With discipline restored, Badajos secured, and the French relieving army gone to the right about, we found ourselves once more transferred to the North.
Marmont had, during our absence, thrown away much valuable time in cutting some unmeaning vagaries before the Portuguese militia, which, happily for us, he might have spent more profitably; and now that we approached him, he fell back upon Salamanca, leaving us to take quiet possession of our former cantonments.
Lord Wellington had thus, by a foresight almost superhuman, and by a rapidity of execution equal to the conception, succeeded in snatching the two frontier fortresses out of the enemy's hands in the face of their superior armies, it gave him a double set of keys for the security of rescued Portugal, and left his victorious army free and unfettered for the field.
We had been on the watch long enough, with the enemy before, beside, and around us; but it had now become their turn to look out for squalls, and by and bye they caught it—but in the meanwhile we were allowed to have some respite after the extraordinary fatigues of the past.
Spring had by that time furnished the face of nature with her annual suit of regimentals, (I wish it had done as much for us,) our pretty little village stood basking in the sunshine of the plain, while the surrounding forest courted the lovers of solitude to repose within its shady bosom. There the nightingale and the bee-bird made love to their mates—and there too the wolf made love to his meat, for which he preferred the hind-quarter of a living horse, but failing that, he did not despise a slice from a mule or a donkey.
Nature seemed to have intended that region as the abode of rural tranquillity, but man had doomed it otherwise. The white tent rearing its fiery top among the green leaves of the forest—the war-steed careering on the plains—the voice of the trumpet for the bleat of the lamb—and the sharp clang of the rifle with its thousand echoes reverberating from the rocks at target-practice, were none of them in keeping with the scene; so that the nightingale was fain to hush its melody, and the wolf his howl, until a change of circumstances should restore him to his former sinecure of head ranger.
The actors on that busy scene too continued to be wild and reckless as their occupation, their lives had been so long in perpetual jeopardy that they now held them of very little value. A rifleman one day in marking the target, went behind to fix it more steadily; another, who did not observe him go there, sent a ball through, which must have passed within a hair's breadth of the marker, but the only notice he took was to poke his head from behind, and thundering out, "Hilloah there, d—— your eyes, do you mean to shoot us?" went on with his work as if it had been nothing.
Whilst on the subject of rifle-shooting, and thinking of the late Indian exhibition of its nicety on the London stage, it reminds me that the late Colonel Wade, and one of the privates of our second battalion, were in the habit of holding the target for each other at the distance of 200 yards.
I cannot think of those days without reflecting on the mutability of human life, and the chances and changes which man is heir to. For, to think that I, who had so many years been the sleeping and waking companion of dead men's bones, and not only accustomed to hold them valueless, but often to curse the chance "which brought them between the wind and my nobility;" I say that, under such circumstances, to think I should e'er have stood the chance of dying the death of a body snatcher, is to me astonishing, and would shew, even without any scriptural authority, "that in the midst of life we are in death," for so it was.
Some years after, I was on my way from Ireland to Scotland, when I was taken seriously ill at Belfast. After being confined to bed several days in a hotel there, and not getting better, I became anxious to reach home, and had myself conveyed on board a steam-boat which was on the point of sailing.
I had been but a few minutes in bed when I heard a confused noise about the boat; but I was in a low, listless mood, dead to every thing but a feeling of supreme misery, until my cabin-door was opened, and the ugly faces of several legal understrappers protruded themselves, and began to reconnoitre me with a strong sinister expression; I was dead even to that, but when they at length explained, that in searching the luggage of the passengers, they had found a defunct gentleman in one of the boxes, and as he belonged to nobody out of bed, he must naturally be the property of the only one in it, viz. myself! a very reasonable inference, at which I found it high time to stir myself, the more particularly as the intimation was accompanied by an invitation to visit the police-office.
