We encamp on the banks of the Bidassoa—Scenes on the water-edge—A narrow escape with a lady in question, “Ah, there’s the rub”—Tom Crawley and the biscuits—Our third battalion carry the heights of Vera—The French camp, “the last of the French”—The Pyrenees—The mountain father—Up hill and down dale—The battle of the Nivelle—Manly and Spanish affection—Blanco again—His gallantry—Tom Crawley—A hug from a granny dear—The last struggle—Crawley’s departure—A tear for Tom—A reel—St. Jean de Luz—The French endeavour to make a stand—Colonel Sir Andrew Barnard wounded—Death messengers fly fast. We remained encamped, for several weeks, close to the river Bidassoa, Lesaca in our rear, and Vera in our front. We used to amuse ourselves while here, bathing. This One day I remember nearly losing my life by my own folly. It was as follows:—We had a very handsome little Spanish girl attached to one of our sergeants, named Dillon: she by some means got to the other side of the river, which was generally occupied by the enemy, crying bitterly, and begging of the men, that were on our side, to get her over, as she was afraid to go to a bridge lower down lest she should be taken by the French. Having a respect for her, I instantly stripped off all except my trowsers, and swam across—for here the river was not wide but deep—and, without a moment’s hesitation, placed pretty Louisa, for so she was called, on my back, with the intention, as I thought, of bringing her to our side. Placing her arms round my neck, I waded as far as I was able, and then commenced swimming; but I no sooner got into the deep water than she squeezed me so tight round the neck that I lost all power, although a good swimmer, and down I went. At first our fellows thought I was playing tricks; but on rising and bellowing out for assistance, they became alarmed, for she stuck to me all the time like a leech. Several of the men upon seeing me go down a second time, stripped and jumped in to my assistance; one of the name of Kelly, of my own company, diving down, for the place was twelve feet deep, seized her by her long hair, and brought both to the surface of the water; and, by the assistance of the rest, dragged us to land insensible. When I came to myself, I found our head surgeon, Dr. Burke, with some of our fellows, Here my old friend, Tom Crawley, got the whole of our regiment out of a precious scrape. It was as follows:—Our division was served out with linen bags, made exactly to fit across our knapsacks, and, at the same time, three days’ biscuit (3 lbs.) in each bag. This biscuit was to be kept strapped on the top of each man’s knapsack, well tied, with brigade orders for no man to taste a morsel of it, unless given out in written orders to that effect, as our brigadier expected we should be on short commons while on the Pyrenees, and this was to be, in case of scarcity, our last resource. These bags were examined regularly every morning by officers commanding companies, but, while seen strapped snugly on the knapsacks, were considered by them all right. However, our fellows, who were never at a loss for a subterfuge, devised the following plan to evade the officers’ vigilance: they eat their biscuits except one whole one, which they kept at top to be seen, and in their place substituted chips. This passed on very well for some time, as the sight of the top biscuit satisfied the officers, until one day Captain Johnson of our regiment took it into his head to see his company’s biscuit shaken out, and whilst on private parade ordered them to untie their bags to see their biscuit. The first man on the right of his company was the unfortunate Tom Crawley. “Untie your bag, Crawley,” says the Captain. Tom instantly did as he was ordered, and showed the Captain a very good-looking biscuit a-top. “Shake the whole out,” said the Captain, “until I see if they are getting mouldy.” “Oh, faith, there is no fear of that,” said the astonished Crawley, looking the Captain hard in the face, at the same time casting a woeful eye on his bag. However, the “What have you done with your biscuit? have you eaten it, Sir?” said the Captain. Tom, motionless, made no answer. “Do you know it is against orders?” “To be sure I do,” says Tom; “but, for God’s sake, Sir, do you take me for a South American jackass, that carries About the beginning of October we had an opportunity of witnessing the gallantry of our third battalion. Although they had not seen our service in the country, yet on this occasion they showed themselves “old hands,” and worthy of their green jackets. They had to dislodge the enemy, then holding possession of a high hill behind Vera. This they did in most excellent style, in the sight of our division and the fourth. Our battalion was not suffered to remain idle, and we soon joined in pursuit of the enemy, who took refuge in the valleys of France. On taking possession of their camp ground we found a whole range of huts, constructed in the most ingenious manner, of turf and stone. One of our men came in for rather a novel prize: this was a large monkey, which we kept in the regiment for some time. One strange antipathy this animal was remarkable for, was his utter dislike to the sight of a woman. On the morning of the 9th, the day after the preceding skirmish of Vera heights, we took ground considerably to the right, marching along the summit of the Pyrenees until we came to a very high hill, on the top of which stood the remains of an ancient castle. Our men styled My curiosity, after this, led me to explore the old building, in company with one or two comrades. It was originally the ruin of a very strong fortress or castle, in which, I subsequently heard, the Spaniards used formerly to keep state prisoners. After searching about for some time we discovered a narrow pathway that