General Crauford leaves for England—Sir William Erskine takes the command—Mounseer Strauss—We enter Santarem—Scenes of horror—Mile posts of the “grande armÉe”—Retaliations of the Portuguese—Two upon one—Pombal—Smart work—German gallantry—Auction—A new division—Redinha—An accident—Long Tom of Lincoln—The deserter—A return of favours.

In the month of February, General Crauford went to England on leave, and the command of the light division, during his absence, devolved upon Major-General Sir William Erskine.

On the night of the 5th of March we were suddenly ordered to fall in, as intelligence had reached us that the French were evacuating Santarem. This was soon ascertained to be the fact, and we immediately commenced an advance, crossing the bridge in our front at three o’clock on the morning of the 6th.

Ours being the senior captain of the regiment, the company, as was usual, were in the advance, when some of the front files suddenly came within a few yards of what appeared to be a French sentinel, leaning against a wall that ran along from the bridge. One of our fellows fired, but perceiving no movement made, we all rushed up, and discovered him to be, what our money-changers at home have so great a horror of, “a man of straw,” or a piece of sacking stuffed and accoutred. This afforded a fit theme for joking, as we carried our “prisoner” with us until we came to Santarem.

Our march was uninterrupted, and over a bold thickly wooded country, much cut up, however, by the retreating enemy; about mid-day we entered Santarem, where a sight of a most horrifying description offered itself. The streets and houses presented a mass of desolation and filth, which, in some degree, contaminated the air around, while to add to the picture, numbers of half-starved looking Frenchmen were grouped about in knots, and exhibiting the loathsome appearance of disease. The faces of many of these poor fellows were dreadfully swollen and white. Our men were moved to pity at the scene, and threw them biscuits as we passed through the town.

Massena had not the means of conveyance for the whole of his sick, and had been obliged to leave these to their fate. This, indeed, would have been soon decided had the Portuguese first come up with them.

At every mile the enemy, on their retreat, had fixed finger posts with directions to the road the “grande armÉe” had taken, they sufficiently directed us also. But after all, these were of little service, for straggling groups of the unfortunate enemy strewed the road as we advanced over it. The poor fellows, at first, would greet the English with a faint hope of protection, and turned up their swollen and pallid countenances to us with expressions that needed not words to explain them. But we were obliged to pass on and leave them, for aught I know, to be butchered by the inhabitants, who fearfully retaliated for all the scenes we had witnessed. At night we encamped on the outskirts of a small village, the name I do not recollect, but the sights within it I never can forget.

In searching for a stream from which I might procure water, I fell upon a small fountain, close to which lay two or three murdered Portuguese; their brains and blood, which seemed freshly to have oozed from their mangled remains, had even streamed into the spring, and turned me away with disgust from the water. Proceeding onward, I observed a gaunt ghastly figure in a cloak stealing towards a group of cadaverous looking Frenchmen—on his getting a little nearer to them, he suddenly spat in his hands and throwing his cloak aside, produced a heavy club, with which, I suppose, he was going to beat their brains out. Struck with horror, I instantly seized the stick from his half-famished grasp, drove him away, and assisted by one or two comrades got the poor men into a house, and pursued my search.

As I, however, approached into the Plaza, the desolation thickened; all the havoc that can possibly be imagined in so small a compass lay before me—murdered and violated women—shrieking and dying children—and, indeed, all that had possessed life in the village, lay quivering in the last agony of slaughter and awful vengeance.

These became every-day scenes until we overtook the French rear-guard at Pombal, which we did on the 11th, my company had been hurried forward by the cavalry, each dragoon mounting a rifleman behind him on his horse—a method of riding peculiarly galling to the infantry, but which we frequently had to experience during the war. From the friction alone produced on the legs and seat by the dragoon’s saddle-bags, it was some time before the foot-soldier, when placed upon his legs, could move with anything like dispatch. Besides, this method of riding was generally attended by the loss of the men’s mess-tins, which became shaken off by the jolting. There were, indeed, few of our men who would not have preferred marching twice the distance on foot to being thus carried.^[7]

We first got sight of the enemy about two miles from the town of Pombal. They had possession of a wood, from which, however, we soon managed to drive them. They retired in great disorder in the direction of the town. The long straight road that led to Pombal became filled for some hundred yards, with the confused masses of the French; but their distress was still further increased by the arrival of Brigade-Major Mellish, who came up, at the time, with a couple of Ross’s guns, and commenced playing upon them. It soon became a complete rout with the enemy, and they pressed pell-mell over the bridge of the river between us and the town. They suffered considerably in this business—the ground was strewed with their dead, and as we followed we found several poor fellows at the bridge badly wounded by the rifles, and many dissevered legs and arms, the latter, no doubt, caused by Ross’s two pieces.