My unshaved countenance worn down to a most cadaverous hue with several days intense suffering, was but ill calculated to bear me out in assertions to the contrary, but having some documentary evidence to shew who I was, and seeing too that I was really the invalid which they thought I had only affected, they went away quite satisfied. Not so, however, the mob without, who insisted on being allowed to judge for themselves, so that the officers were obliged to return and beg of me to shew myself at the cabin widow to pacify them.
There is no doubt but I must at that time, have borne a much stronger resemblance to the gentleman in the box, than to the gentleman proprietor; but to shew the justice and discrimination of mobites, I had no sooner exhibited my countenance such as it was, than half of them shouted that they knew me to be the man, and demanded that I should be handed over to them; and had there not been some of the family of the hotel fortunately on board seeing their friends off, who vouched for my authenticity, and for my having been in bed in their house ever since I came to town, there is little doubt but they would have made a subject of me.
Returning from this grave anecdote to the seat of war, I pass on to the assembling of the army in front of Ciudad Rodrigo preparatory to the advance upon Salamanca.
Our last assemblage on the same spot was to visit the walls of that fortress with the thunder of our artillery, and having, by the force of such persuasive arguments, succeeded in converting them into friends, in whom, with confidence, we might rely in the hour of need, we were now about to bid them and our peasant associates an adieu, with a fervent wish on our part that it might be a final one, while with joy we looked forward to the brightening prospect which seemed to promise us an opportunity of diving a little deeper into their land of romance than we had yet done.
Division after division of our iron framed warriors successively arrived, and took possession of the rugged banks of the Agueda, in gallant array and in gayer shape than formerly, for in our first campaigns the canopy of heaven had been our only covering, and our walking on two legs, clothed in rags, the only distinction between us and the wild beast of the forest—whereas we were now indulged in the before unheard of luxury of a tent—three being allowed to the soldiers of each company, and one to the officers.
There is nothing on earth so splendid—nothing so amusing to a military soul as this assembling of an army for active service—to see fifty thousand men all actuated by one common spirit of enterprize, and the cause their country's! And to see the manner, too, in which it acts on the national characters enlisted in it—the grave-looking, but merry-hearted Englishman—the canny, cautious, and calculating Scotchman, and the devil-may-care nonchalance of the Irish.
I should always prefer to serve in a mixed corps, but I love to see a national one—for while the natives of the three amalgamate well, and make, generally speaking, the most steady, there is nevertheless an esprit about a national one which cannot fail to please.
Nothing occasions so much controversy in civil life as the comparative merits of those same corps—the Scotchman claiming every victory in behalf of his countrymen, and the Irishman being no less voracious—so that the unfortunate English regiments, who furnish more food for powder than both put together, are thus left to fight and die unhonoured.
Those who know no better naturally enough award the greatest glory to the greatest sufferers; but that is no time criterion—for great loss in battle, in place of being a proof of superior valour and discipline, is not unfrequently occasioned by a want of the latter essential.
The proudest trophy which the commanding officer of a regiment can ever acquire is the credit of having done a brilliant deed with little loss—and although there are many instances in which they may justly boast of such misfortunes—witness the fifty-seventh at Albuera, the twenty-seventh at Waterloo, and a hundred similar cases, in which they nearly all perished on the spot they were ordered to defend, yet I am of opinion that if the sentiments of old service officers could be gathered, it would be found among a majority, that their proudest regimental days were not those on which they had suffered most.
National regiments have perhaps a greater esprit de corps generally than the majority of mixed ones, but in action they are more apt to be carried away by some sudden burst of undisciplined valour, as Napier would have it, to the great danger of themselves and others.
An Irishman, after the battle of Vimiera, in writing home to his friends, said, "We charged them over fifteen leagues of country, we never waited for the word of command, for we were all Irish!" And I think I could furnish a Highland anecdote or two of a similar tendency.
In the present day, the crack national regiments, officered as they are with their share of the elite of their country's youth, are not to be surpassed—but in war time I have never considered a crack national regiment equal to a crack mixed one.
