Chapter II: Part 2

Vimeira is situated in a lovely valley, through which the small river Maceira winds, adding beauty to one of the sweetest scenes, surrounded on all sides by mountains and the sea, from which the village is distant about three miles. There is a deep ravine that parts the heights, over which the Lourinha road passes. We were posted on these mountains, and had a complete view of the valley below. I here, for a time, indulged in one of the most pleasing reveries I had enjoyed since I left home. I was seated upon the side of a mountain, admiring the beauties beneath. I thought of home;--Arthur’s Seat, and the level between it and the sea, all stole over my imagination. I became lost in contemplation, and was happy for a time. Soon my day-dream broke and vanished from my sight. The bustle around was great. There was no trace of a day of rest. Many were washing their linen in the river, others cleaning their firelocks; every man was engaged in some employment. In the midst of our preparation for divine service, the French columns began to make their appearance on the opposite hills. “To arms, to arms!” was beat at half-past eight o’clock. Every thing was packed up as soon as possible, and left on the camp ground. We marched out two miles to meet the enemy, formed line, and lay under cover of a hill for about an hour, until they came to us. We gave them one volley, and three cheers--three distinct cheers. Then all was as still as death. They came upon us, crying and shouting to the very point of our bayonets. Our awful silence and determined advance they could not stand. They put about and fled without much resistance. At this charge we took thirteen guns, and one General. We advanced into a hollow, and formed again; then returned in file from the right, in companies, to the rear. The French came down upon us again. We gave them another specimen of a charge, as effectual as our first, and pursued them three miles. In our first charge, I felt my mind waver; a breathless sensation came over me. The silence was appalling. I looked alongst the line--It was enough to assure me: The steady determined scowl of my companions assured my heart, and gave me determination. How unlike the noisy advance of the French! It was in this second charge, our piper, George Clark, was wounded in the groin. We remained at our advance until sunset, then retired to our camp-ground. The ground was so unequal, that I saw little of this battle, which forced the French to evacuate Portugal.

On my return from the pursuit at Monte Video, the birds of prey were devouring the slain. Here I beheld a sight, for the first time, even more horrible; the peasantry prowling about, more ferocious than the beasts and birds of prey, finishing the work of death, and carrying away whatever they thought worthy of their grasp. Avarice and revenge were the causes of these horrors. No fallen Frenchman, that showed the least signs of life, was spared. They even seemed pleased with mangling the dead bodies. When light failed them, they kindled a great fire, and remained around it all night, shouting like as many savages. My sickened fancy felt the same as if it were witnessing a feast of cannibals.

Next morning we perceived a column of the enemy upon the sand hills. We were all in arms to receive them, but it turned out to be a flag of truce. We returned to our old camp ground, where we remained three days, during the time the terms of a capitulation were arranging. We then got orders to march to Lisbon. On our arrival there, the French flag was flying on all the batteries and forts. We were encamped outside of the town, and marched in our guards next day, to take possession and relieve all the French guards. At the same time the French flag was hauled down, and we hoisted, in its stead, the Portuguese standard. We remained in camp until the day the French were to embark. We were then marched in to protect them from the inhabitants. But notwithstanding all we could do, it was not in our power to hinder some of their sick from being murdered. The Portuguese were so much enraged at our interference in behalf of the French, that it was unsafe for two or three soldiers to be seen alone. The French had given the Portuguese much cause to hate them; and the latter are not a people who can quickly forgive an injury, or let slip any means of revenge, however base.

On the 27th October, we quitted Lisbon, and marched to Abrantes, where we remained fourteen days. Then we marched to Camponia, and remained there for an order to enter Spain.

The first place we arrived at in Spain was Badajos, where we were very kindly treated by the inhabitants and Spanish soldiers. We remained there about a fortnight, when the division commanded by General Sir John Hope, to which I belonged, received orders to march towards Madrid. We halted at Escurial, about seven leagues from Madrid, and remained there five days; but were at length forced to retreat to Salamanca.

Two days before our arrival at Salamanca, we were forced to form ourselves into a square, to repel the attacks of the enemy; and in that position we remained all night. It was one of the severest nights of cold I ever endured in my life. At that time we wore long hair, formed into a club at the back of our heads. Mine was frozen to the ground in the morning, and when I attempted to rise, my limbs refused to support me for some time. I felt the most excruciating pains over all my body, before the blood began to circulate. We marched forty-seven miles this day, before encamping, and about nine miles to a town next morning, where the inhabitants were very kind to us. They brought out, into the market-place, large tubfuls of accadent, (a liquor much used in Spain,) that we might take our pleasure of it; and every thing they had that we stood in need of. This day we are under the necessity of burying six guns, on account of the horses failing, being quite worn down by fatigue. The head-quarters of the army were at Salamanca. Our division was quartered three leagues from it, at Alva de Tormes. On the 14th of December, we advanced to a place called Torro; the roads were bad; the weather very severe; all around was covered with snow. Our fatigue was dreadful, and our sufferings almost more than we could endure.

