Head-quarters at Grenalda—Don Julian Sanchez, the celebrated Guerilla Chief—Weakness of our numbers—Incorporation of Spaniards into our regiments—A thief—Punishment of, and opinion of the men—General orders for a collection among the men and officers to relieve Russian losses—A ball, in which thousands were present—Campaign of 1813 commenced—The Life Guards and the Blues join us—The French retreat to Burgos—Secret expedition for bread—Our surprise—Retreat—General Sir Lowry Cole—His temple spectacles made use of to reconnoitre—Our escape—A few remarks—Three alternatives—A cavalry affair on the 18th June—German brotherhood again.

Towards the end of November our battalion again became stationed at its old quarters, in the little village of Allamada. We obtained here fresh clothing, certainly not before it was wanted; green having become by far the least conspicuous colour in the regiment, while so various had been the expedients resorted to for obtaining a substitute for shoes, that the fresh supply from England was welcomed with no common joy. It was quite amusing to see how our fellows enjoyed their clothing, strutting about as proud as peacocks among the Spanish peasant girls, in whose estimation they doubtless conceived they should be considerably advanced.

Head-quarters were at Grenalda, some miles distant from where we lay, and a company of our regiment occasionally did duty over the Duke, whose quarters were in the house of the Alcalde. We had strict orders to admit no one inside the gates leading to the house, unless some particular despatch from the front, or from Don Julian Sanchez, the Guerilla chieftain. Indeed, a report had arisen amongst us, at the time, that his Grace was not altogether right in his head; but this was mere fiction. I used to observe him walking through the market-place, leading by the hand a little Spanish girl, some five or six years old, and humming a short tune or dry whistle, and occasionally purchasing little sweets, at the child’s request, from the paysannes of the stalls.

Here, for the first time, I saw Don Julian Sanchez, the noted Guerilla leader, linked arm in arm with the Duke—an instance peculiar to the time, of obscure merit rising of its own impulse to an equality with the greatest man of the age.

My readers may well suppose I did not slightly notice the square well-set figure, dark scowl, and flashing eyes of the Guerilla, whose humble birth-place I afterwards visited, in a small village between Rodrigo and Salamanca. I had been informed that he first began his career as a pig-boy, but owing to some cruelties exercised on a branch of his family by the French, he took an inveterate hatred to them, which he exemplified by surprising and slaughtering two or three of their soldiers, whom he found asleep in a wood. Accompanied by one or two others, he continued and increased his sanguinary feats, and gradually collected a small band, then a body, and eventually commanded upwards of twenty thousand Guerillas, well-armed, and equipped with British arms and accoutrements, and who rendered more assistance to the cause of the British than all the Spanish troops beside.

Our regiments, by constant collision with the French, were getting exceedingly thinned, and recruits from England came but very slowly, until we found it necessary at last to incorporate some of the Spaniards; for this purpose several non-commissioned officers and men were sent into the adjacent villages recruiting. In the course of a short time, and to our surprise, we were joined by a sufficient number of Spaniards to give ten or twelve men to each company in the battalion. But the mystery was soon unravelled, and by the recruits themselves, who, on joining, gave us to understand, by a significant twist of the neck, and a “Carago” (much like the very breaking of one), that they had but three alternatives to choose from, to enter either the British, or Don Julian’s service, or be hanged! The despotic sway of Sanchez, and his threat in the bargain, so disjointed their inclination for the Guerillas, that they hastily fled their native “woods” and “threshold,” for fear of really finding themselves noosed up to them, and gladly joined the British regiments. Many of them were even made corporals, and, indeed, proved themselves worthy of their new comrades, whom they rivalled in every undertaking of courage and determination.^[14]

While lying here I will give a short description of our regiment’s opinion of flogging, not indeed by words, but by signs, as the following anecdote will show, although the sound of cats was seldom heard in our battalion; for I can safely say, that for the six years I served in Spain not more than six men, to my recollection, were punished in our battalion, and yet withal I cannot brag of our fellows being the honestest branch in the British army. At the time I speak of we had a man in our regiment of the name of Stratton, who, after robbing several of his comrades of trifling articles, took it into his head to desert to the enemy, and was detected in the act, in a wood that leads from Rodrigo to Salamanca, by the vigilant Guerillas, and brought back prisoner to our cantonments. He was tried by a regimental court-martial, and sentenced to receive four hundred lashes.

After the proceedings of the court-martial were read by the Adjutant, in a wood near the village where the regiment was formed for punishment, Major Cameron, who commanded us at the time, devised the following plan to find out the true character of the prisoner, for the Major was not only a brave and gallant soldier, but a shrewd man, and knew well that the men were better judges of the good or bad qualities of each other than the officers could possibly be. He addressed the prisoner as follows:—“Stratton, I ought to have had you tried by a general court-martial; in that case you would have been shot; but the high character the regiment has borne in the army prevents me from having it mentioned in general orders, that a man of the Rifles could be guilty of the heinous crime of desertion to the enemy. I am yet willing to show you kindness. Now, Sir, if the men of the battalion will be answerable for your future good conduct, I shall pardon you.” Turning round at the same time, Major Cameron looked the men in the face while he stood in the square, as if waiting for an answer.