The Irishman seems sworn never to drink water when he can get whiskey, unless he likes it better—the Scotchman, for a soldier, sometimes shews too much of the lawyer—the Englishman, too, has his besetting sin—but by mixing the three in due proportions, the evils are found to counteract each other. As regards personal bravery there is not a choice among them—and for the making of a perfect regiment I should therefore prescribe one-half English, and of Irish and Scotch a quarter each. Yet, as I said before, I love to see a national corps, and hope never to see a British army without them.
With regard to officers, I think I mentioned before that in war we had but a slender sprinkling of the aristocracy among us. The reason I consider a very sensible one, for whatever may be the sins with which they have, at different times, been charged, the want of pluck has never been reckoned among the number. But as there never was any scarcity of officers for the field, and consequently their country did not demand the sacrifice—they may very conscientiously stand acquitted for not going abroad, to fight and be starved, when they could live at home in peace and plenty.
I have often lamented however that a greater number had not been induced to try their fortunes on the tented field, for I have ever found that their presence and example tended to correct many existing evils. How it should have happened I leave to others, but I have rarely known one who was not beloved by those under him. They were not better officers, nor were they better or braver men than the soldiers of fortune,G with which they were mingled; but there was a degree of refinement in all their actions, even in mischief, which commanded the respect of the soldiers, while those who had been framed in rougher moulds, and left unpolished, were sometimes obliged to have recourse to harsh measures to enforce it. The example was therefore invaluable for its tendency to shew that habitual severity was not a necessary ingredient in the art of governing—and however individuals may affect to despise and condemn the higher orders, it is often because they feel that they sink in the comparison, and thus it is that they will ever have their cringers and imitators even among their abusers.
G Meaning soldiers of no fortune.
I have, without permission, taken the liberty of dedicating this volume to one of their number—not because he is one of them, but that he is what I have found him—a nobleman! I dedicate it to him, because, though personally unacquainted, I knew and admired him in war, as one of the most able and splendid assistants of the illustrious chief with whom he served—and, "though poor the offering be," I dedicate it to him in gratitude, that with no other recommendation than my public services, I have ever since the war experienced at his hands a degree of consideration and kindness which none but a great and a good man could have known how to offer.
It may appear to my reader that I have no small share of personal vanity to gratify in making this announcement, and I own it. I am proud that I should have been thought deserving of his lordship's notice, but I am still prouder that it is in my power to give myself as an example that men of rank in office are not all of them the heartless beings which many try to make them appear.
With the army assembled, and the baggage laden on a fine May morning, I shall place every infantry man on his legs, the dragoon in his saddle, and the followers on their donkeys, starting the whole cavalcade off on the high road to Salamanca, which, being a very uninteresting one, and without a shot to enliven the several days' march, I shall take advantage of the opportunity it affords to treat my young military readers to a dissertation on advanced guards—for we have been so long at peace that the customs of war in the like cases are liable to be forgotten, unless rubbed into existence from time to time by some such old foggy as I am, and for which posterity can never feel sufficiently thankful, as to see our army taking the field with the advanced guard on a plain, prescribed by the book of regulations, would bring every old soldier to what I for one am not prepared for—a premature end; as however well the said advanced guard may be calculated to find birds' nests in a barrack square or on a common parade, in the field it would worry an army to death.
In the first place, if a plain is an honest plain, it requires no advanced guard, for a man's eyes are not worth preserving if they cannot help him to see three or four miles all round about—but there is no such thing as a plain any where. Look at the plains of Salamanca, where you may fancy that you see fifty miles straight on end without so much as a wart on the face of nature, as big as a mole hill; yet within every league or two you find yourself descending into a ravine a couple of miles deep, taking half a day to regain the plain on the opposite side, within a couple of stones' throw of where you were.