On the 24th of December, our head-quarters were at Sahagun. Every heart beat with joy. We were all under arms, and formed to attack the enemy. Every mouth breathed hope: “We will beat them to pieces, and have our ease, and enjoy ourselves,” said my comrades. I even preferred any short struggle, however severe, to the dreadful way of life we were at this time pursuing. With heavy hearts, we received orders to retire to our quarters: “And won’t we be allowed to fight? sure we’d beat them,” said an Irish lad near me; “by Saint Patrick, we beat them so easy, the General means to march us to death, and fight them after!”

Next morning, we fell back upon Majorga, on the road to Benevente.

On the 25th, Christmas day, we commenced our route for the sea-coast, melancholy and dejected, sinking under extreme cold and fatigue, as if the very elements had conspired against us: then commenced the first day of our retreat.

On the 26th, it rained the whole day without intermission. The soil here is of a deep rich loam, and the roads were knee-deep with clay: to form a regular march was impossible, yet we kept in regiments; but our sufferings were so great, that many of our troops lost all their natural activity and spirits, and became savage in their dispositions. The idea of running away from an enemy we had beat with so much ease at Vimeira, without even firing a shot, was too galling to their feelings. Each spoke to his fellow, even in common conversation, with bitterness; rage flashing from their eyes, even on the most trifling occasions of disagreement.

The poor Spaniards had little to expect from such men as these, who blamed them for their inactivity; every one found at home was looked upon as a traitor to his country. “The British are here to fight for the liberty of Spain, and why is not every Spaniard under arms and fighting? The cause is not ours, and are we to be the only sufferers?” Such was the common language of the soldiers; and from these feelings pillage and outrage naturally arose. The conduct of the men, in this respect, called forth, on the 27th, a severe reprimand from the Commander-in-Chief.

We halted at Benevente for one night. Just as the last division of our army entered into the town, the drums beat to arms. Every man was on the alert, and at his post in an instant. The cavalry poured out at the gates to meet the enemy, but the French did not like the manner and spirit that appeared amongst us. They retired from the heights, and we endeavoured to pass the night in the best manner in our power.

28th, the Spaniards now gave us no assistance, save what was enforced. The Duke of Ossuna has here a castle surpassing any thing I had ever seen. It was such, on our arrival, as I have read the description of in books of fairy tales. I blush for our men--I would blame them too--Alas! how can I, when I think upon their dreadful situation, fatigued and wet, shivering, perishing with cold?--no fuel to be got, not even straw to lie upon. Can men in such a situation admire the beauties of art? Alas! only so far as they relieve his cruel and destroying wants. Every thing that would burn, was converted into fuel, and even the fires were placed against the walls, that they might last longer and burn better. Many of our men slept all night wrapt in rich tapestry, which had been torn down to make bed-clothes.

Scarce was our rear-guard within the town, ere the alarm was sounded. We rushed to our posts, pushing the inhabitants out of our way. Women and children crowded the streets, wringing their hands, and calling upon their saints for protection. The opposite plain was covered with fugitives. The French, as usual, liked not the spirit with which we formed, and the ardour with which our cavalry issued from the gates. They were content to look upon us from the neighbouring heights. The bridges were ordered to be destroyed, which was done before day. That over the Ezla had been destroyed to little purpose, as a ford was found only 300 yards farther down the river. The picquets hastened thither, and were skirmishing with four squadrons of the Imperial Guards, who had already formed on the bank. The 10th Hussars were sent for. On their arrival, General Stewart, with them and the picquets, charged and drove the Imperial Guard into the river. They crossed in the utmost confusion, but formed on the opposite bank. Some pieces of artillery that had been placed at the bridge, soon dispersed them. General Lefebvre, commander of the Imperial Guards, and seventy prisoners, were the fruits of this action. We were told, by the Spaniards, that Buonaparte saw this affair from the heights.

On the 30th, we reached Astorga, which we were led to believe was to be our resting-place, and the end of our fatigues. Here we found the army of General Romana. I can convey no description of it in words. It had more the appearance of a large body of peasants, driven from their homes, famished and in want of every thing, than a regular army. Sickness was making dreadful havoc amongst them. It was whispered we were to make a stand here. This was what we all wished, though none believed. We had been told so at Benevente; but our movements had not the smallest appearance of a retreat, in which we were to face about and make a stand; they were more like a shameful flight.

