Personal courage.—Heroism.—A life-guardsman.—A corporal.—Private in Bland’s dragoons.—Lewis de Crillon.—Wolfe.—Abercrombie.—Colonel Gardiner.—Major AndrÉ.—General Picton.—Sir John Moore.—Marquess of Anglesey.—Sir John Elley.—Colonel Colborne.—Colonel Ponsonby.—General Baird.—Sir Thomas Picton.—Sir James Macdonnel.—Lord Edward Somerset.—Sir Henry Hardinge.—Sir Colin Campbell.—General Evans.—Lord Hill.—The regimental surgeon and Sir William Carr Beresford.

“I have already explained to you, boys, that though personal courage is an excellent quality, it never becomes a virtue till it is joined with an honourable or benevolent motive.

Heroism is the union of high motives and high actions; when, therefore, I describe instances of bravery, they may, or they may not, be examples of heroism. Certain it is, that common sailors, and men in the ranks, among soldiers, have manifested as much courage as the most distinguished officers. A life-guardsman, usually called the Marquess of Granby, on account of his being bald, had his horse shot under him, and lost his helmet. The moment he arose from the ground, though on foot, he attacked a cuirassier, whom he killed, mounted his horse, and rode forward, while his companions cheered him with the cry, ‘Well done, Marquess of Granby!’ Shaw, also a corporal, at the battle of Waterloo, was attacked by six of the French imperial-guard; four of these he killed, though he was afterwards slain by the remaining two. But I have another instance of courage, still more extraordinary.”

“Please to relate it to us.”

“At the battle of Dettingen, on the 16th of June 1743, a private in Bland’s dragoons, of the name of Thomas Brown, who had not been more than a year in the service, singularly distinguished himself by his intrepidity. After having had two horses killed under him, and lost two fingers of his left hand, seeing the regimental standard borne off by some of the enemy, in consequence of a wound received by the cornet, he galloped into the midst of the enemy, shot the soldier who was carrying off the standard, and, having seized it, and thrust it between his thigh and the saddle, gallantly fought his way back through the hostile ranks; and though covered with wounds, bore the prize in triumph to his comrades, who greeted him with three cheers. In this valiant exploit Brown received eight wounds in his face, head, and neck; three balls went through his hat, and two lodged in his back, whence they could never be extracted.”

“There never could be a more determined man than Brown.”

“It is not always in the heat of action that presence of mind, and true courage is most conspicuous. In cases of sudden alarm and emergency a man is tried to the utmost. It is said that the Duke of Guise, having a mind to try the courage of Lewis de Crillon, or Grillon, a gentleman of Avignon, agreed with some gentlemen to give a sudden alarm before Crillon’s quarters, as if the enemy had been masters of the town; at the same time he ordered two horses to the door; and rushing into Crillon’s room, cried out that all was lost; that the enemy were masters of the port and town, and had put to flight all that opposed them; that two horses were at the door, and that he must haste and fly. Crillon was asleep when the alarm was given, and hardly awake whilst the Duke of Guise was speaking. However, without being at all disconcerted by so hot an alarm, he called for his clothes and his arms, saying, They ought not, on too slight grounds, to give credit to all that was said of the enemy; and even if the account was correct, it was more becoming men of honour to die with their arms in their hands than to survive with the loss of the place. The Duke of Guise, being unable to prevail on him to change his resolution, followed him out of the room; but when they were got half-way down stairs, not being able to contain himself any longer, he burst out a laughing, by which Crillon discovered the trick that had been played him. He assumed a look much sterner than when he only thought of going to fight, and squeezing the Duke of Guise’s hand, said, swearing at the same time, ‘Young man, never make it a jest to try the courage of a man of honour, for hadst thou made me betray any weakness, I would have plunged my dagger in thy heart,’ and then left him, without saying a word more.”

“That was a dangerous joke.”

“No soldiers in the world have surpassed British officers in coolness, determination, and daring intrepidity.”

“When General Wolfe received his death-wound on the heights of Quebec, his principal care was that he should not be seen to fall. ‘Support me,’ said he to such as were near him; ‘let not my brave soldiers see me drop; the day is ours! Oh! keep it!’ And with these words he expired.”

“Poor Wolfe! He did not live, then, to enjoy the victory he had obtained.”

“No. Too often the conqueror falls in the same hour with those he has overcome. It was so with Sir Ralph Abercrombie, who received his death-wound in the moment of achieving a great victory at Alexandria, in Egypt. You have heard the name of Colonel Gardiner, no doubt. I will tell you of his latter end.”