In place of harassing the men with perpetual flank patroles, blistering their feet over the loose stones with shoes full of sand, and expending their valuable wind, which is so much wanted towards the end of the day, in scrambling over uneven ground, let me recommend the advanced guard to confine itself to the high road until patrolling becomes necessary, which, in a forest, will be from the time they enter until they leave it, unless they can trust to the information that the enemy are otherwise engaged. And in the open country every officer commanding a regiment, troop, or company, who has got half a military eye in his head, will readily see when it is advisable to send a patrole to examine any particular ground; and in so doing his best guide is to remember the amount of the force which he covers; for while he knows that the numbers necessary to surprize an army of fifty thousand men cannot be conveniently crammed within the compass of a nutshell, he must, on the other hand, remember that there are few countries which do not afford an ambuscade for five or ten thousand—ergo, if there be any truth in Cocker, the man covering five thousand men must look exactly ten times sharper than the man who covers fifty thousand.
With an army of rough and ready materials such as ours had now become, the usual precautions were scarcely necessary, except in the immediate vicinity of the foe, for they had by this time discovered that it was more easy to find than to get rid of us; but they ought, nevertheless, to be strictly observed at all times, unless there are good and sufficient reasons why they need not.
In an open country a few squadrons of dragoons shoved well to the front will procure every necessary information; but, in a close country, I hold the following to be the best advanced guard.
1st. A subaltern with twelve hussars, throwing two of them a hundred yards in front, and four at fifty.
2d. A section of riflemen or light infantry at fifty yards.
3d. The other three sections of the company at fifty yards.
4th. Four companies of light infantry at a hundred yards, with communicating files, and followed closely by two pieces of horse artillery, and a squadron of dragoons.
On falling in with the enemy, the advanced videttes will fire off their carabines to announce it, and if their opponents fall back they will continue their onward movement. If they do not, the intermediate four will join them, and try the result of a shot each; when, if the enemy still remain, it shews that they decline taking a civil hint, which, if they are infantry, they assuredly will; and dispositions must be made accordingly. While the remaining hussars are therefore dispatched to watch the flanks, the leading section of infantry will advance in skirmishing order, and take possession of the most favourable ground near the advanced videttes. The other three sections will close up to within fifty yards, one of them, if necessary, to join the advanced one, but a subdivision must remain in reserve. The guns will remain on the road, and the dragoons and infantry composing the main body of the advanced guard will be formed on the flanks, in such manner as the ground will admit, so as to be best ready for either attack or defence; and in that disposition they will wait further orders, presuming that the officer commanding the division will not be a hundred miles off.
The foregoing applies more particularly to the following of an enemy whom you have not lately thrashed, whereas, if following a beaten one, he ought never to be allowed a moment's respite so long as you have force enough of any kind up to shove him along. He ought to be bullied every inch of the way with dragoons and horse artillery, and the infantry brought to bear as often as possible.
However much additional celerity of movement on the part of the latter force may be desirable, I must impress upon the minds of all future comptrollers of knapsacks, that on no consideration should an infantry man ever be parted from his pack. He will not move a bit faster without than he does with it, nor do I think he can do a yard further in a day's walking; they become so accustomed to the pace, and so inured to the load, that it makes little difference to them whether it is on or off,H while the leaving of them behind leads, at all times, to serious loss, and to still more serious inconvenience.
H Lightly however as they felt the load at the time, it was one that told fearfully on the constitution, and I have seen many men discharged in consequence, as being worn out, at thirty-five years of age.
The rifles during the war were frequently, as an indulgence, made to fight without them, but on every occasion it proved a sacrifice, and a great one. For although they were carried for us by the dragoons, who followed after, yet as our skirmishing service took us off the road, the kit of every man who got wounded was sure to be lost, for while he was lying kicking on his back in the middle of a field, or behind a stone wall, impatiently waiting for assistance, his knapsack had passed on to the front, and was never heard of more, (for every one has quite enough to do to take care of his own affairs on those occasions,) and the poor fellow was thus deprived of his comforts at a time when they were most needed. A dragoon, too, carrying several of them would sometimes get hit, and he of course pitched them all to the devil, while he took care of himself, and the unfortunate owners after their hard day's fighting were compelled to sleep in the open air for that and many succeeding nights, without the use of their blankets or necessaries. On one occasion I remember that they were left on the ground, and the battle rolled four miles beyond them, so that when it was over, and every one had already done enough, the soldiers were either obliged to go without, or to add eight or ten miles walk to a harassing day's work.