From Astorga to Villa Franca de Bierzo, is about sixty miles. From Salamanca to Astorga may be called the first and easiest part of this tragedy, in which we endured many privations and I much fatigue; from Astorga to Villa Franca, the second, and by far the more severe part. Here we suffered misery without a glimpse of comfort. At Astorga, there were a great many pairs of shoes destroyed. Though a fourth of the army were in want of them, and I among the rest, yet they were consumed alongst with the other stores in the magazines. The first sixteen miles, the road lay wholly up the mountain, to the summit of Foncebadon; and the country was open. At this time it was a barren waste of snow. At the top of the mountain is a pass, which is one of the strongest, they say, in Europe. It is about eight or nine miles long. All the way through this pass, the silence was only interrupted by the groans of the men, who, unable to proceed farther, laid themselves down in despair to perish in the snow; or where the report of a pistol told the death of a horse, which had fallen down, unable to proceed. I felt an unusual listlessness steal over me. Many times have I said, “These men who have resigned themselves to their fate, are happier than I. What have I to struggle for? Welcome death! happy deliverer!” These thoughts passed in my mind involuntarily. Often have I been awakened out of this state of torpor, by my constant friend Donald, when falling out of the line of march to lie down in despair. The rain poured in torrents; the melted snow was half knee-deep in many places, and stained by the blood that flowed from our wounded and bruised feet. To add to our misery, we were forced by turns to drag the baggage. This was more than human nature could sustain. Many waggons were abandoned, and much ammunition destroyed. Our arrival at Villa Franca closed the second act of our tragedy.

From Villa Franca we set out on the 2d January, 1809. What a New-year’s day had we passed! Drenched with rain, famished with cold and hunger, ignorant when our misery was to cease. This was the most dreadful period of my life. How differently did we pass our _hogmonay_[5] from the manner our friends were passing their’s at home. Not a voice said, “I wish you a happy new-year;” each seemed to look upon his neighbour as an abridgment to his own comforts. His looks seemed to say, “One or other of the articles you wear would be of great use to me; your shoes are better than those I possess; if you were dead they would be mine.”

Before we set out, there were more magazines destroyed. Great numbers would not leave the town, but concealed themselves in the wine cellars, which they had broken open, and were left there; others, after we were gone, followed us. Many came up to the army dreadfully cut and wounded by the French cavalry, who rode through the long lines of these lame defenceless wretches, slashing among them as a school-boy does amongst thistles. Some of them, faint and bleeding, were forced to pass alongst the line as a warning to others.--Cruel warning! Could the urgency of the occasion justify it? There was something in the appearance of these poor, emaciated, lacerated wretches, that sickened me to look upon. Many around me said, “Our commanders are worse than the French: will they not even let us die in peace, if they cannot help us?” Surely this was one way to tantalize the men, and render them familiar to scenes of cruelty.

Dreadful as our former march had been, it was from Villa Franca that the march of death may be said to have begun. On the day after we left that place, we were attacked by the French, but drove them back, and renewed our forlorn march.

From Villa Franca to Castro is one continued toil up Monte del Cebiero. It was one of the sweetest scenes I ever beheld, could our eyes have enjoyed any thing that did not minister to our wants. There was nothing to sustain our famished bodies, or shelter them from the rain or snow. We were either drenched with rain or crackling with ice. Fuel we could find none. The sick and wounded that we had been still enabled to drag with us in the waggons, were now left to perish in the snow. The road was one line of bloody foot-marks, from the sore feet of the men; and on its sides lay the dead and the dying. Human nature could do no more. Donald M‘Donald, the hardy Highlander, began to fail. He, as well as myself, had long been bare-footed and lame; he, that had encouraged me to proceed, now himself lay down to die. For two days he had been almost blind, and unable, from a severe cold, to hold up his head. We sat down together--not a word escaped our lips. We looked around--then at each other, and closed our eyes. We felt there was no hope. We would have given in charge a farewell to our friends; but who was to carry it? There were, not far from us, here and there, above thirty in the same situation with ourselves. There was nothing but groans, mingled with execrations, to be heard, between the pauses of the wind. I attempted to pray, and recommend myself to God; but my mind was so confused, I could not arrange my ideas. I almost think I was deranged. We had not sat half an hour; sleep was stealing upon me; when I perceived a bustle around me. It was an advanced party of the French: unconscious of the action, I started upon my feet, levelled my musket, which I had still retained, fired, and formed with the other stragglers. The French faced about and left us. There were more of them than of us. The action, and the approach of danger in a shape which we had it in our power to repel, roused our dormant feelings, and we joined at Castro.