conducted us to a cellar or cavern, which, to our surprise, we found tenanted by an old gentleman with a venerable beard, and who received us very courteously. He seemed a hermit from his appearance, but how he managed to maintain his residence against the dominion of eagles, vultures, and owls, as well as the occasional jar of contending parties, was a wonder he did not condescend to explain. The only gift we could obtain was a little spring water, which, after our scramble, was refreshing. The splendid view from our elevated position, however, made ample amends for our work. Our battalion at this time was stationed about a mile below La Rhune, and greatly exposed to the storms of wind and rain that we experienced at this period, together with scarcity of provisions. Few of the country people visited us, so that even those in possession of money found little or no benefit from it. Meanwhile the French army, who were encamped about three-quarters of a mile in our front, we had reason to believe, were more fortunate, as they were plentifully supplied with provisions. Occasionally, too, some of our officers were visited by a supply that was smuggled past the French lines. A general attack upon the enemy was now daily expected, After we had routed them from their first line, and were getting close to their second, an incident occurred that fell under my observation, and I may say, of the greater part of our company. There was a man of the name of Mauley, a shoemaker, who fell shot through the head. This man, nearly the whole time we had been in Spain, lived with a Spanish woman, who was tenderly attached to him. She always got as near to her lover as possible during action, generally on a donkey. On this occasion some of our wounded men passing, informed her Mauley was killed. The poor girl was almost distracted; leaving her donkey and stores behind her (for she acted in some degree as one of the suttlers to our regiment), she rushed down to the spot where Mauley had fallen. We were then in the thick of the fight, and our only safety was cover, as the balls came as thick as hail, so that every moment I expected to see the poor woman shot. She, however, seemed callous to every danger: throwing herself on the blood-stained body of her lover, she commenced giving way to the most appalling ebullition of grief, tearing her hair and wringing her hands. The gallantry of Blanco, the revengeful Spaniard, whom A part of our division at this time were endeavouring to enter the French lines on our right. But the enemy seemed determined to defend their huts, which they had doubtless been at considerable trouble to construct, and the action there was close and sanguinary; part of our battalion taking them on the right flank, they were eventually obliged to yield. As soon as we had arrived at the huts, which they had arranged in most excellent order, and from which they had reluctantly been compelled to retreat, in passing along a row of them I heard a scuffle going on in one, and on entering it I beheld a huge French grenadier, with red wings, and my old acquaintance Tom Crawley struggling together on the ground. The Frenchman had been surprised, but was getting the better of Tom, when my appearance at once determined the matter, and the grenadier surrendered. It appeared from what I could make out that the Frenchman in his hasty retreat from the hut had forgotten some of his needfuls, and on his return for them, was met at the doorway by Tom, who, according to his old custom, was preparing to explore its interior. Crawley was immediately attacked by the grenadier with fixed bayonet. Poor Tom, in his attempt to parry off a thrust, received the blade through his right hand, and bled profusely. We did not kill the Frenchman but left him to the mercy of the CaÇadores, who were following close behind us. Tom went to the rear, and I never saw him afterwards, nor can I say I have since heard of him. Many an anxious inquiry was made, many an old scene was revived, and The enemy, although retreating, did so in an orderly manner, keeping up a tolerably brisk fire. I had no sooner regained the line of skirmishers than I received a severe hit just about the centre of my waist, that nearly knocked me down, and for the moment I imagined myself mortally wounded through the body; however, on my examining, I found myself only slightly bruised. A ball had actually stuck in the serpent After I had recovered from the shock, I joined in the pursuit of the enemy, who once or twice attempted to make a stand, but we were close at their heels, so they thought it better to pursue their way at an accelerated pace, covered, however, by some battalions of light troops, who displayed considerable coolness. The French descended the heights, at the foot of which stands the pretty little town of St. Jean de Luz, with its white houses. Our battalion was hotly following, engaged in sharp skirmishing, when our gallant Colonel, Sir Andrew Barnard, who was very conspicuous during the day, on a brown long-tailed horse, received a shot in the breast. On running up to him, which I did with several other men, we perceived him spit blood, but he would not dismount. One of our buglers supported him on his horse, while another led it to the rear. Immediately after this occurrence, my attention was attracted by seeing the 52nd regiment charge up the side of a hill on our right, and take a fort. Shots are very strange things, and fly fast: a Sergeant Watts, of the Rifles, at this moment, received a ball in the head, being next to him, he laid hold of me with both hands, at the same time calling out—“Am I dead? Am I dead?” Poor fellow! he was mortally wounded, and it was with difficulty I could extricate myself from his deadly grasp. The French, after a severe loss, made good their retreat |