The secretary at war eventually came in for his share of the trouble attendant on those movements, for many were the claims for compensation which poured in upon the War-Office in after years, by the poor fellows who had bled and lost their all upon those occasions, nor do I know whether they have ever yet been set at rest.
So much for advanced guards and people in a hurry, and as I happen to have a little leisure time and a vacant leaf or two to fill up, I shall employ it in taking a shot at field fortification; and in so doing, be it remarked, that I leave science in those matters to the scientific, for I am but a practical soldier.
The French shewed themselves regular moles at field work, for they had no sooner taken post on a fresh position, than they were to be seen stirring up the ground in all directions. With us it was different. I have always understood that Lord Wellington had a dislike to them, and would rather receive his enemy in the open field than from behind a bank of mud. How far it was so I know not; but the report seemed to be verified by circumstances, for he rarely ever put us to the trouble of throwing up either redoubts or breast works, except at particular outposts, where they were likely to be useful. At Fuentes indeed he caused some holes to be dug on the right of the line, in which the enemy's cavalry might have comfortably broken their necks without hurting themselves much; but I do not recollect our ever disturbing the ground any where else—leaving the lines of Torres Vedras out of the question, as containing works of a different order.
If time and circumstances permitted common field works to be so constructed as to prevent an enemy from scrambling up the walls, they would indeed be a set of valuable pictures in the face of a position; but as with mud alone they never can, I, for one, hold them to be worse than nothing, and would rather go against one of them, than against the same number of men in the open field.
It is true that in such a place they will suffer less in the first instance, but if they do not repulse their assailants or make a speedy retreat, they are sure to be all netted in the long run, and the consequence is, that one rarely sees a work of that kind well defended, for while its garrison is always prepared for a start, its fire is not so destructive as from the same number of men in the field, for in the field they will do their duty, but in the redoubt they will not, and half of their heads will be well sheltered under the ramparts, while they send the shot off at random. I know the fellows well, and it is only to swarm a body of light troops against the nearest angle, to get into the ditch as quickly as possible, to unkennel any garrison of that kind very cleverly, unless there be other obstacles than their bayonets to contend against.
From field works I return to our work in the field, to state that after several days march under a broiling hot sun, and on roads of scorching dust, which makes good stiff broth in winter, we found ourselves on the banks of the Tormes, near the end of the bridge of Salamanca; but as the gatekeeper there required change for twenty-four pound shot, and we had none at the moment to give him, we were obliged to take to the stream.
I know not what sort of toes the Pope keeps for his friends to kiss, but I know that after a week's marching in summer I would not kiss those of the army for a trifle; however, I suppose that walking feet and kissing ones wear quite different pairs of shoes. The fording of the clear broad waters of the Tormes at all events proved a luxury in various ways, and considerably refreshed by that part of the ceremony, we found ourselves shortly after in the heart of that classical city, where the first classics which we were called upon to study, were those of three forts, of a class of their own, which was well calculated to keep their neighbours in a constant supply of hot water. They were not field works such as I have been treating of in the last few pages, but town ones, with walls steep enough and ditches deep enough to hold the army, if packed like herrings. For ourselves we passed on to the front, leaving the seventh division to deal with them; and a hard bargain they drove for a time, though they finally brought them to terms.
I rode in from the outposts several times to visit them during the siege, and on one occasion finding an officer, stationed in a tower, overlooking the works and acting under rather particular orders, it reminded me of an anecdote that occurred with us in the early part of the war. One of our majors had posted a subaltern with a party of riflemen in the tower of a church, and as the place was an important one, he ordered the officer, in the event of an attack, never to quit the place alive! In the course of the evening the commanding officer went to visit the picquet, and after satisfying himself on different points, he demanded of Lieut. —— what dispositions he had made for retreat in the event of his post being forced?—To which the other replied, "None." "None, Sir," said the commanding officer, "then let me tell you that you have neglected an important part of your duty." "I beg your pardon," returned the officer, "but my orders are never to quit this spot alive, and therefore no arrangements for retreat can be necessary!" It may be needless to add that a discretionary power was then extended to him.
