbury, I went with my companions on board the vessel wherein were our head-quarters,—a transport: here I dined, and felt myself once more at _home_. I really felt it _was_ my home; for I thought then, and think now, that the home of every officer ought to be the place where his regiment is.

We had an excellent mess, and our sea-stock was worthy of the approbation of the Commander-in-Chief himself—every thing was fresh, good, and strong.

We lived on board, expecting every day to sail; but occasionally visited the town, any thing like the bustle of which I never beheld: a most soul-thrilling and interesting scene there presented itself at all hours of the day; myriads of splendid uniforms—military and naval, lovely women, money flying, trade in full motion, faces all smiles, and the weather all beauty,—glasses, cups, and bottles, savoury odours, and harmonious sounds,—every thing alive and on tiptoe with delight! The fine yellow beach stretching along before the houses, within twenty yards of which were its waves foaming brightly, and slowly rolling! the wide and majestic expanse of the Downs literally covered with ships, about which boats were constantly crowding; signals passing through the fleet; the sound of occasional guns; the constant arrival of vessels to join the divisions; the bands of music in the ships and in the boats on the waters!—all made such an impression on the senses, as may not be renewed once in a century.

On the 27th, the _Blue-Peter_ was flying, and next morning, at half past ten o'clock, the signal was made for the sailing of the third division of the fleet, to which our regiment belonged. The anchors were soon weighed, and with a light breeze we set sail from the Downs, for the “unknown land.”

As I had settled all my sentimental matters before I left London, (for which the post is my debtor some odd pounds,) I had nothing to restrain my mind from the enjoyment of the scene before me; and perhaps the thought that I was now quitting those I held dear as life, might have added to the interest with which I contemplated it. The land lessening into blue mist; the ocean expanded to my view, not in a solitary ship, but in the midst of moving cities; hundreds on hundreds of vessels, holding on in the same steady course together, with the warlike crowd visible on the decks of all; when contemplated in the mass, the whole North Sea seemed like a forest! It was a scene sublime and magnificent beyond description.

We had no bad weather; a fine light breeze favoured us during the whole of our voyage; and at night it was not the least delightful of our pleasures, to listen to the glees of the German riflemen who sailed in our division; they were at once harmonious and characteristic, and gave a charm to the scene which kept many a hundred listeners awake. It has often been a matter of annoyance to me, to think that the peasantry of Great Britain alone are the only people in Europe who cannot sing in _harmony_; the lower orders of every other country are qualified to take a part in a glee. Amongst my countrymen, I have heard even an harmonious _second_ condemned as “_not in tune_,” or “_putting the singer out_!” Of late years, however, the nature of harmony has been more comprehended—no doubt, arising from the practice of singing psalms;—if so, this is one good thing that may be set down to the credit of “_the saints_.”

On the 29th we came in sight of the low sandy shores of Zealand, and on the 30th we anchored within about two miles of Campveer, having safely explored a most dangerous gut or branch of the Scheldt, every ship sounding as she proceeded; while “_By the Mark Seven_” was melodiously sung by the crews of the various vessels! A calm and sunny day added much to the effect of the scene.

The troops were now landed, our baggage remaining on board, and General Frazer, under whose command our regiment was, proceeded to attack Campveer. A small battery in our way was abandoned, and the enemy hotly followed to the gates of the town. So sudden was the panic, that Colonel Pack, with his regiment (the 71st), pursued them even beyond the first drawbridge, and was proceeding to attempt to take the town by assault, when two six-pounders were brought to bear by the enemy in front of him, which cleared a lane through our men, killing eighteen and wounding twenty-six: among the former were an ensign and an assistant-surgeon. The latter's head was completely blown to atoms. It has been thought by many, that the French left the drawbridge down on purpose to lead their assailants into a trap; and this opinion is strengthened by the trickery which is well known to prevail throughout the French mode of warfare. Colonel Pack very narrowly escaped being taken prisoner; in fact, he may be said to _have_ been a prisoner, for a few moments after his regiment retired in confusion: he escaped, however, by cutting down the French soldier who took him.

Campveer is an inconsiderable fortress, and was then garrisoned with not more than 400 men; therefore it could not have been supposed to stand long against such a force as we were capable of bringing before it. The fact was soon proved: one day's cannonade and bombardment from our gunboats silenced their batteries, and the garrison capitulated.

