Part 2

“Well, the moment all was ready, there was nothing but a dead silence. Every man--Generals and all--were in their places. A minute or two would take the column out from the wood, and then ‘ware hawk’ from the guns on the heights. ‘Steady, men,’--‘Forward!’ The curtain was soon up. Bang went the artillery of the French--right into our column, as it poured out from the wood; and _rattle_ went our artillery on the right also, to support us. We moved on steady towards the bed of a stream (quite dry) that winded up the hill: it was about as broad as this room; and so steep that we must have bent a good deal to have got up it: through this passage we were to go and make our way up to the French fellows. On we moved for about three hundred yards under the fire, without being much injured; at all events, it did not make a great difference in our column, although I stood upon three or four poor fellows as I advanced, who had fallen. I could see on my left, at a good distance, a large body of our troops moving on also; and this gave us still more confidence. We were getting vexed from the fire above by the time we got to the passage up the hill, and our fellows began to swear vengeance against the Mounseers. If we could have got up in any numbers at once, I really think we would have eaten the damned rascals; but we were obliged to go--not more than four or five abreast; and had to stumble our way over lumps of stones as big as the big drum. Our orders were to get up as fast as possible, and form above as soon as we had made good our ground. We scarcely lost a man killed or wounded in going up the hill through the crags and stones, until we came nearly to the top. Here the way was a little wider, and our Colonel formed us up in a pretty fair sort of way, giving us the word to advance at double-quick time; when out comes a volley from a green mound of earth in front of us and right in the middle of the way. This mound was covered with bushes, and from behind these the firing came: it was by a set of riflemen who were posted there in ambush: but when they fired they ran like devils back--every one of them, except a few that fell on their faces; for we gave them a volley that knocked them over in good style. Several of my comrades dropped at this point, and our poor Colonel too. He laid himself up against the side of the bank, and although scarcely able to breathe, smiled, and pointed with his sword to go on. We never stopped, but mounted like tigers to the top, although half a regiment let slap at us from the opening. Oh! if they had only stood till we could have got our bayonets into them! but they ran off to about a hundred yards distance, and in a few moments our regiment and two others were up and formed as compactly as you please, when we received another volley from the French, at both sides and in front--thick as hail. Many of our men fell, but we closed up, and did not miss them. ‘_Let us at them_,’ was heard from many mouths. Vexed and impatient, we soon had the word ‘_Charge!_’ The French were in full line, and so were we: they advanced to meet us like men,--damned beardy, tall, raw-boned grenadiers, with long grey frock-coats and red-worsted epaulettes. On we went; and when within about ten yards of them, we all gave a yell,--‘Hurrah!’ and Oh, Christ!--We dashed at them,--they huzza’d as well as ourselves; but in a moment every English bayonet was bloody to the hilt. Over they went; and the rear-rank of the French, although they stood a little, and did some execution, was soon settled. We butted them when we were tired sticking them. I broke my musket by a blow I made at a fellow, and missed him; but I jumped at his throat, although he was a tall man, and pulled him right down; however, there I left him, and ran after my regiment; for he lost his musket, and must have been taken prisoner by the troops advancing into the field. The French, now at our right and left, opened a fire on us, which knocked many a poor fellow off the hooks, and we fell back to the main-body of our troops; for we were only treating the enemy with a few steel lozenges, while the remainder of the column was getting up the hill; and how they got up so soon I cannot imagine. I did not think we were five minutes at work in all, when I turns and sees the whole column formed in line, and the right of it pelting away, volley after volley, at the French, who now showed an immense front. It was a sort of even ground enough, but covered with grape stumps, and loaded with bunches; however the _grape-shot_ was of more consequence to me, so I never minded touching the grape _fruit_. There was nothing done for half an hour but banging away with the musketry and a few of the French guns; but while this was going on, our men were getting up the hill, and forming in our rear as fast as possible. Men were dropping, both French and English, quick enough, I assure you; and we were longing for another charge, to put an end to the peppering. This we were soon indulged with. ‘_Steady, my lads_,’ was the cry from the officers, ‘_another taste of the bayonet_.’ The French formed a strong first line, and their battalions in the rear were forming into a second. ‘Now, men,’ says a General who rode behind _our_ first line, ‘keep steady, and do your duty.’--‘Charge!’ was the word:--in a moment we were not forty yards from the enemy.--‘Hurrah!’