  —— tristesque ex Æthere DirÆ, Et sciss gaudens vadit Discordia palla, Quam cum sanguineo sequitur Bellona flagello. Virgil. On the 20th of July, 1809, about seven o'clock in the morning, I started from Gracechurch-street on the box of a stage coach, for Deal, where I was to join my regiment (from which I had been six weeks absent), and to proceed with it upon the “secret expedition.” I took with me one good-sized trunk, pretty well stocked, and a cocked-hat case, which contained its proper lodger, one epaulette, two feathers, two black silk handkerchiefs, two pairs of white leather gloves, hat and hair brushes. This case and its contents I lost; and, for the sake of all young officers who may hereafter travel by coach, as well as by way of a hint to stagecoach owners to be more careful, I mention the matter. The articles were left behind in changing coaches at Canterbury, by mistake, as Coachee said; but neither personal application at the coach-office, nor epistolary remonstrance with the proprietors, could obtain for me a proper consideration of my case, and, like one in Chancery, there it remains. A more delightful day never shone, and a more bustling time the Deal and Dover road never knew; it was crowded like a fair along the whole of the way. All appeared to have been put into commotion by the “expedition;” and from the number of tars, soldiers, and their never-neglected or forgotten associates, who thronged the road, mounted and otherwise, it may be easily imagined that there was nothing like dulness to be either seen or felt. I arrived at the Crown Inn at Deal about dusk, where I found some of my brother-officers just set up; for they had returned on shore after having embarked that day. To get a bed was out of the question, either in the house at which I stopped, or any other in the town; for every hole and corner, crack and cranny, was crammed. My friends, consisting of five as jolly subs as ever looked out for a company, and myself, sat down in the coffee-room, and there we “kept it up” until three o'clock A.M.; when, stretching ourselves at full length upon the carpet, in company with about two dozen more, we slept until half-past nine o'clock, and arose as refreshed as if we had reposed all night upon a bed of down. The afternoon of that day I spent in providing those little articles which were pointed out to me as necessary by an old campaigner,—one of Sir John Moore's; and having done this, as well as replaced what I had lost at Canterbury, I went with my companions on board the vessel wherein were our head-quarters,—a transport: here I dined, and felt myself once more at home. I really felt it was my home; for I thought then, and think now, that the home of every officer ought to be the place where his regiment is. We had an excellent mess, and our sea-stock was worthy of the approbation of the Commander-in-Chief himself—every thing was fresh, good, and strong. We lived on board, expecting every day to sail; but occasionally visited the town, any thing like the bustle of which I never beheld: a most soul-thrilling and interesting scene there presented itself at all hours of the day; myriads of splendid uniforms—military and naval, lovely women, money flying, trade in full motion, faces all smiles, and the weather all beauty,—glasses, cups, and bottles, savoury odours, and harmonious sounds,—every thing alive and on tiptoe with delight! The fine yellow beach stretching along before the houses, within twenty yards of which were its waves foaming brightly, and slowly rolling! the wide and majestic expanse of the Downs literally covered with ships, about which boats were constantly crowding; signals passing through the fleet; the sound of occasional guns; the constant arrival of vessels to join the divisions; the bands of music in the ships and in the boats on the waters!—all made such an impression on the senses, as may not be renewed once in a century. On the 27th, the Blue-Peter was flying, and next morning, at half past ten o'clock, the signal was made for the sailing of the third division of the fleet, to which our regiment belonged. The anchors were soon weighed, and with a light breeze we set sail from the Downs, for the “unknown land.” As I had settled all my sentimental matters before I left London, (for which the post is my debtor some odd pounds,) I had nothing to restrain my mind from the enjoyment of the scene before me; and perhaps the thought that I was now quitting those I held dear as life, might have added to the interest with which I contemplated it. The land lessening into blue mist; the ocean expanded to my view, not in a solitary ship, but in the midst of moving cities; hundreds on hundreds of vessels, holding on in the same steady course together, with the warlike crowd visible on the decks of all; when contemplated in the mass, the whole North Sea seemed like a forest! It was a scene sublime and magnificent beyond description. We had no bad weather; a fine light breeze favoured us during the whole of our voyage; and at night it was not the least delightful of our pleasures, to listen to the glees of the German riflemen who sailed in our division; they were at once harmonious and characteristic, and gave a charm to the scene which kept many a hundred listeners awake. It has often been a matter of annoyance to me, to think that the peasantry of Great Britain alone are the only people in Europe who cannot sing in harmony; the lower orders of every other country are qualified to take a part in a glee. Amongst my countrymen, I have heard even an harmonious second condemned as “not in tune,” or “putting the singer out!” Of late years, however, the nature of harmony