I recover from my wounds and rejoin my regiment at Ituera—“Nine holes”—March for Salamanca—Sergeant Battersby—The grenadier and the murder of his wife, &c., &c.—Marmont out-manoeuvred—Assault of Fort St. Vincent—Retreat of the enemy—We arrive at Rueda—The wine-vaults—My descent into one—Fright, &c.—Manoeuvring of the two armies—Skirmishing—A gallant Frenchman—Pratt and his prisoner.

Having recovered from my wounds, I left the hospital and rejoined my regiment at Ituera, near Ciudad Rodrigo. An unfortunate accident here occurred to one of our men. He was playing at a game called “nine holes” with several comrades, and was bowling along the ground a grenade, used instead of a wooden-ball, believing it to have been filled with earth only, when a spark from his pipe fell into the hole, and instantly exploded, wounding him dreadfully. The poor fellow never recovered the injuries he received.

A short time after I had rejoined, our division marched for Salamanca.

On our first day’s march we encamped in a wood, on the right side of the road, leading to that city. The evening was beautiful, and the sun having lost its meridian heat, imparted a refreshing warmth to the wearied soldiers. The camp was all astir for some time—every one being busily engaged cooking and preparing for the night’s comfort; which being completed, the eve found us mostly seated and scattered about in small groups, earnestly intent on enjoyment of some sort. I am particular in my recollection of the time, for reasons which the following occurrence will sufficiently account for.

I had finished my evening’s meal, and was sitting drinking a tot of wine, with a sergeant of ours named Battersby, who a few days previously had rejoined us from Belem, where he had been some time appointed hospital-sergeant. He brought with him a very pretty-looking Englishwoman, that passed for his wife, and who was present with us, and assisted much to keep up the spirit of our conversation. We had been seated for some time under the branches of a clump of cork trees, of which, indeed, the wood was principally composed, when we were interrupted by some of the men calling for Sergeant Battersby, and in a second, or so, up marched a tall, fine-looking grenadier of the 61st Regiment of Foot, then belonging to the sixth division, which lay encamped some two or three miles in our rear; as he approached, however, he did not notice us, but casting sundry determined glances about him, more in anguish than ferocity, he drew near the woman, and seated himself on a knapsack near her. The latter, from the moment he had first made his appearance, I had perceived, seemed wondrously confused, and changed colour several times.

“Nelly,” said he, fixing a firm and deliberate look on her, his voice at first scarcely articulate with emotion, “Nelly, why do you treat me so? how can you stoop,” and here he cast an almost contemptuous glance of recognition on Battersby, “how can you stoop to such a disgraceful, so dishonourable a protection?”

“I am with those,” said she, rather snappishly, “who know better how to treat me than you.”

“That,” rejoined the grenadier, “may be your opinion; but why leave the child, it is but three years old, and what can I do with it?”

To this she made no answer.

“Do not think,” he again continued, “that I wish you to return me, that is impossible. But I cannot help my feelings!”

This was only replied to by reproaches; which I did not listen to, for as it was no business of mine I turned to converse with my companions.

The grenadier, at last, made a move to take his departure, and his wife, for such she evidently was, had agreed to accompany him a little of the way, and they walked together. I did not know how to account for it, but there was a certain uneasiness attended me, which had kept me, as it were, on their trail all the evening; and Battersby and myself followed in their rear. They had proceeded a few hundred yards, and were some distance in advance, when she turned to wish him good-night. The poor fellow paused again, as if in deep thought, fixing on her the same cool, deliberate look that he had exhibited all the evening.

“So you are determined, Nelly,” said he at length, “to continue this way of living?”

“Yes,” said she.

“Well, then,” he exclaimed, holding her firmly by the left hand, which she had extended for him to shake, while he drew his bayonet with his right, “take that,” and he drove it right through her body. The blow was given with such force that it actually tripped him over her, and both fell, the bayonet still sticking in her side. The poor woman gave a convulsive scream, and in a moment expired. The grenadier bounded instantly on his feet again, and stamping one foot on the body of his victim, jerked forth the bayonet reeking with her blood. Wheeling himself round on his heel, the fatal weapon tightly clutched in his right hand, his eyes instantaneously caught the direction Battersby had taken, and he flew after him with the speed and countenance of a fiend, to wreak a second vengeance.

