I enter the British Legion as Lieutenant—I raise a regiment of Riflemen—Appoint the non-commissioned officers—Recruiting districts—The peer and the dustmen—General Evans thanks—Embark at Gravesend—Voyage across the Bay of Biscay—Arrival in Spain—We land at Portugaletta—Pat’s logic—Spanish sentries shoot a man by mistake—A bad omen—Men confined for not wearing that which they never had—Modern rifle officers—Colonel de Rottenburgh—Legion officers classified—Fine appearance of the men—Rifles march to Zorossa—Head quarters at Bilboa—Bad quarters of the men—Severe drills—Bad beginning—The men begin to droop through ill-treatment—“Cats” indiscriminately used—Lieutenant Robinson drowned.

It will be unnecessary for me to drag the reader through my chequered life, from the time I left the British army until my last campaign in Spain. I shall, therefore, jump across the interval, and bring him at once to the period at which I entered the British Legion.

It is generally remarked that the life of a service soldier is full of incident; but the sphere in which he is designed to move can be understood only by those who have themselves moved in it. In general, old soldiers in describing battles, fill their accounts with the roar of cannon, the clouds of smoke, and the groans and cries of the wounded and dying; but in this part of my narrative, if I cannot relate the former, I will endeavour to describe the miseries of the unfortunate men with whom it was my fate to serve; and as I mean neither to borrow nor dispose of any other man’s stuff, I will relate those things only that came under my own observation.

I am aware that some military men fancy a man cannot fight unless he has his country’s cause at heart, that in their ideas being the only thing capable of arousing his martial ardour; but I beg most humbly to differ from those gentlemen, and to tell them, that when a British subject is put into uniform, and placed in the ranks, with a firelock in his hand, before an enemy, he requires no stimulant nor patriotic impulse to urge him in attacking those opposed to him; neither can I see why a British subject should be ridiculed or prevented from (what he terms) “earning an honest livelihood;” nor why if he prefers being knocked on the head in serving a Foreign Power, he should be termed a mercenary and a murderer, as has been the case with the Legion.

But if he be kidnapped by a recruiting-sergeant, or pressed by a press-gang into the British service, there is no doubt but that John Bull and his brethren of the sister kingdoms, will make the best of a bad matter, which, as old soldiers well know, is only to be done by going the whole hog on every occasion; most soldiers like myself, find in their muskets and bayonets, their only title-deeds; these from the “smallness” of the estates they represent are but poor guarantees: when, cut up and well drilled by bullets, or long and active service; old age steals on, and premature infirmities commence their march upon them.

In the beginning of July, 1835, I enclosed documents from officers of rank in the British army, with a statement of my own service and the rank I had held in that service to Colonel, now Sir De Lacy Evans, and expressed a wish to enter under his command.

In the course of a few days an answer was sent to me from Mr. H. Bulwer,^[25] M.P. for St. Marylebone, stating that Colonel Evans had appointed me as Lieutenant in the 7th Light Infantry, B.A.L., and requesting me to attend at his house that day, as General Evans wished to see me.

I attended at the hour appointed, and for the first time had the honour of conversing with the General himself, who treated me with that gentlemanly courtesy for which he has ever been remarked; among other matters, he asked me several questions concerning a Rifle regiment, and their probable efficacy in the field. To these, according to my humble experience, I gave him to understand that as the war was principally confined to the Pyrenees, and the northern and more mountainous provinces, no body of men could be more efficient, both from their dress as well as their arms.

He approved of my remark, and resolved accordingly to form at least one regiment of Rifles, and, as a first step, to appoint me Lieutenant and Adjutant of the regiment. He then gave me instructions to form recruiting parties, to raise five or six hundred men for that regiment, and particularly enjoined me to get as many old soldiers of the British Rifles as I possibly could. The Adjutancy I declined accepting, but I begged to be empowered to appoint a few non-commissioned officers as an encouragement to the old Peninsulars. This power he instantly granted me, and extended even to all whom I thought fitting for that duty, adding, “I will acquaint the Colonel of your regiment that I have granted you these privileges.” Mr. Bulwer remarking, “If I went into the country I might pick up many gamekeepers, who, he thought, would make excellent riflemen.” I replied, “That man shooting and game shooting were very different,” at which they both laughed heartily.

I immediately set to work and got hand-bills printed, and established recruiting parties at Westminster, the Borough, and Tower Hill, &c., and appointed about half a dozen sergeants and corporals, who were immediately supplied with green clothing. I next proceeded to Chatham and Gravesend, and stationed recruiting parties there also; and in the short space of two months we raised five hundred men.

