We continue to pursue the enemy on their retreat—Halted on the second day—A carriage brings Soult and peace—French troops disbanded—Friendly intercourse with our men—Castle Sarazin—Our men prefer the ground for a bed, in preference to a feather one—The French sergeant—The invitation—Parade—The dinner—Farewell to the Spaniards and Portuguese—Cupid enlisting deserters—Poor Blanco—Embarkation for England—The ‘Ville de Paris’—The sergeant in hope of a wife—Arrival at Portsmouth—The sergeant in search of a wife—Their meeting and parting.

A few days after we had to execute our old manoeuvre of allowing the French no time to rest, as we were put in motion after them. On the second day as we halted on the Paris road, our men reposing from the fatigue of the morning’s march, we heard several loud huzzas in our front. This was followed by the appearance of a carriage and four horses, which contained a French officer, who we afterwards understood was Marshal Soult. The carriage was attended by a detachment of English and French cavalry; the shouting arose from the tidings that were joyfully repeated, that peace was proclaimed, and that Bonaparte had retired to Elba.

We were immediately on this intelligence ordered to the right-about, and marched back to Toulouse. Before we had proceeded many miles we were overtaken on the road by great numbers of French soldiers who had been disbanded, or had disbanded themselves, and who now were about returning to their homes, tired enough, no doubt, like ourselves, of the war they had been engaged so long in carrying on. The good-feeling testified by many of these really fine-looking fellows to us was general, the Frenchmen in many instances sharing the fatigue in carrying our men’s knapsacks, &c.

From Toulouse we marched, in a few days, to Castle Sarazin, situated on the right bank of the Garonne, between the previously-mentioned town and Bordeaux. Here we came in for most delightful quarters, being billeted in the houses, where we all had excellent beds. But it was highly amusing to see our rough, hardy fellows spurn this latter luxury—which one would have thought would have been most welcome—with contempt. From having almost constantly been exposed for the previous five or six years to have “the earth their rude bed, their canopy the sky,” with generally a stone for a pillow, our men could obtain no sleep on beds of down; and it was actually a fact, that they preferred wrapping a blanket round them and the hard floor, as a place of rest: so much for custom.

At Castle Sarazin we used to be on our usual excellent terms with the French quartered in the neighbourhood, and to while away the time had constant matches with them in running, jumping, and gymnastic exercises. I got acquainted here with a very smart fellow—a French sergeant belonging to the 43rd regiment. A friendship was cemented between us, naturally enough, by our both being free-masons.

One day we were sitting in a wine-house, when the subject of fencing—a science at which the French prize themselves in excelling—was started. My friend, the sergeant, was observing he was a tolerable hand with the foil, when a short lump of a fellow, who proved to be the fencing-master of the town, overhearing him, immediately challenged him to a trial of skill. This the sergeant in an instant accepted, and the sport, at which he showed himself a perfect adept, at the fencing-master’s cost, was carried on with perfect good-humour, until a fierce dispute arose about a hit, when it was mutually agreed to determine the controversy with points. A pair of foils with sharpened points, kept for this particular service were immediately produced, while the by-standers instantly commenced betting upon the combatants with all the sang froid in the world. Both had taken off their coats and bared their right arms for the strife, when—I am sorry to disappoint the reader, who may expect an account of a duel—our guard, which some good-natured soul had privately summoned, came in and put an end to the affair, greatly to the chagrin of the sergeant, who swore he would have killed the professor on the spot.

That same evening the sergeant, whose name, in the lapse of years, I have forgotten, went to our Colonel and obtained leave for me to visit him at Montauban, where his regiment, the 43rd, was quartered. He had invited a corporal, myself, and another, to a dinner given by the non-commissioned officers of his regiment. On the day appointed away we started, Gilbert, the corporal, and myself. I shall never forget it. It was a fine morning. After crossing the Garonne in open boats, for the bridge had been destroyed previous to the battle of Toulouse, we entered Montauban, and found the 43rd and two other regiments forming a brigade, drawn up on parade in the square of the town, and two splendid bands playing in front.