In a midnight visit which I paid to the same place in company with a staff friend, while the batteries were in full operation, we were admiring the splendour of the scene, the crash of the artillery, and the effect of the light and shade on the ruins around, caused by the perpetual flashes from the guns and fire-balls, when it recalled to his remembrance the siege of Copenhagen, where he described a similar scene which was enacted, but in a position so much more interesting.
The burying-grounds in the neighbourhood of that capital, were generally very tastefully laid out like shrubberies with beds of flowers, appropriate trees, &c., and intersected by winding gravel-walks, neatly bordered with box. One of the prettiest of these cemeteries was that at the Lecton suburb, in which there was a profusion of white marble statues of men and women—many of them in loose flowing drapery, and also of various quadrupeds, erected in commemoration or in illustration of the habits and virtues of the dead. These statues were generally overshadowed by cypress and other lugubrious trees.
Closely adjoining this beautiful cemetery, two heavy batteries were erected, one of ten-inch mortars, and the other of twenty-four pound battering guns.
In passing alone through this receptacle of the dead, about the hour of midnight, the rapid flashes of the artillery seemed to call all these statues, men, women, and beasts, with all their dismal accompaniments, into a momentary and ghastly existence—and the immediate succession of the deep gloom of midnight produced an effect which, had it been visible to a congregation of Scotch nurses, would in their hands have thrown all the goblin tales of their ancestors into the shade, and generations of bairns yet unborn would have had to shudder at the midnight view of a church-yard.
Even among the stern hearts to whose view alone it was open, the spectacle was calculated to excite very interesting reflections. The crash of the artillery on both sides was enough to have awakened the dead, then came the round shot with its wholesale sweep, tearing up the ornamental trees and dashing statues into a thousand pieces,—next came the bursting shell sending its fragments chattering among the tombs and defacing every-thing it came in contact with. These, all these came from the Danes themselves, and who knew but the hand that levelled the gun which destroyed that statue was not the same which had erected it to the memory of a beloved wife? Who knew but that the evergreens which had just been torn by a shot from a new-made grave, were planted there over the remains of an angelic daughter, and watered by the tears of the man who fired it? and who knew but that that exquisitely chiseled marble figure, which had its nose and eye defaced by a bursting shell, was not placed there to commemorate the decease of a beauteous and adored sweetheart, and valued more than existence by him who had caused its destruction!
Ah me! war, war! that
I know not what sort of place Salamanca was on ordinary occasions, but at that time it was remarkably stupid. The inhabitants were yet too much at the mercy of circumstances to manifest any favourable disposition towards us, even if they felt so inclined, for it was far from decided whether the French, or we, were to have the supremacy, and therefore every one who had the means betook himself elsewhere. Our position, too, in front of the town to cover the siege was anything but a comfortable one—totally unsheltered from a burning Spanish sun and unprovided with either wood or water, so that it was with no small delight that we hailed the surrender of the forts already mentioned, and the consequent retreat of the French army, for in closing up to them, it brought us to a merry country on the banks of the Douro.
Mirth and duty there, however, were, as they often are, very much at variance. Our position was a ticklish one, and required half the division to sleep in the field in front of the town each night fully accoutred, so that while we had every alternate night to rejoice in quarters, the next was one of penance in the field, which would have been tolerably fair had they been measured by the same bushel, but it could not be, for while pleasure was the order of the evening we had only to close the window-shutters to make a summer's night as long as a winter's one—but in affairs of duty, stern duty, it told in an inverse ratio; for our vineyard beds on the alternate nights were not furnished with window-shutters, and if they had been, it would have made but little difference, for in defiance of sun, moon, or stars, we were obliged to be on our legs an hour before day-break, which in that climate and at that season, happened to be between one and two o'clock in the morning.