A motley group I enlisted, from the sons of peers, down even to dustmen, including doctors, lawyers, parsons’ clerks, and all the trades necessary to form a national hive of cunning, craft and industry. I had an honourable for a sergeant (the Honourable A. Curzon), a doctor for a corporal (A. M. Hart), the former of whom was afterwards appointed Lieutenant.

These recruits I sent in small detachments on board the ‘Swiftsure,’ then lying at Portsmouth, the head-quarters of the regiment, appointing one sergeant and one corporal to every sixteen privates. In the beginning of September 1835, I received a letter from Baron de Rottenburgh, our Colonel, that the regiment was about to start for Spain, wishing me to make as much haste as possible in joining.

A few days after this I embarked from Gravesend, with nearly one hundred more men for the Rifles, on board the ‘London Merchant’ steamer, and arrived at Portsmouth the following day; but, unfortunately, the whole of the regiment had already sailed for Spain; after paying the men their bounty of two pounds each, the next morning we sailed also.

After a very pleasant voyage through the Bay of Biscay, about the middle of September, we came in sight of the Spanish coast; at first the eye was struck with the wild and magnificent sweep of the Pyrenean mountains, which to those unaccustomed to such scenery must be truly sublime. Through our glasses we could distinctly perceive the various little towns that dotted here and there the different inlets of the bay, and which had a very peculiar and wild appearance. But as we approached the land we could plainly discern, marching up the mountain sides, small bodies of soldiers which many on board mistook for the troops of Don Carlos, but on closer inspection we discerned to be the Queen’s.

Brigadier-General Evans, who was on board, having determined to land here, the necessary preparations were being made, when, to our surprise a vessel hove in sight, bearing the remainder of the Rifles from Santander to Bilboa. They were fully equipped with rifle and green clothing, and disembarked near Portugaletta, while we with the recruits landed also.

Thus, on the 19th September, about seven o’clock on a beautiful summer evening, I again landed on that soil on which, some four or five and twenty years ago I had witnessed so many severe contests. We landed near an old church, where the recruits were to remain for the night, without blankets, great-coats, or any sort of comfort, in the colonnades of a damp church. I shall never forget the discourse which took place between two of the men. One said to the other, “Are we to get no billets, but stop here for the night without straw, and nothing but these cold damp flag-stones to lie on? why, I see the General’s horses over the way, that have just landed, put into warm stables with straw; surely we are better than horses?” “Arrah, and who the devil tould you so?” said a countryman of mine, looking him hard in the face, “be my soul, the Queen of Spain only gave two pounds a-head for such fellows as you and me, and can get thousands more at the same money; while she is compelled to give fifty pounds for every horse!” Pat’s logic had the desired effect, and the poor recruits stretched their weary limbs for the night, with nothing but a thin smock-frock to keep them warm.

There was, at the time, in possession of Portugaletta, a Spanish regiment of the Queen’s Infantry doing duty, this made it exceedingly dangerous for any of our men to approach those fellows, from their ignorance and stupidity, for they looked upon anything bearing arms to be an enemy. One of my company had a melancholy experience of this, for on coming close to a Spanish sentry, under the darkness of the evening, he was challenged from a loop-hole through the mud-wall surrounding Portugaletta. The Englishman not knowing the language, could give no answer, and the consequence was, the Spaniard instantly fired and shot him through the knee. The poor fellow remained on the spot where he fell until the morning, his comrades being afraid to approach him for fear of a similar fate, and when brought to the company the next day, through weakness and loss of blood, while under amputation he died under the hands of the doctor. This for the first night of our landing was rather a bad omen. Passing the guard-house, with the intention of seeing how the men had fared during the night, at least half a dozen voices assailed my ears, “Oh! Sir! I hope you will get us released; we have been confined all night and have done no crime.” Perceiving they were some of the recruits I had brought over, I called the sergeant of the guard to inquire the cause; he informed me that they had been confined by officers of our regiment, for walking about without their regimentals; the men, however, had disembarked only the night before, and had not received their clothing; I ordered them to be released.

For this act of justice I shortly afterwards was nearly what was termed “called out” by a brace of officers of the Rifles (whom I knew only by their uniform), and who very abruptly asked me, why I had released men whom they had confined! I answered, that no crime had been committed by them, and that I deemed it right to release them, as men in the British Army were never confined without cause.

“Sir,” said one, in an austere voice, “I know what soldiering is. I have fought and seen service as well as the British Army.” The reader has, perhaps, already guessed that these “gentlemen” formerly belonged to Don Pedro, and had served in Portugal during the struggle for that crown.