The sergeant fortunately arrived in the camp in time enough to call out the rear-guard, who, of course, were instantly on the alarm to meet him. The grenadier no sooner beheld him in safety than he stopped, and casting a half contemptuous smile towards the body of his dead wife, wiped the bayonet through his fingers, returned it to the scabbard, and drawing himself to his full height, calmly awaited the approach of the guard. When brought before the Colonel, he said in a rough and manly tone of voice, while he extended his arm towards his wife, “I have done the deed, but sorry her seducer has escaped.”

He was afterwards brought to a court-martial, and sentenced to three months’ solitary confinement. But he suffered for one month only, when, as I suppose, in consideration of his case, he was ordered to return to his regiment. I have since been informed that he was shot in one of the actions on the Pyrennees. He certainly was a fine-looking fellow, and by name Bryen.

As for Nelly, we buried her that very night near the spot where she fell, having dug her grave with the same kind of weapon as that by which she had been deprived of life.

It was rather strange that Battersby was not noticed, but still held his rank. It is also as curious, that he was the second man I saw fall at the battle of Quatre Bras, on the 16th June, 1815, being shot by a musket-ball through the head.

On our arrival at Salamanca, we took up our position to the right of that city, near the river Tormes.

Here we remained for some days, our chief having completely out-manoeuvred Marmont. On the evening of the 4th of July stormers were required from our division, to lead in the assault on Fort St. Vincent, the strongest of the three forts that the enemy had constructed in the city, and which commanded the other two; two men from each company of our regiment were selected, the first for duty. After marching the men down close to the fort, waiting the signal for attack, they were countermanded. A few days afterwards this fort was set on fire by red-hot shot from our artillery, when it immediately surrendered, along with the two others.

The enemy, baffled in their views on Salamanca, slowly retreated, our army following until we arrived near Rueda. Here our light troops had a smart brush with their rear-guard, which ended in the capture of some few French prisoners. I remember seeing on this occasion a party of the Rifles bringing in a very fine-looking man, a French sergeant, who seemed inconsolable at his capture. He actually shed tears as he lamented the circumstance. The following day, however, to his infinite joy, he was exchanged for a sergeant of our cavalry, who also had been made prisoner a few days before.

After this skirmish, our regiment advanced to the neighbourhood of Rueda, where we occupied a hill, completely covered with vines, and close to the town. The country thereabouts abounded in grapes, from which an immense quantity of wine was annually made. The places used for the making of wine in this part of Spain are of a very singular description. They are all subterranean, and of immense extent, sometimes undermining many acres of ground. Over these are chimneys constructed to admit the air and light. The vats, into which the juice of the grape is pressed, are in proportion to the size of the vaults, and would entirely put to shame the same description of receptacle used for beer by Barclay and Perkins.

Our fellows, ever alive to the value of good liquor, notwithstanding the French had well ransacked the “wine-houses,” used frequently to find something to reward them for their search in these cellars. Our way of proceeding was to let one or two of our men down the above-mentioned chimneys by means of a rope. I shall never forget the terror I experienced in one of these adventures. Three or four comrades and myself one evening assembled over the chimney of one of these wine-vaults, and it was proposed that one of us should descend to bring up some wine. This was no comfortable task, as the proprietors frequently watched below, and would scarcely hesitate to greet an intruder with his cuchillo or long knife. After some deliberation, and plenty of peeping, it was at last decided that I should take the first chance; a rope accordingly was obtained from one of the muleteers, and being secured round my waist with a number of canteens, which clinked enough to awake almost the dead, I was gradually lowered.

The vaults were generally as deep as a three-storied house, and before I got half way down, I was left dangling in the air, the canteens chinkling as if with the intention of hailing a knife the moment I arrived into the lower region; at last I touched the ground. The place was so dark that I could scarcely see a couple of yards before me, and was obliged to grope my way for the vats; at length one of the tins, that formed a kind of breast-work for my approach, came in contact with something, and putting my hand forward, I placed it upon the cold clammy face of a corpse. My whole blood tingled, the canteens responded, and at a glance I perceived, from the red wings (for whether or not, I could see now) that it was a French soldier, exhibiting most frightful gashes, evidently inflicted by the same kind of weapon, which I at every turn, was expecting.