has been more comprehended—no doubt, arising from the practice of singing psalms;—if so, this is one good thing that may be set down to the credit of “the saints.” On the 29th we came in sight of the low sandy shores of Zealand, and on the 30th we anchored within about two miles of Campveer, having safely explored a most dangerous gut or branch of the Scheldt, every ship sounding as she proceeded; while “By the Mark Seven” was melodiously sung by the crews of the various vessels! A calm and sunny day added much to the effect of the scene. The troops were now landed, our baggage remaining on board, and General Frazer, under whose command our regiment was, proceeded to attack Campveer. A small battery in our way was abandoned, and the enemy hotly followed to the gates of the town. So sudden was the panic, that Colonel Pack, with his regiment (the 71st), pursued them even beyond the first drawbridge, and was proceeding to attempt to take the town by assault, when two six-pounders were brought to bear by the enemy in front of him, which cleared a lane through our men, killing eighteen and wounding twenty-six: among the former were an ensign and an assistant-surgeon. The latter's head was completely blown to atoms. It has been thought by many, that the French left the drawbridge down on purpose to lead their assailants into a trap; and this opinion is strengthened by the trickery which is well known to prevail throughout the French mode of warfare. Colonel Pack very narrowly escaped being taken prisoner; in fact, he may be said to have been a prisoner, for a few moments after his regiment retired in confusion: he escaped, however, by cutting down the French soldier who took him. Campveer is an inconsiderable fortress, and was then garrisoned with not more than 400 men; therefore it could not have been supposed to stand long against such a force as we were capable of bringing before it. The fact was soon proved: one day's cannonade and bombardment from our gunboats silenced their batteries, and the garrison capitulated. The damage done to the town was not very considerable; there were, however, some lamentable proofs of the power of shot and shell left upon the walls, windows, and roofs of the houses. Few people had remained in the town on our approach, therefore few if any of the inhabitants' lives were lost, and only a very few of the French were either killed or wounded. They sunk one of our best and most destructive gun boats by a shot from the batteries, but otherwise they did very little injury to our naval force. The main body of the army immediately advanced on Middleburg, the capital of the island, about four miles from Campveer; but although this city is fortified, it could not be held by the enemy, in consequence of the impossibility of their gaining supplies from Flushing, which was at the other extremity of the island, and opened upon the broad Scheldt. The latter was therefore considered a more secure and tenable fortification. For this reason, the French forces moved on from Middleburg, along the high road, closely pursued by our troops, but fighting every yard of the way, taking special care never to wait for the points of our lads' bayonets, which were within a very critical distance of their rear. The French, in thus retreating, would run for about two hundred yards; then rapidly rally and deliberately wait until the “crabs,” as they called us, were close enough; then would they give us a volley—not, however, without our hearty return of the compliment; when they would immediately scamper off through open files of their own men, who were ready to form up and pour in their shot, while the others were in turn retreating, forming, and loading. This plan was very effectual; for the French in the pursuit lost scarcely any men, while we had a church and a large house full of wounded, besides several killed. In this way were the enemy followed up and driven into the very gates of Flushing: and such was the panic which seized the garrison of that town, that the 14th and the 82nd regiments, it is supposed, had they attempted it, would have carried the place by assault. They drove their bayonets against the walls of the fortress, yet retired without the loss of a single man, although close under the range of the heavy guns from the ramparts. The whole of the troops landed in the island of Walcheren, amounting to about eighteen thousand men, all infantry (for no part of the cavalry was yet disembarked), now invested Flushing, leaving a small garrison at Middleburg and Campveer; and preparations were immediately commenced for the siege. A finer, a healthier, and a more gallant army than our's never took the field; and it is only to be regretted that it was not employed upon a service where it could have been more advantageous to its country. The other portion of the forces, about 20,000 men under the command of Sir John Hope, were landed on South Beveland, from which place they were sent back to England, without accomplishing any thing—or rather, without having had any thing to accomplish, for the enemy retreated on their approach, and left them in possession of the island. Our lines before Flushing were about half a mile from the walls, extending back about another quarter of a mile, and all within the imaginary semicircle which may be traced from the two sides of the town, drawing the line by West Zuburg, a neat little village nearly a mile from Flushing. Our centre was commanded by Generals Houston and Stewart; our right by General Graham, under whom were acting General Auckland and General Leith; our left by Generals Picton and Rottenburg, the latter of whom, however, was appointed to