As we went in search of our friend we had to pass down the front of two of the French regiments, which we did, saluting, soldier-like, their officers. The latter returned our salute in the manner for which they are so justly remarked, and made us feel not a little proud of their courtesy. Our uniforms were almost new, and fitted us well. My two comrades had the advantage of being tall, and exceedingly smart-looking fellows; for myself, I was fat as a butt, and as strong as I looked. We moved along the line, until we fell in with the sergeant, who, starting out of the ranks, gave us a hearty welcome. We waited beside him while the band played some favourite airs, until the regiments were dismissed. But they had scarcely broken their ranks when their officers crowded around us, and severally shook us by the hand, giving us also sundry smacks on the shoulders, with “Bravos les Anglais, soyez les bien venus,” &c. The sergeant escorted us immediately to his quarters. The dining-room was a splendid one, and fitted up beautifully. The tables groaned under every delicacy of the season, and we did not forget, even here, to do “justice” to the acknowledged “merits” of John Bull in all matters of this “nature.”

Much good feeling and conviviality followed; and encomiums and compliments were passed on the English; all went on very well until singing was introduced with the removal of the cloth. It had been agreed among the French that no song should be sung that reflected upon our country. Several famous songs, so far as we could understand, were introduced. Our sergeant gave us an excellent specimen; and Gilbert and myself joined also in our own rough manner. But a French corporal, under the influence of wine, commenced a “Chanson de guerre,” rather contre les Anglais, for which, with a very proper feeling, he was by general consent kicked down stairs. The guests, however, resumed their seats, and all went on as quietly as before; here we remained enjoying ourselves till three the next morning, when we were accompanied to the boats by a number of their band, playing “Patrick’s Day,” as they escorted us down to the river-side.

The foregoing anecdote, trivial and uninteresting as it may seem, still serves to show, in a pleasing point of view, the hospitality and kind feelings of the French, who have always claimed our highest respect.

In a few days we received an order to proceed to Bordeaux, to embark for England. The delightful emotions of pleasure this generally induced throughout our men, after all their hardships and sufferings, may be better imagined than described. The second day’s march we stopped at a village, the name of which I forget, where we had to part from our allies, the Spanish and Portuguese. Much, and even deep feelings of regret, were particularly felt by the men of our battalion on parting from the Spaniards, who had been for so long a period incorporated in our ranks. They had been distinguished for their gallantry, and although sixteen had been drafted into our company, but five had survived to bid us farewell. Poor fellows, they had grown attached to the battalion, and expressed much grief on leaving! Even Blanco, the sanguinary Blanco, actually shed tears. Notwithstanding the wretched and ineffective state of the Spanish armies during the campaigns in the Peninsula, I am convinced, and have indeed become more so from subsequent experience, that there is right stuff in the men to make excellent soldiers, far superior to the Portuguese.

Many men of our regiment, bound by the charms of the Signorettas, who had followed their fortunes throughout the war, took this opportunity to desert their country’s cause, to take up that of their Dulcineas. Among others were two of my own company, who, not contented with the “arms” offered by these “invincibles” took rifles and all with them, and we never saw or heard of them after.

We embarked in high spirits at Bordeaux, for Portsmouth, on board the ‘Ville de Paris,’ Captain Jones, commander. She was a splendid ship, and astonished us all with the size and regularity of her crew. The sailors, who seldom like a red coat, went hand in hand with us green jackets, and were a jolly set of fellows.