I was anxious to see my Colonel to report myself, but on going to his quarters I heard another of my poor fellows lustily calling on me to intercede for him. This was in a small field, close to the village, where he was being held down, across a low, dry wall, by two men, while the bugler was belabouring him on the bare breech with the “cats,” and another of these Pedroite officers standing by seeing the punishment inflicted. The poor fellow had been formerly a bugler in the British Army, and was now flogged for straggling into Portugaletta without leave. I had not yet been sixteen hours on the Spanish soil, but I was growing heartily sick of the campaign, even at this early period.

In the course of the day, I had an opportunity of mixing with the officers; who in appearance were a fine set of fellows.

They were composed of three different classes. The first were gentlemen who formerly held commissions in the British Army; the second were those who, through interest, had obtained commissions from General Evans; and the third class, and who, I was sorry to find, were treble in number to the other two, were what is termed Pedroites. These last self-taught heroes were brought up in neither military nor civil life, but had passed a little Quixotic tour under Don Pedro. In fact, every regiment of the Legion, like my own, was full of Pedroites.

The recruits, at length, having received arms and clothing, were drafted into companies, each about a hundred strong, and of which six completed the regiment; they were a fine set of men, and with the Legion altogether, if properly handled, would have done credit to any army in Europe.

During the few days that we remained here, a Major, formerly in the British Army, named Barton, of the Rifles, resigned; this left a vacancy, which was immediately filled by the senior Captain, Fortescue. This caused a vacancy for a Captain, and I was promoted to that rank, in his place, and took command of his company; I may say with safety, I was one of the few officers in command of a company, at the time, that could put the men even through their facings. After remaining here about a week, our regiment was ordered to march, and we took possession of a small village, Zorossa, about two miles from Bilboa, and situated on the left bank of the Nervion. This place had experienced all the ravages and desolation a civil war could inflict; the houses were in a most dilapidated state. That in which myself and a number of other officers were quartered had been evidently tenanted by an opulent person; but the furniture and interior decorations of the rooms had been destroyed, or defaced by the soldiers of Don Carlos, who had been in possession of the village a short time before our entry.

Here lay one of her Britannic Majesty’s gun-brigs, the ‘Ringdove’, to afford assistance and protection to vessels passing up the river from the bay to Bilboa, with arms, ammunition, and stores for the Legion: yet, strange to say, the crew of the ‘Ringdove’ were on the most friendly terms with the Carlist troops until we arrived.

Bilboa was at this time the head-quarters of the Legion. With the view of relieving this important commercial town from the state of blockade which it had sustained; and of affording protection to the works which were at this time erecting for its defence, and probably also for keeping open a more easy communication with England, for the supply of recruits, stores, &c., a few troops were stationed at Bilboa—but in straggling convents and houses about its suburbs. The soldiers of the Legion, notwithstanding these arrangements, were badly quartered—the greater part of them laying on the cold stone floors of churches and convents, without beds, blankets, or even straw. It was evident to me, even thus early in the campaign, that General Evans did not display much solicitude or feeling for the comforts of his soldiers. The men, who were at this time chiefly raw recruits, unaccustomed to the change of diet as well as to the climate of the country, undergoing fatiguing military instructions by a severe daily drill of six hours, surely a representation of their situation to the proper Spanish authorities by General Evans would have made things better for the poor men: but this was merely a foretaste of the treatment that was to be endured by them, which I shall have more particularly to allude to, after their arrival at Vittoria, &c.

But the miserable and comfortless condition of the men was nothing to the disgraceful Provost system which was carried on most rigorously in every regiment of the Legion. Any officer, for the slightest supposed dereliction of duty, or as he felt inclined, could order a man from one to four dozen lashes. Every regiment had its provost; nay, in some there were two, with a proportion of cats.^[26]

It mattered not who they were, recruits or old campaigners, of which last there were no less than a dozen (Chelsea pensioners), in the company I commanded. Although the rules of the service at first starting were boasted as being purely British, I now found them entirely different.

In the British army there was only one provost in a division of perhaps eight or ten regiments. Again, no officer, not even the provost himself, could order a dozen lashes unless he found the man in the act of plundering. Below is given a G. O.^[27] issued by the Duke of Wellington.

I had the misfortune to lose a fine active young officer of my company, a Second Lieutenant named Robinson. In crossing the river from Bilboa in the dark, by some accident he fell overboard and was drowned. His body was not found until next morning. His father is Captain and Paymaster in the 60th regiment. This unfortunate young man, like a number of others who died in Spain, had an excellent kit, which was sold amongst the officers of our regiment.