The canteens clattered awfully, for I confess I shook with terror, having no weapon to defend myself, and every instant looking for the arm of some concealed assassins, who probably were watching my movements. Afraid to call out, I instantly tugged at the rope (the signal to pull up), an answer from above expressed a doubt of the canteens being filled so soon, and damned my eyes and limbs for me, but this only made me shake the rope more violently, until, to my great satisfaction, I found myself again dangling, and ascending. My comrades seeing me really come forth with hollow tins, and blowing with agitation, burst into roars of laughter.

I related my adventure, but this only increased it, until their mirth rallying us all, one, however, more daring than the rest, loaded his rifle, and with an oath, suffered himself to be lowered, and shortly returned, bringing up the canteens filled with excellent wine.

After remaining here for some time, we left Rueda at twelve o’clock at night on the 16th, the enemy, who had concentrated their forces at Tordesillas, being on the advance. The following morning the sun rose unclouded, presenting distinctly to the view the two armies moving in parallel lines along a ridge of low hills, separated only by the intervening valley and a river fordable in most places. The French columns appeared in such beautiful order, as to call forth the plaudits of even our own men. Skirmishing, however, was soon commenced between some of the cavalry and light troops.

One or two companies of our Rifles, seconded by a troop of the 14th Dragoons, were soon partially engaged with about a corresponding number of the enemy, who would occasionally dash through the little river, and attempt to take up a position to annoy our skirmishers. Our riflemen, in particular, were highly delighted with several little cavalry brushes that occurred this day between our dragoons and the French. One instance of gallantry on the part of a French dragoon, which fell under the eyes of most of us, was particularly exciting: in a kind of half charge that had been made by about a section of French and English cavalry, one of the Frenchmen had dashed alone through some of our dragoons. His own party having retired, there seemed every prospect of his being instantly killed or taken prisoner, and, indeed, most of us thought, as there were at least a dozen of our 14th Dragoons between him and his section, that he would surrender. Not so, however, thought the gallant Frenchman, but wheeling round, he gently trotted his horse for about twenty yards, when he gave spurs to his steed, and after several hand-to-hand conflicts with our dragoons in passing, he actually succeeded in reaching his party, I believe unhurt, and attended by the cheers of our own men, who were not insensible, at any time, to the intrepidity even of an enemy.

Another incident occurred also, which, as an appropriate companion to the foregoing, I will relate. Indeed, in gratitude, perhaps, I ought to do so, as I was a gainer on the occasion by a new pair of trowsers. A man of the 14th Dragoons, named Pratt, a fine strapping young fellow, and a townsman of my own, brought in a French dragoon on his horse prisoner. The Frenchman had lost his helmet, and displayed a severe cut on his cheek. Poor fellow! he seemed exceedingly chop-fallen, and declared with much vehemence to Lieutenant Gardiner of our company, who spoke excellent French, that the Englishman could not have taken him had he possessed a better horse. This Mr. Gardiner repeated to Pratt, who answered, “Then by Jasus, Sir, tell him if he had the best horse in France, I would bring him prisoner, if he stood to fight me.” The words caused roars of laughter from all but the prisoner, who affectionately patting the goaded and smoking steed, exclaimed, “My poor beast has not had his saddle off for the last week.” And such, indeed, appeared to have been the case, as, on the saddle being removed, prior to the sale of the poor horse, a part of the flesh that had become a sore, came away with the saddle-cloth. The animal in this condition was sold to Lieutenant Gardiner for five dollars. Pratt, on opening the valise of the unfortunate prisoner (who with folded arms looked on with a mournful eye), came upon a pair of trowsers which he threw to me as a gift that was exceedingly welcome, as my own were worn to rags.

The following day, after some slight skirmishes with the advance of the enemy, we retreated upon Salamanca. As few occurrences of any interest took place after this, for some days, beyond the manoeuvring of the two armies, interesting only to the tactician, and which so many professional men have done ample justice to, I will at once proceed to the battle; in which, however, I must remark, the Rifles were less engaged than in any other action fought during the war: for which reason I shall have but little to state upon the subject.