We had in our regiment, at this time, now on board with us, and on his way to England, a sergeant of the name of S——n, (which must be a sufficient explanation to the reader, as he is, I understand, now living, and in London), a fine, smart-looking fellow, about six feet in height. He had been with us during the whole of the Peninsular campaign, and was one of those who, after the battle of Corunna, had remained in Spain. He was now on his passage homeward to his wife, to whom he had been married for ten or eleven years, and whom, some months after the wedding, he was obliged to leave with her friends at Portsmouth to rejoin his regiment, then going abroad; by some unaccountable circumstances, incidental to long campaigns, he never had received any tidings of or from her; and he consequently was now very uncertain as to where he should find her, or whether she were living or dead.

On the 22nd July, 1814, we anchored at Spithead, the sailors cheering us and manning the yards as we went ashore. As soon, however, as we landed at our destination, he requested of me to assist him in his search. After tramping up and down and around Portsmouth, in vain, we at last made a stand in High Street—indeed he was growing almost desperate with disappointment—and here he made random inquiries of every person he met. This eventually drew a crowd of women of all ages about him but not one could answer his inquiry. He was on the point of giving it up altogether, when an old woman on crutches, from the rear of the crowd, casting a very shrewd keen look at him, asked him to repeat the name, “Mary S——n,” shouted my friend. “Ah!” exclaimed the hag, rather musingly, “if you will just inquire at No.—, near the Post-office, at the back of the street, you will, I think, find the party you require,” casting up her eye as she finished her directions. Away we hurried, some five or six women straggling after us, and in a few minutes found ourselves at the door of a small neat-built cottage. After knocking—every moment seemed an hour to my poor friend, until the door was opened—a pretty-looking little girl, of about ten years of age, inquired his errand.

“Does Mrs. S——n,” asked the sergeant, and paused to look at the child, “does Mary S——n live here?” “Yes,” said the little girl, starting with surprise, “that’s my name.”

“Right,” exclaimed the sergeant, clasping the astonished little one in his arms, and dashing into a side room well sprinkled with children. “Where, where’s your mother?” The words were scarcely uttered, than a shrill shriek was heard from the inner apartment, and at the same moment the mother rushed before us, and gazing on him fell instantly into a fit of hysterics. My poor friend looked perplexed; his features alternately changing from doubts to fears, with uncertain satisfaction. The little one was in an instant out of the house, and returned in a short time, leading in a square, well-made, good-looking man, in appearance a carpenter.

The facts were stubbornly plain to every one. The children, the comfortable, respectable air of the place, were too plain; and the two husbands now stood within range of each other, with nostrils dilated in agony, and hands clenched, awaiting an expected onset. I think I never saw two better models of manhood in its prime, wrought up to melancholy and indescribable excitement. The two men, as it were, dug their eyes into each other, and then on the shrieking woman, who in recovering a little clung, as if for refuge, to the carpenter.

My poor comrade, hitherto on the rack of suspense, now suddenly drew breath, and taking a skipping-rope which his daughter held in her hand, threw it lightly over his wife’s neck. “Now,” said he, in a somewhat collected tone, “Now, Mr. Carpenter, as it appears that Mary, who was my wife, has decided on her choice, suppose we have a bargain on the matter? It’s no use our skirmishing about in this manner any longer; (and I have no doubt of your abilities,”) pointing to the children, who crowded round the parents and opposite the sergeant. “With Mary’s consent, as she seems to prefer your manner of doing business, suppose you clinch the bargain with a sixpence, and take her to you altogether?” The money was handed out in a moment, and as quickly passed between the sergeant’s teeth, while he employed both hands to withdraw his sash aside, and taking from his pocket a guinea, which throwing into his only daughter’s lap, left the scene, closed the door, and hurried into a small public-house across the street.

“Come, landlord, a pot of your sixpenny,” throwing down the ill-fated bit of silver, “and take that for your settlement; and Ned,” said he, turning to me, “call for your likings.” He grasped the vessel as the landlord handed it, and swallowed the whole at a draught, like a man who had thirsted for a week; smacked his lips, in conclusion of the barter, cast two or three glances up and down his person, then rubbing his hands smartly together, strutted up the street as if nothing whatever had annoyed him.