From Castro to Lugo is about forty-eight miles, where we were promised two days’ rest. Why should I continue longer this melancholy narrative? Donald fell out again from sickness; and I from lameness and fatigue. When the French arrived, we formed with the others as before, and they fell back. I heard them, more than once, say, as they turned from the points of our bayonets, that they would rather face a hundred fresh Germans, than ten dying English. So great was the alarm we caused in them. How mortifying to think, at these moments, that we were suffering all our misery, flying from an enemy who dared not fight us, and fled from us, poor wretches as we were! How unaccountable was our situation! None could be more galling to our feelings. While we ran, they pursued;--the moment we faced about, they halted: If we advanced, they retired. Never had we fought but with success; never were we attacked, but we forced them to retire. “Let us all unite, whether our officers will or not, and annihilate these French cowards, and shew our country it is not our fault that we run thus; let us secure our country from disgrace, and take a sweet revenge.” This was the language of the more spirited men, and in it the others joined, from a hope of relieving their miseries.

With feelings such as these, with a gradual increase of sufferings, we struggled onwards. Towards the close of this journey, my mind became unfit for any minute observation. I only marked what I myself was forced to encounter. How I was sustained, I am unable to conceive. My life was misery. Hunger, cold, and fatigue, had deprived death of all its horrors. My present sufferings I felt; what death was I could only guess. “I will endure every thing in the hope of living to smooth the closing years of my mother’s life, and atone for my unkindness. Merciful God! support me.” These ejaculations were always the close of my melancholy musing, after which I felt a new invigoration, though many times my reflections were broken short by scenes of horror that came in my way. One, in particular, I found, after I came home, had been much talked of. After we had gained the summit of Monte del Castro, and were descending, I was roused by a crowd of soldiers. My curiosity prompted me to go to it; I knew it must be no common occurrence that could attract _their_ sympathy. Judge of the feelings which I want words to express. In the centre lay a woman, young and lovely, though cold in death, and a child, apparently about six or seven months old, attempting to draw support from the breast of its dead mother. Tears filled every eye, but no one had the power to aid; while we stood around, gazing on the interesting object, then on each other,--none offered to speak, each heart was so full. At length one of General Moore’s staff-officers came up, and desired the infant to be given to him. He rolled it in his cloak, amidst the blessings of every spectator. Never shall I efface the benevolence of his look from my heart, when he said, “Unfortunate infant, you will be my future care.” From the few remaining waggons we had been able to bring with us, women and children, who had hitherto sustained, without perishing, all our aggravated sufferings, were every now and then laid out upon the snow frozen to death. An old tattered blanket, or some other piece of garment, was all the burial that was given them; the soldiers who perished lay uncovered, until the next fall of snow, or heavy drift, concealed their bodies.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * * * *

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

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

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

We halted on the first night at a palace belonging to the Queen of Portugal, called Safrea, where we were joined by the Honourable Henry Cadogan, our Colonel. Next day, the 14th October, 1810, we joined the army at Sabral de Monte Agraco, a small town surrounded by hills. On the front is a hill, called by our men Windmill Hill, from a number of windmills which were upon it; in the rear, another they called Gallows Hill, from a gibbet standing there. We had not been three hours in the town, and were busy cooking, when the alarm sounded. There were nine British, and three Portuguese regiments in the town. We were all drawn up, and remained under arms, expecting every moment to receive the enemy, whose skirmishers covered Windmill Hill. In about an hour, the light companies of all the regiments were ordered out, alongst with the 71st. Colonel Cadogan called to us, at the foot of the hill, “My lads, this is the first affair I have ever been in with you; show me what you can do, now or never.” We gave a hurra, and advanced up the hill, driving their advanced skirmishers before us, until about half-way up, when we commenced a heavy fire, and were as hotly received. In the mean time, the remaining regiments evacuated the town. The enemy pressed so hard upon us, we were forced to make the best of our way down the hill, and were closely followed by the French, through the town, up Gallows Hill. We got behind a mud wall, and kept our ground in spite of their utmost efforts. Here we lay upon our arms all night. Next morning, by day-break, there was not a Frenchman to be seen. As soon as the sun was fairly up, we advanced into the town, and began a search for provisions, which were now become very scarce; and, to our great joy, found a large store-house full of dry fish, flour, rice, and sugar, besides bales of cloth. All now became bustle and mirth; fires were kindled, and every man became a cook. Scones[7] were the order of the day. Neither flour nor sugar were wanting, and the water was plenty; so I fell to bake myself a flour scone. Mine was mixed and laid upon the fire, and I, hungry enough, watching it. Though neither neat nor comely, I was anticipating the moment when it would be eatable. Scarce was it warm, ere the bugle sounded to arms. Then was the joy that reigned a moment before turned to execrations. I snatched my scone off the fire, raw as it was, put it into my haversack, and formed. We remained under arms until dark; and then took up our old quarters upon Gallows Hill, where I ate my raw scone, sweetly seasoned by hunger. In our advance to the town, we were much entertained by some of our men, who had got over a wall, the day before, when the enemy were in the rear, and now were put to their shifts to get over again, and scarce could make it out.