A pause took place, no answer being given. The Major said: “Strip, Sir.” He was tied to a tree, and received twenty-five lashes; the second bugler was preparing to commence, when the Major again said, “Will you not be answerable, men, for Stratton’s conduct? Well, then, if his own company will be answerable for his good behaviour I shall forgive him.” The prisoner, at these words, looked round with an imploring eye, as far as his position would allow him, looking towards his own company, saying, “Do, men, speak for me, I will not act so in future.” I recollect it well, each man leaning on the muzzle of his rifle with his left hand, while his right covered his face, and all silent; not a man spoke. “Go on,” said the Major; the culprit received twenty-five lashes more, when the Major again said, “Now, Sir, if only one man in the regiment will speak in your behalf, I shall take you down.” Still silent, while the third bugler commenced: when the prisoner had received about sixteen lashes, a voice from the square called out, “Forgive him, Sir!”—“Stop, bugler, stop!” said the Major; “who was the man that spoke?” “I did, Sir!” was the answer. “Step into the square;” when a man of the prisoner’s own company came forward. “Oh! is it you, Robinson?” said Major Cameron; “I thought as much; as little-good-for-nothing a fellow as himself; but take him down.”

When the prisoner was conducted out of the square, the Major addressed the men, saying: “Your conduct in the field is well known by the British army; but,” added the Major, “your moral worth I have not known before; not a man would speak in that fellow’s behalf, except the man who did, whom you know as well as I do.” This may serve to show, that however soldiers dislike this mode of punishment, they still like to see a rascal punished; and nothing tends to destroy all feeling of pity for his sufferings more than his having been guilty of an act of cowardice, or robbing his comrade.

Some months before our present sojourn at Allamada, Napoleon had made his disastrous campaign in Russia, when Moscow was burnt. The circumstance was now brought to our notice by the general order, soliciting a day’s pay from the officers and men of the army towards defraying the losses sustained by the Russians. This was most cheerfully bestowed by every man in our battalion except two, the above-mentioned Stratton and another man of the name of Frost; and to crown the occurrence the day was made one of jollity and fun. Country dances were struck up by the band, and it was most laughable to behold, one and all, officers as well as private soldiers kicking about their heels to the tune of “The Downfall of Paris.”

Our division had been cantoned in and about Allamada during the winter, when, soldier-like, ever sighing after a change of scene, the men of our battalion generally began to grow tired of their monotonous and inactive life: however, we received orders for marching. This occurred about the middle of May, when we commenced the campaign of 1813, and a spirit of enterprize, notwithstanding past sufferings, extended itself throughout the light division. We left Allamada in high spirits. On the third day’s march our battalion encamped near Salamanca, in a wood, where we were joined by the Life Guards and Oxford Blues, that had just come out from England, and whom we beheld drawn up at the side of the road. Their fresh and well-fed appearance gave rise to many jests at the expense of the “householders.” They in fact, as I learnt, took us at first, from our dark clothing and embrowned visages, for a foreign regiment.

The first peep we got of the enemy was at a place called Toro, on the road towards Burgos. There our hussars had a sharp skirmish, in which they took some prisoners. Continuing our advance, we overtook their rear-guard the following day. After a little skirmishing and cannonading they continued their retreat to Burgos. The next morning we were startled by a tremendous explosion, that at first induced many of our men to think it an earthquake, until we ascertained the fact that it arose from the explosion of a mine, with which the French had destroyed the castle and some of the works of the town of Burgos.

On the 16th of June we passed through the pretty little town of Medina del Pomar, and encamped on the other side of it close to the banks of a large river. On this march we suffered much from a deficiency of supplies from the commissariat, as anything like rations we seldom received. Myself and one or two others, having some few pence, determined to start off on the sly, as we were not allowed to move from our camp ground, and purchase bread at a little village we beheld at the other side of the river, which we forded unobserved and entered the village. There, however, the alarm of the people became very great upon our appearance, and not wishing apparently to have any dealings with us, they asked an immense price for the bread. Irritated at this conduct, and urged by hunger, every man seized a loaf and threw down the usual price in the country. Seeing that we were all totally unarmed, for we had not even our side-arms, an immediate outcry was raised against us by the people, and we had to run for safety. This we did, carrying the loaves with us, until we were overtaken by some of the swift-footed peasantry, who came up to us with knives and clubs. Our lives being thus in jeopardy for the dearly-obtained bread, our party instantly had recourse to stones for defence. “Muerte a los peros Ingleses.” “Kill the English dogs,” was the general cry of the Spaniards, as they brandished their long knives. They were evidently about to make a rush in among us, by which my own personal adventures, and those of my comrades, would, in all probability, have been finished on the spot, when several men of the 43rd and 52nd regiments, belonging to our division, came running up, like ourselves, foraging. It was the turn of the Spaniards now to retreat—which they did in a hurry.