It was during the preceding skirmish that, for the first time, I heard the words that afterwards became so common in our regiment, “kill a Frenchman for yourself.” Its origin was as follows: Two men of known daring, named Palmer and Tracey, during our approach to the bridge, seeing a French sergeant fall, ran up to claim the meed of conquest, by relieving him of any valuables he might be possessed of. They were quarrelling as to the appropriation of the spoil, when Palmer, who was a known excellent shot, told Tracey to go “and kill a Frenchman for himself,” as he had shot this man.

This circumstance afterwards gave birth to a little gasconade in the regiment, that every rifleman could and ought to kill a Frenchman in action. From the period of the above occurrence, Palmer received the nick-name of the “man-killer,” until a singular circumstance, that occurred at the siege of Badajoz, gave him a new title. In relieving picquet in the trenches, many of our men, instead of going quietly through the trenches or parallels in front of the walls of the town, used to show their contempt of danger by jumping out of them and running across in the face of the enemy’s fire. In executing this feat one day with some others, a cannon-shot fired by the French, struck the ground first, and then hit Palmer on the back, and he fell, as we thought, killed upon the spot. To our surprise, however, in a moment he jumped up unhurt, the ball having glanced off his knapsack. In commemoration of this event, he was afterwards known by the appellation of “the bomb proof man.”

It must be borne in mind, that my own company only were present here, and we had to sustain, at a great disadvantage, a smart fire from the different houses, occupied by the rear-guard of the enemy. As soon as we crossed the bridge we took possession of the houses opposite those held by the French, from which we kept up a brisk fire out of the windows. Tired however, with this cross work, several of our men dashed into one of the French holds and found it crowded with the enemy, who to the number of thirty or forty quietly surrendered themselves prisoners. I recollect Sergeant Fleming, who was the first to mount the stairs, bundling them neck and crop over the staircase. Lieutenant Hopwood, however, fell severely wounded in the thigh on entering the house. We maintained the conflict until the remainder of the regiment came up, and then drove the enemy entirely out of their cover.

In the eagerness of pursuit, however, we had suffered severely: as our men followed the enemy a considerable distance out of the town, galling them terribly in the street, when perceiving how few our numbers were, being supported by a single troop only of our German Hussars, they turned round and made it a hard matter for us to escape the consequences of our temerity. Several of the men were out-flanked, and taken prisoners, and for myself, I had to run a great risk, and should certainly have been killed or captured, but for the gallantry of a German dragoon, who riding up, dragged me behind him, and galloped away amidst a volley of shots, unhurt.

At night, the French, who had posted themselves partly under cover of a wood, threw shells into the town of Pombal, of which we had possession, and succeeded in setting it on fire in several places. We nevertheless remained for the night, and sold by auction among the officers and men some baggage which we had taken, snugly packed on a grey horse, from one of their Generals; among other valuables it contained, were two beautiful gold medals, which we presented to our old Captain; we divided the proceeds, which amounted to six dollars to each man of the company.

In the morning, the French continued their retreat, and we were again in pursuit. After crossing a well wooded hill, we came up with them at Redinha, a small town situated in the hollow of rather a difficult pass,—the company ascending a hill covered with pine-trees, on the right of our battalion.

From its eminence, I remember to have seen one of the finest views of the two armies I ever witnessed. The rifles were extended in the distance for perhaps two miles, and rapidly on the advance to the enemy’s position. These were followed by our heavy columns, whose heads were just emerging from a wood about a quarter of a mile in our rear. Everything seemed conducted with the order and regularity of a field day. Meanwhile the rear columns of the French were slowly retiring, but in a few minutes the scene became exceedingly animated by our artillery opening their fire upon the retreating forces.