--Oh such a shout as we gave! But it was answered by the French every bit as loud; and they did not flinch. At them we went, like devils again; and down they went like twigs. They found it was no use trying it,--they were knocked about; and although they did as much as men could do, they were obliged to start about (those that were not down) and make the best of their way off. We halted and loaded, as steady as rocks--most of our gun-barrels were streaming with blood, which wetted the powder as it went in. I’m sure that was _my_ case; for when we gave them a volley, I know my musket did not go off, so I threw it away, and took up another from one of our poor fellows, who lay on his face behind us, with his head knocked all to pieces. I’m certain it was Jem Ellis, by a ring on his finger; but you didn’t know Jem, poor fellow! that ring was given to him by a sweet little girl the day we embarked, and he intended to marry her if God spared his life; but unfortunately he met his fate with a cannon-ball. Well, after this second charge, we expected an attack from the French cavalry; and they certainly came upon our right; but made no impression. Just as we halted, after scattering the line of the enemy, their General came galloping in amongst his men, roaring out to them to rally; it was General Laborde; and at that moment, a battalion on my left poured in a round upon them; but still they formed up in good style: one of the balls hit the General: he alighted, and sat down beside a bank: we could see the surgeons tying up the wound. There was not much harm done him, for he mounted again and rode away along the line. At this time we were getting pretty well used to the business, and the men stood as quiet as logs, wiping their faces, and damning the French; yet the firing continued as brisk as ever; and although our first engagement, we went on just as if we were at a review: whenever a poor fellow dropped, we closed up, and kept our front complete. In a moment I sees, left and right of the field, at about half a mile distant, our red boys moving in towards us: they had got round on the enemy’s flanks--the sight was glorious. We now got the word for another charge, and went to it as confident of success as if we were going to upset a parcel of skittles; but we had much harder work; for the French rather stunned us with a volley just as we approached: however we closed up, and pegged away, right and left, huzzaing and roaring like madmen. Away they ran, and we after them, until we were ordered to form up again: I was just falling in, when I felt my right leg very heavy and numbed like, and rather difficult to move; I put down my hand to my ankle, and found my stocking soaked with blood, but I felt no pain. In a few moments, by George! I could not move my leg at all; so I very reluctantly sat down under a rising bank, pulled off my shoe, and was obliged to cut off my stocking: I was hit, sure enough, right through the fleshy part of my leg, and I felt it now impossible to move. There was a general shout down on the right, and I could see our battalions advancing in double-quick time; the staff galloping about everywhere; and a brigade of artillery of ours blazing away like hell-fire at the enemy. Several regiments passed by me in columns and in high spirits; so that I knew the French were retiring: I gave them three cheers as they passed,[2] in which I was joined by my wounded comrades, lying about, and several of the lads threw us canteens of rum and wine, which were very acceptable. I gave a poor French fellow a drop out of one of them, and I do think it saved his life; he shook hands with me, and said something in French, I suppose to thank me: he looked like a ghost before he took it, and after he lay down a bit, his face got its natural colour, and he seemed much stronger. Here we all lay until near seven o’clock in the evening; the field covered up and down with wounded, dying and dead. I lost sight of the troops in about an hour after I fell; but I had no doubt they settled the matter very soon, for the artillery could not be heard in a short time after the advance. I talked as well as I could to the poor French grenadier beside me, and we seemed happy to speak together, although not understanding much what each other said, except by signs. About six o’clock I sees a Portuguese fellow, with a great slouched hat, poking about amongst the dead, and rifling them of money, watches, clothes, and whatever he could get. A French officer who lay upon a sort of rise was attacked by this fellow: the officer was a powerful man, and resisted being robbed, although he could not stand up. I had no idea what the rascal of a Portuguese meant to do; when I saw him hit the officer with an immense pole, on the head, and the unfortunate man fell flat. There was an English sergeant of the 91st regiment near me, severely wounded, and says I to him, ‘Sergeant, do you see that?’ ‘I do,’ says he. ‘Have you a musket near you?’ says I. ‘Yes, here is one,’ says he. ‘Then keep it, and load,’ says I, ‘for I’ll knock that fellow over with mine.’ The sergeant loaded while lying down, having got a cartridge from a pouch of a dead man near him:--‘Are you ready?’ says I. ‘Yes.’ ‘Then if I miss him, and he should come up to us, wait till he is close--then make sure of him.’ The Portuguese had now left the Frenchman, and was engaged at a dead English officer: he was stooping down. I raised myself up, and leaned my musket on the French grenadier’s shoulder to take good aim--I covered my mark, and fired:--the rascal jumped two feet off the ground, roared out ‘Ai! Jesus!’ and dropped like a cock on his face. He did not lift his long-pole again, I warrant you.