Our then brigadier, Sir O. Vandeleur, was rigorous on that point, and as our sleeping, bore no proportion to our waking moments, many officers would steal from the ranks to snatch a little repose under cover of the vines, and it became a highly amusing scene to see the general on horseback, threading up between the rows of bushes and ferreting out the sleepers. He netted a good number in the first cast or two, but they ultimately became too knowing for him, and had only to watch his passing up one row, to slip through the bushes into it, where they were perfectly secure for the next half hour.
I have already mentioned that Rueda was a capital wine country. Among many others there was a rough effervescent pure white wine, which I had never met with any where else, and which in warm weather was a most delicious beverage. Their wine cellars were all excavated in a sort of common, immediately outside the town; and though I am afraid to say the extent, they were of an amazing depth. It is to be presumed that the natives were all strictly honest, for we found the different cellars so indifferently provided with locks and keys, that our men, naturally inferring that good drinkers must have been the only characters in request, went to work most patriotically, without waiting to be pressed, and the cause being such a popular one, it was with no little difficulty that we kept them within bounds.
A man of ours, of the name of Taylor, wore a head so remarkably like Lord Wellington's, that he was dubbed "Sir Arthur" at the commencement of the war, and retained the name until the day of his death. At Rueda he was the servant of the good, the gallant Charley Eeles, who afterwards fell at Waterloo. Sir Arthur, in all his movements for twenty years, had been as regular as Shrewsbury clock; he cleaned his master's clothes and boots, and paraded his traps in the morning, and in the evening he got blind drunk, unless the means were wanting.
In one so noted for regularity as he was, it is but reasonable to expect that his absence at toilet time should be missed and wondered at; he could not have gone over to the enemy, for he was too true-blue for that. He could not have gone to heaven without passing through the pains of death—he was too great a sinner for that. He could not have gone downwards without passing through the aforesaid ceremony, for nobody was ever known to do so but one man, to recover his wife, and as Sir Arthur had no wife, he had surely no inducement to go there; in short the cause of his disappearance remained clouded in mystery for twenty-five hours, but would have been cleared up in a tenth part of the time, had not the rifleman, who had been in the habit of sipping out of the same favourite cask, been on guard in the interim, but as soon as he was relieved, he went to pay his usual visit, and in stooping in the dark over the edge of the large headless butt to take his accustomed sip, his nose came in contact with that of poor Sir Arthur, which, like that of his great prototype, was of no mean dimensions, and who was floating on the surface of his favourite liquid, into which he must have dived deeper than he intended and got swamped. Thus perished Sir Arthur, a little beyond the prime of life, but in what the soldiers considered, a prime death!
Our last day at Rueda furnished an instance so characteristic of the silence and secrecy with which the Duke of Wellington was in the habit of conducting his military movements, that I cannot help quoting it.
In my former volume I mentioned that when we were called to arms that evening, our officers had assembled for one of their usual dances. Our commanding officer, however, Colonel Cameron, had been invited to dine that day with his lordship, and in addition to the staff, the party consisted of several commanding officers of regiments and others. The conversation was lively and general, and no more allusion made to probable movements than if we were likely to be fixed there for years. After having had a fair allowance of wine, Lord Wellington looked at his watch, and addressing himself to one of his staff, said, "Campbell, it is about time to be moving—order coffee." Coffee was accordingly introduced, and the guests, as usual, immediately after made their bow and retired. Our commandant in passing out of the house was rather surprised to see his lordship's baggage packed, and the mules at the door, saddled and ready to receive it, but his astonishment was still greater when he reached his own quarter, to find that his regiment was already under arms along with the rest of the troops, assembled on their alarm posts, and with baggage loaded in the act of moving off, we knew not whither!