“What a number of brave men must have fallen on the field of battle! Now for Colonel Gardiner.”

“The day before the battle of Preston Pans he rode through the ranks of his regiment, and addressed his men in the most respectful and animating manner. Perceiving a timidity in part of his troops, he determined to set them a spirited example. ‘I cannot,’ said he, ‘influence the conduct of others as I could wish, but I have one life to sacrifice to my country’s safety, and I shall not spare it.’ They continued under arms all night, and in the morning, by break of day, perceived the approach of the rebel army, under Prince Charles. The highlanders, though half-armed, charged with such impetuosity, that in less than ten minutes after the battle began the King’s troops were broken and totally routed. After Colonel Gardiner’s own regiment of dragoons had forsaken him, perceiving a party of the foot continuing to oppose the enemy, without an officer, he immediately headed them, though already twice wounded, exclaiming, ‘Fight on, my lads, and fear nothing.’ At the instant he was cut down by the scythe of a highlander, fastened to a long pole, and fell, covered with wounds.”

When the engagement was over Colonel Gardiner was pointed out to Charles, among those who had fallen in the field. The Pretender stooping over him, gently raised his head from the ground, and exclaimed, “Poor Gardiner, would to God I could restore thy life!”

“That is a sad account, however. Please to tell us about Major AndrÉ; we have been told that he was hung as a spy, many years ago.”

“He was; and this happened in America. It was a dangerous service that he entered on, and it cost him his life. Major AndrÉ has the credit of having been an able officer, and an amiable man. In the American war Arnold, a general officer, offered to turn traitor to his party, and give up the strong fortress of West-Point to the English. Major AndrÉ landed to arrange the affair with him, but the Vulture Sloop, in which he intended to return, was removed further along the Hudson River, being threatened by a battery, so the Major was compelled to venture by land to New York. He had a passport from Arnold, and set off on horseback, but when he had almost reached the English lines an American militiaman, who was patroling between the two armies, rushed from a thicket and seized his horse by the bridle.”

“Poor fellow! Then there was no hope for him.”

“Had the Major presented his passport, he might, perhaps, have been permitted to pass unquestioned; but, instead of that, he asked the patrol to which party he belonged. The man replied, ‘To the party down below.’ The Major, mistaking him for an Englishman, said, ‘And I also.’ This was a sad error, for two other patrols came up, and he was taken. In vain he offered them his watch and purse to let him escape, but they would not. He was tried by a court-martial, and sentenced to die.”

“It was a sad thing that he did not show them his passport.”

“It was; but we must look at the thing fairly. Had an American officer acted the same part towards the English, we should hardly have liked him to escape. The Major was a noble-minded man, for though taken himself, he did all in his power to save the life of the traitor, Arnold. The moment he knew that Arnold was safe he acknowledged himself to be a British officer.”

“Ay! he was a courageous officer.”

“When in prison he never complained; though he spoke tenderly of his mother and sisters, and recommended them to the kindness of Sir Henry Clinton, the British general. He had requested to be shot, that death being in accordance with military habits, but this was not granted. When at the place of execution he bandaged his eyes with a white pocket-handkerchief himself, and with his own hands placed the fatal cord round his neck. ‘I beg you not to forget,’ said he, ‘that I submit myself to my fate like a man of courage.’”

“There are very terrible things in war. We wish Major AndrÉ had not been hung.”

“Almost everybody has heard of the bravery of Sir Thomas Picton, who used to call the troops under his command, his ‘fighting rascals.’ General Picton, uncle to Sir Thomas, was Captain of the 12th grenadiers at the battle of Minden, in America, and when Sir Henry Clinton left the regiment for the 7th dragoons, in 1779, Picton was appointed in his place, by the express command of His Majesty George III. On the first levee held afterwards, the general attended to return thanks and kiss hands on the occasion, when the King said to him, ‘It is Captain Picton, of the 12th grenadiers, at the battle of Minden, that you have to thank for your regiment.’”

“Oh! oh! It was for his own bravery, then, that he was promoted.”

“Among the names of intrepid British officers, that of General Sir John Moore must not be passed by. He is remembered by many with a melancholy interest. When he was a colonel he commanded the party that stormed and took Fort Mozello, in the Isle of Corsica.”

“Corsica! That is the very place where Buonaparte was born!”