“In a very short time after this, a detachment arrived on the ground, to take away the wounded, and the surgeons had us removed into a house where there was plenty of straw--French, English, and all together. From the men who took us off the field, I learned that the enemy were completely beaten, and retired, leaving their artillery behind.

“This was the very first brush our troops had under Sir Arthur, and for beginners, I never saw better boys in my life. In about five days after this, they had another trial, at the battle of Vimiera; and I wish I had not been wounded so soon, or I should have had a finger in the pie.

“This was before you came to our regiment, Sergeant--wasn’t it?” said Jack Andrews.

“Yes,” replied the sergeant, “I was drafted into this corps two years after that battle.”

“It was a right good shot you made at the Portuguese scoundrel?” said Mulligan; “By the powers o’ Moll Kelly, you sarved him right; an’ if it was my case, I’d just a’ done the self same thing. The rascals used to follow the army, whenever there was a likelihood of a battle, an’ not only rob, but murdther the wounded. The Spaniards were no betther;--ay, an’ what’s worse than all that, some of our own army’s women, at the battle of Vittoria, were seen doin’ the same thing. Several of them were caught in the act by the provost, an’ flogged well, though they _were_ women,--an’ the devil’s cure to them for it.”

“Hush--I think the sentry has challenged. Here comes Callaghan,” said the Sergeant, listening: and the word “Halt!” outside, convinced him that he was right in his conjecture.

The Corporal, with four men as cold as the weather without, now entered the guard-house, and joined their comrades at the fire. They brought with them a stranger, an exciseman, whose face was somewhat disfigured; and the Corporal informed the Sergeant, that some countrymen, who kept a private still, had attacked him, and would perhaps have killed him but for the guard who were within call. “Captain Jones met us,” said Callaghan, “an’ desired me to conduct this man safe to the guard-house; an’ said that he would send the ordtherly officer down to you with further ordthers. The man is supposed to be very active about private stills here; an’ this is the way they have rewarded him.--Pon my sowl, Sir, you got a hell of a dthrubbing.”

“I think I did,” returned the exciseman; “but I’ll make them pay for that through the nose, please the pigs.”

The orderly officer now entered the guard-room, and directed the Sergeant to take three men of the guard, and to conduct the exciseman safely home across the mountain; for which the latter returned thanks. The party set out immediately, and the orderly officer returned to his quarters; while Corporal Callaghan took a snooze in the Sergeant’s chair, during his absence.

ABSENT WITHOUT LEAVE;

OR,

GONE TO SEA IN A COACH.

Ay; now we see it, And there’s the coach!----

_Southey._

In many, if not in most, of the regiments of our army, there is to be found a sort of officer who is a privileged oddity,--who takes liberties with all his brethren of the mess with impunity, and who pockets every thing short of a blow with the best possible humour. In general, the individuals of this description are designated in the mess-room vocabulary, “_Good-tempered Old Stagers_,” and “_Old Stickers_,” meaning thereby, that they can “go” at the bottle, and “stick” at the table till “all’s blue.”