The damage done to the town was not very considerable; there were, however, some lamentable proofs of the power of shot and shell left upon the walls, windows, and roofs of the houses. Few people had remained in the town on our approach, therefore few if any of the inhabitants' lives were lost, and only a very few of the French were either killed or wounded. They sunk one of our best and most destructive gun boats by a shot from the batteries, but otherwise they did very little injury to our naval force.

The main body of the army immediately advanced on Middleburg, the capital of the island, about four miles from Campveer; but although this city is fortified, it could not be held by the enemy, in consequence of the impossibility of their gaining supplies from Flushing, which was at the other extremity of the island, and opened upon the broad Scheldt. The latter was therefore considered a more secure and tenable fortification. For this reason, the French forces moved on from Middleburg, along the high road, closely pursued by our troops, but fighting every yard of the way, taking special care never to wait for the points of our lads' bayonets, which were within a very critical distance of their _rear_. The French, in thus retreating, would run for about two hundred yards; then rapidly rally and deliberately wait until the “_crabs_,” as they called us, were close enough; then would they give us a volley—not, however, without our hearty return of the compliment; when they would immediately scamper off through open files of their own men, who were ready to form up and pour in their shot, while the others were in turn retreating, forming, and loading. This plan was very effectual; for the French in the pursuit lost scarcely any men, while we had a church and a large house full of wounded, besides several killed. In this way were the enemy followed up and driven into the very gates of Flushing: and such was the panic which seized the garrison of that town, that the 14th and the 82nd regiments, it is supposed, had they attempted it, would have carried the place by assault. They drove their bayonets against the walls of the fortress, yet retired without the loss of a single man, although close under the range of the heavy guns from the ramparts.

The whole of the troops landed in the island of Walcheren, amounting to about eighteen thousand men, all infantry (for no part of the cavalry was yet disembarked), now invested Flushing, leaving a small garrison at Middleburg and Campveer; and preparations were immediately commenced for the siege. A finer, a healthier, and a more gallant army than our's never took the field; and it is only to be regretted that it was not employed upon a service where it could have been more advantageous to its country. The other portion of the forces, about 20,000 men under the command of Sir John Hope, were landed on South Beveland, from which place they were sent back to England, without accomplishing any thing—or rather, without having had any thing _to accomplish_, for the enemy retreated on their approach, and left them in possession of the island.

Our lines before Flushing were about half a mile from the walls, extending back about another quarter of a mile, and all within the imaginary semicircle which may be traced from the two sides of the town, drawing the line by West Zuburg, a neat little village nearly a mile from Flushing.

Our centre was commanded by Generals Houston and Stewart; our right by General Graham, under whom were acting General Auckland and General Leith; our left by Generals Picton and Rottenburg, the latter of whom, however, was appointed to the more easy duty of officiating as military commandant of Middleburg: his infirm state of health and advanced age rendered this a very proper arrangement.

Sir Eyre Coote, our second in command, took up his station at West Zuburg, close to the lines, and Lord Chatham remained at Middleburg. The Marquis of Anglesea, then Lord Paget, finding that ship-board was no _field_ for a General of Cavalry, took up his quarters at West Zuburg, in a merchant's country-house, as a mere visitor of the operating army. There was a sort of irregular or guerilla force attached to the besieging army, consisting of about 500 jolly Jack-tars, under the command of Lord A. Beauclerk, formed by detachments from each man-of-war employed in the service; and these were by no means “fish out of water,” for they assisted mainly in dragging up the heavy artillery, as well as in skirmishing in front of our lines.