“It is. Well, daybreak was the time fixed upon for the attack, and as no alarm might be given to the garrison, the soldiers were ordered not to load: the place was, in short, to be taken at the point of the bayonet. Colonel Moore, with his intrepid companions, had not proceeded more than half-way when the enemy discovered their danger, and discharged a volley of grape-shot. On pressed the colonel at the head of his men, passing by the wounded, dying, and dead, and was entering the walls, when a bombshell bursting, struck him to the ground. Bleeding as he was profusely, he recovered himself, pressed on, and, in spite of the most obstinate resistance, compelled the enemy to surrender. Nothing but consummate skill and determined bravery could have successfully stormed such a fortress, well-provided as it was with stores, garrisoned by some of the best troops of France, and commanded by an able general. When General Stewart, who had dismounted from his horse to mount the breach, found the place in possession of the troops, he flung himself into the arms of Colonel Moore, the soldiers shouting at the time, and throwing up their hats for joy.”

“It was a wonder that bombshell did not kill him! But he was made a general, you say, after that. He lived to be made a general?”

“He did; but he died of the wounds he received afterwards, in Spain. You may have heard the following lines, written to his memory, but they will bear repeating, for they are very beautiful.

“They are beautiful lines indeed.”

“Lord Paget, now Marquess of Anglesey, must ever rank as one of the most intrepid of British officers. One or two instances of his bravery I must give you; but I might go on for an hour to describe the various actions, in which from time to time he distinguished himself. He seems to have thought nothing of danger, for he entered on the most daring enterprizes with confidence of success.”

“Now then, for the bravery of Lord Paget!”

“In the narrative of Sir John Moore’s campaign is given the following account of a charge made on the French imperial guards, who were thought to be almost invincible, by Lord Paget and the 10th hussars. At nine o’clock A. M. five hundred or six hundred of the imperial guard plunged into the river and crossed over; they were immediately opposed by the pickets under Colonel Otway, which, when united, amounted only to two hundred and twenty men. They retired slowly before the enemy, bravely disputing every inch of ground; and upon the pickets being reinforced by a small body of the 3rd dragoons, they charged with so much fury that the first squadron broke through, and was for a time surrounded by the enemy; wheeling up, they extricated themselves by charging back through the enemy. Lord Paget soon reached the field with the 10th hussars; and having drawn the French from the river, he charged the whole body; but before the British could close the chasseurs wheeled about, and fled to the ford, leaving on the field fifty-five killed and wounded, and seventy prisoners; among whom was General Lefebre. The imperial guards showed themselves much superior to any cavalry which the British had before engaged; they fought gallantly, and killed or wounded near fifty of our dragoons. It has been said, that, next to the Duke of Wellington, no man contributed more to the success of the battle of Waterloo than the Marquess of Anglesey, who has been styled the ‘first cavalry officer in the world.’ By his gallantry and dash, he excited the admiration and kindled the spirit of his troops! Twice had the marquess, then Earl of Uxbridge, led the guards to the charge, cheering them with the cry of, ‘Now for the honour of the household troops,’ when three heavy masses of the enemy’s infantry advanced, supported by artillery and a numerous body of cuirassiers. The Belgians fled; the Highland brigade received the shock. The moment was critical; the Earl of Uxbridge galloped up to the second brigade, which received him with a cheer. The three regiments presented a front of about thirteen hundred men; he placed himself at their head, and made one of the most rapid and destructive charges ever witnessed. The division they attacked consisted of more than nine thousand men; only about a thousand of these escaped, under cover of the cuirassiers; for of the remainder three thousand were made prisoners, and five thousand slain. One of the last shots that were fired struck him on the knee, and thereby occasioned the loss of his leg.”

“The first cavalry officer in the world! That is saying a great deal indeed for him.”

“Sir John Elley led on the life-guards, the Blues, and the Scotch-greys, with tremendous effect. When surrounded by cuirassiers, he cut his way through them, leaving many of his assailants on the ground.”

“It would be a hard matter to decide which was the bravest among so many brave.”

“I should have told you before of Colonel Colborne, afterwards Sir John Colborne, commander-in-chief in Canada. When he commanded the second brigade of rifles at the storming the heights of Beira in Portugal in 1813, he charged the enemy, who fled to the mountains. It was an odd circumstance, but so it occurred, that pushing on round a hill, with only his brigade-major and a few riflemen—for he had shot ahead of the rest of the troops—to his great surprise, he found that he had got before three hundred retreating Frenchmen.”

“Poor Colonel Colborne! Then, he was taken prisoner by the enemy he had beaten?”

“Not exactly so. Many a brave man would in such a case have surrendered, and without dishonour too, but the colonel was too gallant an officer to think for a moment of such a course—whispering to his brigade-major to get as many men together as he could directly, he boldly rode up to the French commander and demanded his sword. The commander, not doubting but he was outnumbered, surrendered; and thus some half-dozen gallant Englishmen captured three hundred Frenchmen!”