One of these, a Quartermaster of infantry, with a nose of the genuine Bardolph complexion, a rosy and eternal smile, a short figure, and a big head, having dined with a party of brother officers at the _Three Cups_, Harwich--the day on which his regiment marched into the barracks of that town--was in the best possible spirits: so much so, that he gave the bottle no rest until about eleven o’clock; and became “glorious,” just as the company broke up--right or wrong he _would_ go along with three of the youngest subalterns to ramble by the sea-side in the moonshine, having been “_so long i’ the sun_.” They permitted him reluctantly; perhaps, indeed, because they could not prevent him; but when the party got down to the place where passengers and goods are usually embarked, the Quartermaster became totally overpowered, and sank senseless into a snore. The officers whom he accompanied could not think of carrying his _corpus_ back to the inn; nor were there any persons near whom they could employ for the purpose: one of them, therefore, opened the door of a private carriage which stood near, “unshipped” from the wheels--ready for embarkation, and in a moment the sleeper was bundled into it, where he was left to his repose with the door fast shut upon him.

Next morning at daybreak (about three o’clock) the coach, with its contents, was put on board the Hamburg packet, and stowed away at the very bottom of the hold: in half an hour after this, the vessel put to sea.

For the whole of the day the packet had a brisk breeze, and at midnight was a good hundred miles away from Harwich: a dead calm set in. It was a beautiful night in July, and the passengers were not all gone to bed: some walked the deck, and others sat below at cards--every thing was silent, except the rattling of the ropes as the ship yielded to the smooth and gentle swell of the sleeping North Sea. About this time, the Quartermaster, it is supposed, awoke; at least he had not been heard before to utter his complaints, probably from the bustle consequent on the managing of the vessel in a stiff breeze. However, it was at this time that his cracked and buried voice first fell upon the ears of the crew; and for about twenty minutes the panic it created is indescribable. The whist company in the cabin, at first thought it was one of the sailors in a chest, and called the captain; who declared he had been that minute examining into the cause of the unearthly sounds, and had mustered his crew, all of whom were on deck, as much astonished as he was--nay, more so, for one of them, a Welshman, felt convinced that the voice proceeded from the speaking trumpet of the ghost of David Jones, his former shipmate, “who had died in ill will with him.”

“Hallo--o--o--o--o!”--“Murder!”--“Murder!” now rose upon all ears, as if the voice were at the bottom of the sea. The Welshman fell upon his knees, and begged forgiveness of his injured and departed friend, David Jones: the rest of the crew caught a slight tinge of his fears, and paced about in couples to and fro; some declaring the voice was below the rudder, and others that it was at the mast-head. The passengers, one and all, hurried on deck; in short, none on board, not even the Captain and the oldest seaman, were free from alarm: for they had searched every _habitable_ place in the vessel without discovering the cause of their terrors, and the hold, it was evident, could not have contained an extra rat, it was so crammed with luggage, &c. “Let me out, you d----d rascals! let me out--let me out, I say!” screamed the voice with increased vigour. These exclamations the Welshman declared were addressed to devils, that were tormenting his deceased enemy David; and he uttered a fervent prayer for the peace of the wandering and unhappy soul: but a different idea was awakened in the mind of the Captain by the words “_Let me out_,” “There is somebody packed up in the hold,” exclaimed he; and instantly ordering the men to follow him down, all began to remove the upper layer of articles; which being done, the voice became louder and more distinct.

“Where are you?” bawled the Captain.

“I’m here in a coach, d----n you!” answered the Quartermaster.

The mystery was now solved, and the Welshman made easy; but no one could imagine how a human being could have got _into_ the carriage. However, satisfaction on this point was not to be waited for; so the men fell to work, and after about half an hour’s hard exertion, succeeded in disincumbering the vehicle. They then proceeded to unpack the Quartermaster, whose astonishment amounted almost to madness, when he found that he had not only been confined in a coach, but in a ship, and that the said ship was then in the middle of the German Ocean!