We marched the whole of the night, and day-light next morning found us three or four leagues off, interposing ourselves between the enemy and their projected line of advance. It was the commencement of the brilliant series of movements which preceded the battle of Salamanca. Pass we on, therefore, to that celebrated field.
It was late in the afternoon before it was decided whether that day's sun was to set on a battle or our further retreat. The army all stood in position with the exception of the third division, which lay in reserve beyond the Tormes. Its commander, Sir Edward Packenham, along with the other generals of divisions, attended on the commander-in-chief, who stood on an eminence which commanded a view of the enemy's movements.
The artillery on both sides was ploughing the ground in all directions, and making fearful gaps in the ranks exposed—the French were fast closing on and around our right—the different generals had received their instructions, and waited but the final order—a few minutes must decide whether there was to be a desperate battle or a bloody retreat; when, at length, Lord Wellington, who had been anxiously watching their movements with his spy-glass, called out, "Packenham, I can stand this no longer; now is your time!" "Thank you," replied the gallant Packenham, "give me your hand, my lord, and by G—d it shall be done!" Shaking hands accordingly, he vaulted into his saddle, and the result of his movement, as is well known, placed two eagles, several pieces of artillery, and four thousand prisoners in our possession.
Packenham afterwards told a friend of mine who was on his staff, that, while in the execution of that movement, he saw an opportunity in which, by a slight deviation from his original instructions, he might have cut off twenty thousand of the enemy, without greater risk to his own division than he was about to encounter; but he dreaded the possibility of its compromising the safety of some other portion of the army, and dared not to run the hazard.
I have, in the early part of this volume, in speaking of individual gallantry in general, given it as my opinion that if the merits of every victory that had been hotly contested could be traced to the proper persons, it would be found to rest with a very few—for to those who know it not, it is inconceivable what may be effected in such situations by any individual ascending a little above mediocrity.
The day after the battle of Salamanca a brigade of heavy German dragoons, under the late Baron Bock, made one of the most brilliant charges recorded in history.
The enemy's rear guard, consisting of, I think, three regiments of infantry, flanked by cavalry and artillery, were formed in squares on an abrupt eminence, the approach to which was fetlock deep in shingle. In short, it was a sort of position in which infantry generally think they have a right to consider themselves secure from horsemen.
The Baron was at the head of two splendid regiments, and, as some of the English prints, up to that period, had been very severe upon the employment of his countrymen in the British service, he was no doubt burning with the desire for an opportunity of removing the unjust attack that had been made upon them, and he could not have even dreamt of one more glorious than that alluded to.
Lord Wellington, who was up with the advanced guard, no sooner observed the dispositions of the enemy than he sent an order for the Baron to charge them. They charged accordingly—broke through the squares, and took the whole of the infantry—the enemy's cavalry and artillery having fled.
Colonel May, of the British artillery, not satisfied with being the bearer of the order, gallantly headed the charge, and fell covered with wounds, from which he eventually recovered; but Lord Wellington, however much he must have admired the action, cut him for a considerable time in consequence, by way of marking his disapproval of officers thrusting themselves into danger unnecessarily.
In an attempt so gallantly made—so gloriously executed—it would be invidious to exalt one individual above another, and yet I have every reason to believe that their success was in a great measure owing to the decisive conduct of one man.
Our battalion just rounded the hill in time to witness the end of it; and in conversing with one of the officers immediately after, he told me that their success was owing to the presence of mind of a captain commanding a squadron, who was ordered to charge the cavalry which covered a flank of the squares—that, while in full career, the enemy's horse in his front, without awaiting the shock, gave way, but, in place of pursuing them, he, with a decision calculated to turn the tide of any battle, at once brought up his outward flank, and went full tilt against a face of the square, which having until that moment been protected, was taken by surprise, and he bore down all before him!
My informant mentioned the name of the hero, but it was a severe German one, which died on the spot like an empty sound—nor have I ever since read or heard of it—so that one who ought to have filled a bright page in our history of that brilliant field, has, in all probability, passed—