“Well! that was as brave an action as we have heard of yet.”

“I might go on to speak of Colonel Ponsonby, General Baird, Sir Thomas Picton, Sir James Macdonnel, Lord Edward Somerset, Sir Henry Hardinge, Sir Colin Campbell, Colonel (general in Spain) Evans, and fifty others; but the longest story must have an end. Let me, therefore, hasten on to speak a word or two on the military exploits of the present commander-in-chief of the British army, who can scarcely be second to any in the extent and success of his military services. The manner in which, as a general of division, he received and repulsed the enemy at Talavera stamped his reputation as a soldier. His surprise of Girard at Arrayo de Molinas was a splendid affair. General Brune, and the Duke d’Aremberg, a colonel of chasseurs, and chief of the staff, with fifteen hundred prisoners, fell into the hands of the British. The destruction of the bridge of boats at Almanez, by which Marshal Marmont had secured the passage of the Tagus, was equally remarkable for judgment in the plan, and promptitude and bravery in its execution; while his repulse of Marshal Soult, who fell upon him with double the number of his troops, upon the Nive, in the battle of the 13th of December 1813, was the crowning enterprise of his military service. ‘Hill, the day’s your own,’ said the Duke of Wellington frankly and generously, when he came up after the battle. Coolness, promptitude, courage, good tactics, and success have marked the brilliant career of Lord Hill.”

“General Lord Hill has not been made commander-in-chief for nothing.”

“No! He has seen as much service as most men. I will read you, from the ‘United Service Journal,’ a most extraordinary anecdote, and one that will much interest you.

“In that brilliant scene of the great Peninsular drama, enacted on the hills of the Arrepiles, now nineteen years ago, I performed the humble part of assistant-surgeon in the —— regiment of foot. Like all military men, I was anxious for promotion, and had been long trying, through every interest I could move, to obtain a staff-surgeoncy in the Portuguese army,—an appointment then open to officers of my rank. My exertions, however, had proved fruitless, and I had almost given up the pursuit.

“It was near sunset. The opposing armies were in fierce collision; and as detached masses from either side rushed forward to occupy the various vantage-grounds of the position, the two lines seemed to mingle, yet for a moment, to repel each other, like meeting torrents. A long and twisted stream of grey curling smoke marked the indentations of the combat, whilst the sharp continuous tearing of the musketry, and the deep interrupted roar of the cannon, formed an awful concert.

“The surgeon of my regiment and myself had held a little council-of-war in the rear of our division, then moving into the fight; and it was settled, by mutual consent, that he should remain where he then was, with the main body, and reserve of our Æsculapian stores, to receive the more serious cases from the front, whilst I was to keep close in with the regiment, to afford the premiers secours to our wounded comrades before they passed to the rear. I happened to be tolerably well mounted. En croupe, I carried a pair of capacious alforges, or Spanish saddle-bags, containing, on one side a plentiful supply of the minor apparatus of surgery, and on the other such ‘provent’ as Captain Dougald Dalgetty would have laid in for a like occasion. Suspended to my saddle-bow was a borachio, or leathern bag, of country wine. Thus accoutred, I rode on with my regiment.

“We had just turned a rising ground, and had come into near view of the lesser Arrepiles, which was still crowned by a strong body of French infantry. A Portuguese brigade was in the act of storming the hill as we came up, and were gallantly mounting its side; but that most commanding point of the adverse position was quite as gallantly defended by the enemy, who as yet maintained their ground on its crest. A division of the Portuguese army, led on by Sir William Carr Beresford in person, was closely engaged at its base, nobly rivalling the feats in arms of their British allies.

“As we pressed on towards this interesting scene, a mounted officer, in Portuguese staff-uniform, galloped towards us from the front, shouting at the top of his voice, ‘A surgeon! a surgeon! a British surgeon!’ In an instant I was at his side, and recognised him to be Colonel Warre, one of the marshal’s aides-de-camp. ‘Follow me,’ were the only words pronounced by him, as he wheeled round his charger, and again spurred him towards the line of fire.

“After a few minutes’ gallop we drew up at a covered waggon, to which the colonel pointed with eagerness as he dismounted. I had already drawn the curtains of the vehicle aside, and perceived that it contained two persons; one in the uniform of a sergeant, the other I immediately recognised as the marshal himself. He was lying on his back, dressed in a blue frock-coat and white waistcoat. Just below the left breast was a star of blood, bright and defined as a star of knighthood. It was about the size of that chivalrous decoration, and occupied the exact spot where it is usually fixed. There was a small rent in its centre, black and round. The eyes were half closed; the countenance in perfect repose, perhaps a little paler than when I had last seen it.