The country which our army occupied was extremely bushy and luxuriant, though without tall trees, and quite flat; it was interspersed with numerous beautiful gardens, meadows, &c.; and in the height of a very fine summer, as this was, none could wander through it undelighted. As no distant views could possibly occur in such walks, the eye was constantly receiving an interesting change of objects,—now a beautifully displayed garden, where fruit and flowers were profusely growing; a step or two brought the wanderer to a green alley, adorned with classical statues, and intersected with walks bordered by flowers, and perhaps, on turning into one of them, a fish-pond became visible, overshadowed by willows and cypress, and surrounded with dwarf trees and heavy foliage; in the centre, an artificial cascade, and moored at the side, a little boat, beautifully rigged. On leaving this, perhaps a meadow presented itself, with a ripening crop of grass hedged closely round—perhaps trodden down by our soldiers, who were bivouacking there, or in the adjoining field—then a brushwood, and then again a dyke, overhung by long rushes and grass. These objects, in varied succession, covered the greater part of the land about West Zuburg and the road to and from thence to Flushing. In this part I was quartered, and I have walked for hours, without finding a spot that would form an exception to the above description. It was the happiest time of my life—young as I was, (little more than nineteen,) with a mind as elastic as the air, and romantic to enthusiasm; placed for the first time in my life in the centre of the field destined for the fight, and that field so beautiful by nature and by art—so covered by foliage and green swards, and so diversified by the bivouack and the battery; the guns from the besieged town every minute or two shaking the atmosphere, and the rifles of the skirmishers in irregular reports, startling the ear—these, with a consciousness that I was a part of the machine of war, gave an interest to every thing around me which I had never felt before, and which I cannot now recall without delight.

The first day we appeared before Flushing, and the following we were entirely employed in guarding against surprise; we were constantly under arms, and could only regale ourselves with what we chanced to have brought with us. However, rations were soon delivered out to us, and with the help of sods and green bushes, grass, &c. we constructed huts, which, with an old barn, helped us to make ourselves feel quite “at home.” This was on the 1st and 2nd of August, from which time, until the bombardment commenced (the 13th), we had little to do but to work at the batteries and trenches; and to let ourselves be shot at and shelled at by the town; with the exception, indeed, of one evening's sharp work, when the garrison made a _sortie_ upon us. This, while it lasted, was a tough contest, and although at least 20,000 men sallied out from the town, as much intent on mischief as men well could be, they were forced to retire in double-quick time, after about an hour's hard work, with nothing but their labour and their loss for their pains. It was, I think, on the 6th of August, that the _sortie_ was made, and from the gate which opened on the main road to Middleburg. A few of my brother officers and I had been smoking cigars, and moistening our lips with a little Hollands and water, in an almost roofless cottage, and, I recollect, we were talking of the very fortunate escape which one of our officers, then present, had had about three hours before, from a shell which had fallen scarcely a foot from him, and laughing at the manner in which he had run away from the ignited globe of destruction, when we heard a volley of musketry apparently not more than a quarter of a mile away, and in a moment the orderly sergeant brought us instructions to “turn out” forthwith. The regiment was under arms and upon the main road in a few minutes, when we perceived a body of our troops falling back, while the French were yelling as if in triumph, their voices only drowned by the loud discharges of musketry from both sides. It was almost dark, but the twilight was sufficient for us to discover a little disorder in the regiment before us. Our lads muttered to each other as they advanced at a rapid pace, “Oh! by J——s we'll soon stop yiz!”—“Wait 'till we come at you, you beggars!” &c. and such from every part of the ranks were not the most unpleasant sounds I ever heard,—my heart swelled with exultation when I heard the men, and witnessed their manly courage. “Steady, my lads—silence till you fire—wait, my lads—steady,” passed from the Colonel, as we pushed on, and in a few minutes the regiment before us opened. The grenadier company, stout and steady fellows, formed in line as quick as lightning, pouring a thundering volley into the column of the enemy which was approaching, and the word “_Charge!_” sent us off like rockets. Our line hurried on with a simultaneous shout, and every bayonet met its bloody sheath in a moment. We were supported by the remainder of the regiment, and for several minutes were mixed together, both French and English, tugging at each other fiercely. Our fellows absolutely turned their muskets, and butted and smashed them down, as if dissatisfied with the more silent, but more effective execution of the bayonet. The scene was one of complete confusion; many of our own men were wounded by their comrades' balls from behind, as the surgeon afterwards declared, on comparing them, as they were extracted—he distinguished the British bullets by their greater size in relation to those of the French. The enemy, encouraged by their officers, rallied and fired several times boldly, but were again and again repulsed. The 51st and the 95th on our side attacked from a field, and assisted mainly in deciding the affair. The firing by degrees became less and less, and when our troops had completely chased the French back to their strong hold, they were ordered to return. So ended the sortie of the 6th of August.