This was the signal for us to set to work. We instantly moved down from our lofty station, and were soon engaged skirmishing and endeavouring to out-flank and drive in their light troops, which, after a hard struggle, we at length accomplished, but not before many men had fallen on both sides. The enemy, however, although they slowly retired, continually turned, making temporary stands, whenever the ground seemed favourable.

One affecting circumstance that took place in this action, made a deep impression on my memory. A French officer whom we had observed very conspicuously cheering on his men, had fallen by a rifle-shot through the thigh, when two of our buglers ran forward for the purpose of easing him of his money. This, I must observe, the French generally kept concealed in a kind of belt round their waists. As soon, therefore, as the buglers came up to him, they commenced quarrelling as to which of them should possess his property. The more readily to disencumber him of his belt, each of them had fallen on his knees over the poor Frenchman, and one of the buglers had drawn a knife to cut the strap that secured the hoped-for treasure, when the other endeavouring to restrain him brought on a scuffle, during which, I am sorry to relate, the knife entered the body of the wounded man, and he expired on the spot. I had arrived just in time to perceive the occurrence, and could with difficulty restrain myself from shooting the owner of the knife on the spot, until he told me it was purely accidental.

After pursuing the enemy through the town, where we took a number of prisoners (among whom were some of my own company, taken the day before) in a water-mill, we encamped at night on the side of an extensive hill. The country, here also, was well wooded and watered, and exceedingly picturesque, as was also the position occupied by the enemy. We were encamped on a range of heights, while the French lay below in a beautiful valley; the outlying sentries of both armies being not more than two hundred yards apart.

This night our company, with Captain Belvard’s, formed the outlying picquet. As we had had no rations for two days previous, we were soon busily employed in cooking what we had taken from the prisoners; during this ceremony, a man of the name of Humphrey Allen, a tall powerful fellow, whom we had also nick-named “Long Tom of Lincoln,” came up from the rear, where, during the preceding skirmish, he had been employed taking the wounded. On asking to be allowed to join one of the messes, he was immediately refused, on account of his having gone out of action with the wounded, when the care of them devolved upon the buglers or bandsmen alone. This, I must remark, was at first a common excuse for getting from under fire, and soon became marked with indignation by the braver men; at length, during the latter part of the campaign, no good soldier would venture, under so frivolous a pretence, so to expose himself to the indignation of his comrades, excepting for any very extreme cases. In the preceding instance, however, Allen proved himself more daring than humane.

Taking up his rifle, very coolly observing that he would soon get something to eat if a Frenchman had it: walked quietly down to our outlying picquets, and taking deliberate aim, shot one of the French sentries on the spot: in an instant he was across the field to where he fell, and having hoisted him on his shoulders, was in the act of bearing him back to our line, which the French perceiving, not only fired, but pursued him, and compelled him to drop his prize.

A general alarm, meanwhile, was occasioned by this firing, and before it could be checked, Colonel Beckwith came down, and having traced its origin, sent for Allen.

“Why, Zur,” replied Tom, to the inquiry of the Colonel “I arn’t had nought to eat these two days, and thought as how I might find summut in the Frencher’s knapsack.”

Although he had been guilty of a cruelty which no law of arms could justify, he managed to escape with a severe reprimand.^[8]

In the course of an hour after, being on sentry at our advance posts, I was leisurely sauntering up and down, occasionally looking about me, and stooping to cull some flowers that grew in the field which divided us from the enemy. It was just at the close of the evening, or between the lights. The French sentry, who advanced occasionally seemingly for the same purpose, at last came so near, that I feared he was up to some manoeuvre, or about to fire at me; with this, I instantly cocked my rifle, and was awaiting his approach, when he suddenly rushed towards me, bellowing out in French, “DÉserteur! DÉserteur!” Of course at the words I allowed him to approach, which he did, exclaiming, “Je suis allemand,” and instantly turning on his quondam comrades, fired into them. The report of his fire caused the picquets of both parties to fall in, and the whole line of sentries again to be engaged. However, he stuck by me all the time, shaking his fist at them, and loading and firing with all the jaw-breaking oaths that the French and his native German could supply him with.

Colonel Beckwith, a second time alarmed, was soon amongst us swearing also, at what he supposed to be another Lincoln job, but he returned rather pleased, chatting to the deserter.