“The situation of the wound, just over the fountain of life; the stillness of the wounded general; the appearance of his companion, whose lower limbs were literally mashed; the commander-in-chief and the non-commissioned officer laid side by side, silent, motionless, and bloody—all struck me at the moment as a prelude to the equality of the grave. I asked no questions, for I had come to the conclusion that there might be no tongue to move in answer. In an instant the marshal’s dress was torn open, and my forefinger, that best of probes, was deep in his side. Not a muscle moved, not a sound was uttered. I felt the rib, smooth and resisting below, whilst the track of the bullet led downwards and backwards, round the convexity of his ample chest. I now spoke for the first time since I had entered the waggon, and said, ‘General, your wound is not mortal.’ This observation of mine, which I made quite sure could not fail to be particularly interesting to my patient, seemed to have been heard with perfect indifference, for without taking the slightest notice of the very agreeable intelligence I had just communicated, he looked up and asked, ‘How does the day go?’ ‘Well,’ said I: ‘the enemy has begun to give way.’ ‘Hah!’ rejoined the marshal, ‘it has been a bloody day!’

“During this brief conversation I had traced the course of the ball by a reddish wheal, which marked its trajet, and I felt the missile itself deeply lodged in the flesh of the left loin. The preliminaries for cutting out were arranged in a moment, and the marshal had turned on his right side, when the wounded sergeant, having by this time, as I suppose, discovered my trade, began most lustily to call upon ‘Nossa senhora,’ and the doctor, in the same breath. I requested of him, in his own language, to be silent, telling him at the same time, that his general was lying wounded by his side. Upon this the marshal turned round his head, and with a reproving look said to me, ‘Sir, if that poor fellow’s wounds require dressing more than mine, dress him first.’ Both the words and the manner in which they were spoken made a strong impression on me at the time,—and impressions stamped on the field of battle are not easily erased. I assured his Excellency that nothing but amputation could be of any service to the sergeant, and that I had not the necessary instruments by me for such an operation.

“All parties were again silent, and I proceeded to cut out the bullet. My knife was already buried in the flesh, its point grating against the lead, when the marshal, feeling that I had ceased to cut, and calculating, perhaps that my steadiness as an operator might be influenced by the rank of my patient, again turned round, and with as much sangfroid as if he had been merely a spectator, said, in an encouraging tone, ‘Cut boldly, doctor; I never fainted in my life.’ Almost at the same instant I placed the bullet in his hand.

“When the wounds had been bound up, the patient demanded what steps he should next adopt. To this I replied, that it would be prudent to have himself bled after some hours. ‘But who is to bleed me?’ quickly rejoined the marshal. I was in some measure prepared for this question, and had already determined on the course I should follow.

“From the moment I had recognised the commander-in-chief of the Portuguese army lying wounded in a waggon, close in with the enemy, and had ascertained that his wound was not necessarily mortal, I saw that my being on the spot at such a moment might lead to my promotion. A fair, unimpeachable opportunity of tendering fresh services to him on whom the accomplishment of my ambition seemed to depend, was now afforded me. But such is the influence of an unflinching, unaffected firmness of character in a chief over those below him, and such the impression left on my mind by what I had just witnessed, that I felt convinced I should establish a higher place in the marshal’s good opinion by remaining in the fight than by volunteering to leave it, even for the purpose of attending to his wound. I therefore respectfully submitted to his Excellency, that my regiment was then probably in action; that I should be sorry to be out of the way when my friends and comrades might need my assistance, and that I hoped he would be kind enough to permit me to join them. ‘Most certainly,’ was the reply.

“I saw no more of the marshal for many weeks; and when I had the honour of being again presented, I found him very ill, suffering much from inflammation in his side, and a profuse discharge from his wounds, kept up, as was afterwards discovered, by some portions of woollen cloth, which the bullet had carried forward from the breast of his coat through the loose folds of which the missile had passed before it entered the flesh.

“In quitting the marshal on the field, under the circumstances, and with impressions I have just described, I followed the course most consonant to my feelings, my sense of duty, and even my views of my own interest at the time. Whether I judged rightly upon the latter point or not, certain it is, that when I appeared in the next great battle-scene at Vittoria, the following year, I had already, for some months, filled the station of staff-surgeon in the Portuguese army.”