It was impossible to put back to Harwich, so no remedy was left the little fat gentleman but to proceed to the end of the voyage, and to take a passage back from Hamburg as soon as possible. This was bad enough; but his hopes of an early return were almost destroyed by the setting in of adverse winds, which kept the vessel beating about in a most bile-brewing and stomach-stirring ocean, for ten days and nights; during which time, when not sea-sick, the Quartermaster was employed in profoundly meditating _how_ he could have got into the coach; and even after having taken the opinion of the captain, the crew, and all the passengers, upon the matter, he felt himself as much in the dark as ever. The last thing he could recollect of “the land he had left,” was that he dined and _wined_ at the “Three Cups,”--what followed was chaos.

But the worst of the affair, decidedly, was that the day on which he had been _put to sea_ was the 22d of the month, and as it was impossible for him to make his appearance with his regiment on the 24th, he knew he must, as a matter of course, be reported “_Absent without leave_” at head quarters, and that he would most probably be _superseded_. This reflection was even worse than the weather to the Quartermaster, though the rough sea had already almost “brought his heart up.” However, he had great hopes of being able to join his regiment on the 10th of the following month--the next _return-day_--and, by due application, he thought he might contrive to prevent supersession. Ten days of this time was, however, consumed before he set a foot upon the German shore, and then only half of his excursion was over: all his hopes rested upon a quick passage back to Harwich. This, however, the Fates denied him; for having drawn on the agent--got the cash--engaged his passage to England--laid in sea-stock, and all things necessary--the packet, just as she was leaving Hamburg, was run foul of by a five-hundred-ton ship, and so much injured that she was obliged to put back, and the unfortunate Quartermaster was thus compelled to wait a fortnight for another opportunity of returning to England. He not only was delayed beyond the 10th (return-day) but beyond the following 24th, and when he _did_ arrive, he found that he had been not only superseded by the Commander-in-chief, but considered dead by all his friends and relations!

However, on personally applying for reinstatement, he obtained it, and once more joined his old corps at Harwich, where he many a night amused the mess with the recital of his trip to sea in the coach; which was always given with most effect when he was _half-seas-over_.

THE PUNISHMENT.

The image of this suffering quite unmans me.

_Lee._

“Parade, Sir!--Parade, Sir!--There’s a parade this morning, Sir!”

With these words, grumbled out by the unyielding leathern lungs of my servant, I was awakened from an agreeable dream in my barrack-room bed one morning about a quarter before eight o’clock.

“Parade!”--I reflected a moment;--“Yes,” said I, “_a punishment_ parade.”

I proceeded to dress; and as I looked out of my window I saw that the morning was as gloomy and disagreeable as the duty we were about to perform. “Curse the punishment!--curse the crimes!” muttered I to myself.

I was soon shaved, booted, and belted. The parade-call was beaten, and in a moment I was in the barrack-yard.

The non-commissioned officers were marching their squads to the ground: the officers, like myself, were turning out: the morning was cold as well as foggy: and there was a sullen, melancholy expression upon every man’s countenance, indicative of the relish they had for a punishment parade: the faces of the officers, as upon all such occasions, were particularly serious: the women of the regiment were to be seen in silent groups at the barrack-windows--in short, every thing around appealed to the heart, and made it sick. Two soldiers were to receive three hundred lashes each! One of them, a corporal, had till now preserved a good character for many years in the regiment; but he had been in the present instance seduced into the commission of serious offences, by an associate of very bad character. Their crimes, arising doubtless from habits of intoxication, were, disobedience of orders, insolence to the sergeant on duty, and the making away with some of their necessaries.

The regiment formed on the parade, and we marched off in a few minutes to the riding-house, where the triangle was erected, about which the men formed a square, with the Colonel, the Adjutant, the Surgeon, and the drummers in the centre.