We had scarcely escaped the attack of the Spaniards and arrived at the bank of the river, when General Sir Lowry Cole came galloping up to us with some of the mounted staff, which indeed might be termed the police of the army. “Hallo! you plundering rascals of the light division—halt!” was the General’s command, as he pulled up his temple spectacles, which he generally wore. One only resource was left us, and that was to plunge into the river, which at that part was very deep, and swim across, holding the bread in our teeth. This we immediately adopted, when Sir Lowry, in an agitated tone, that did honour to his heart, called out—“Come back, men, for God’s sake—you’ll be drowned! Come back, and I’ll not punish you.” But the General’s fears were needless; we soon landed on the other side.

On arriving at our camp we found that the roll had been called over several times, and that we had been set down “absent without leave;” but we were lucky enough to escape with a slight reprimand.

I cannot here forbear making a few remarks with reference to the men who composed our battalion in the Peninsula. The reader will be apt to imagine, that those men who were in the habit of foraging after a day’s march, were but indifferent soldiers. Allow me, with some pretensions to the name of a veteran, to correct this error, and inform the reader, that these were the very men whose bravery and daring in the field far exceeded the merits of their more quiet comrades in quarters.

Our men, during the war, might be said to have been composed of three classes. One was zealous and brave to absolute devotion, but who, apart from their “fighting duties,” considered some little indulgence as a right; the other class barely did their duty when under the eye of their superior; while the third, and I am happy to say, by far the smallest in number, were skulkers and poltroons—their excuse was weakness from want of rations; they would crawl to the rear, and were seldom seen until after a battle had been fought, when they might be observed in the ranks until the Commissary again placed them on short allowance, when off they started; in this manner they swelled the muster-rolls.

But the first of these were the men who placed the Duke on his present pinnacle as one of the great captains of the age. During the whole of our advance from the frontiers of Portugal, until we entered the Pyrenees, not more (on the average) than one biscuit per day was served out to each man—and it consequently could not be expected that a soldier, weighed down by a heavy knapsack, and from sixty to eighty rounds of ammunition (such as we Riflemen carried at the time), could march from twenty to thirty miles a day on so short an allowance.

It was not unfrequent, therefore, after a day’s march to observe groups of our regiment, and, indeed, of the division, rooting up the fields with their swords and bayonets, in search of potatoes, &c., and these were the men who were able to undergo the fatigue of the next day.

The French, also, in their hurried retreat stocked themselves with several days’ provisions in advance; these were hung very temptingly from their knapsacks,^[15] and as it were, in defiance of our hungry jaws; as a consequence, this gave rise to the well-known remark, or alternatives of the Light Division: “Damme, boys, if the Commissary don’t show his front we must either find a potato field, or have a killing day!”

Indeed, but for these resources, so dependent on our individual energies, his Grace, from our being always in front, might have occasionally found half his Light Division “stiff,” and the other half tucked under the blankets as “Belem Rangers.”

On the 18th of June (a very memorable day to our army afterwards) we passed along the banks of a fine river. Our company, along with but half a troop of German Hussars, formed the advance. On turning a winding of the road, we suddenly came within sight of a party of the enemy’s cavalry who formed the tail of their rear-guard. Our Germans, who were commanded by a very smart young fellow, immediately charged them. The French, perceiving the number of our cavalry only equal to their own, instantly wheeled about and calmly awaited the attack. A very smart combat soon took place, and was supported by great resolution for some time on both sides, but terminated in the flight or capture of the enemy. Several prisoners were brought in, all of whom were badly wounded; and scarcely one of our gallant Germans had escaped without some sabre-wound. Another singular circumstance occurred at this skirmish. One of the German cavalry, as he came in with a prisoner and his horse, exclaimed in broken English, as he came up to us—“Mine Got! mine Got! he is mine own broder!” It appeared he had brought in his own brother prisoner, wounded, who was in the French service. The officers of both parties had been killed in the preceding charge; and Lord Wellington, who came up at the time, was so pleased with our cavalry, that he promised the sergeant a commission, which a few days after, I was told, he obtained.

The whole of our battalion, which soon came up, was ordered to push forward. We found the French rear-guard in possession of a little town called San Milan, in front of which they had drawn themselves up, apparently with the intention of defending. As we continued to advance in extended order, they changed their minds and turned tail. This day I noticed a novel system many of the enemy had adopted, of firing their muskets over their shoulders in their retreat, without turning round to face us. This resulted, in all probability, from the excessive heat and fatigue they had endured.