the more easy duty of officiating as military commandant of Middleburg: his infirm state of health and advanced age rendered this a very proper arrangement. Sir Eyre Coote, our second in command, took up his station at West Zuburg, close to the lines, and Lord Chatham remained at Middleburg. The Marquis of Anglesea, then Lord Paget, finding that ship-board was no field for a General of Cavalry, took up his quarters at West Zuburg, in a merchant's country-house, as a mere visitor of the operating army. There was a sort of irregular or guerilla force attached to the besieging army, consisting of about 500 jolly Jack-tars, under the command of Lord A. Beauclerk, formed by detachments from each man-of-war employed in the service; and these were by no means “fish out of water,” for they assisted mainly in dragging up the heavy artillery, as well as in skirmishing in front of our lines. The country which our army occupied was extremely bushy and luxuriant, though without tall trees, and quite flat; it was interspersed with numerous beautiful gardens, meadows, &c.; and in the height of a very fine summer, as this was, none could wander through it undelighted. As no distant views could possibly occur in such walks, the eye was constantly receiving an interesting change of objects,—now a beautifully displayed garden, where fruit and flowers were profusely growing; a step or two brought the wanderer to a green alley, adorned with classical statues, and intersected with walks bordered by flowers, and perhaps, on turning into one of them, a fish-pond became visible, overshadowed by willows and cypress, and surrounded with dwarf trees and heavy foliage; in the centre, an artificial cascade, and moored at the side, a little boat, beautifully rigged. On leaving this, perhaps a meadow presented itself, with a ripening crop of grass hedged closely round—perhaps trodden down by our soldiers, who were bivouacking there, or in the adjoining field—then a brushwood, and then again a dyke, overhung by long rushes and grass. These objects, in varied succession, covered the greater part of the land about West Zuburg and the road to and from thence to Flushing. In this part I was quartered, and I have walked for hours, without finding a spot that would form an exception to the above description. It was the happiest time of my life—young as I was, (little more than nineteen,) with a mind as elastic as the air, and romantic to enthusiasm; placed for the first time in my life in the centre of the field destined for the fight, and that field so beautiful by nature and by art—so covered by foliage and green swards, and so diversified by the bivouack and the battery; the guns from the besieged town every minute or two shaking the atmosphere, and the rifles of the skirmishers in irregular reports, startling the ear—these, with a consciousness that I was a part of the machine of war, gave an interest to every thing around me which I had never felt before, and which I cannot now recall without delight. The first day we appeared before Flushing, and the following we were entirely employed in guarding against surprise; we were constantly under arms, and could only regale ourselves with what we chanced to have brought with us. However, rations were soon delivered out to us, and with the help of sods and green bushes, grass, &c. we constructed huts, which, with an old barn, helped us to make ourselves feel quite “at home.” This was on the 1st and 2nd of August, from which time, until the bombardment commenced (the 13th), we had little to do but to work at the batteries and trenches; and to let ourselves be shot at and shelled at by the town; with the exception, indeed, of one evening's sharp work, when the garrison made a sortie upon us. This, while it lasted, was a tough contest, and although at least 20,000 men sallied out from the town, as much intent on mischief as men well could be, they were forced to retire in double-quick time, after about an hour's hard work, with nothing but their labour and their loss for their pains. It was, I think, on the 6th of August, that the sortie was made, and from the gate which opened on the main road to Middleburg. A few of my brother officers and I had been smoking cigars, and moistening our lips with a little Hollands and water, in an almost roofless cottage, and, I recollect, we were talking of the very fortunate escape which one of our officers, then present, had had about three hours before, from a shell which had fallen scarcely a foot from him, and laughing at the manner in which he had run away from the ignited globe of destruction, when we heard a volley of musketry apparently not more than a quarter of a mile away, and in a moment the orderly sergeant brought us instructions to “turn out” forthwith. The regiment was under arms and upon the main road in a few minutes, when we perceived a body of our troops falling back, while the French were yelling as if in triumph, their voices only drowned by the loud discharges of musketry from both sides. It was almost dark, but the twilight was sufficient for us to discover a little disorder in the regiment before us. Our lads muttered to each other as they advanced at a rapid pace, “Oh! by J——s we'll soon stop yiz!”—“Wait 'till we come at you, you beggars!” &c. and such from every part of the ranks were not the most unpleasant sounds I ever heard,—my heart swelled with exultation when I heard the men, and witnessed their manly courage. “Steady, my lads—silence till you fire—wait, my lads—steady,” passed from the Colonel, as we pushed on, and in a few minutes the regiment before us opened. The grenadier company, stout and steady fellows, formed in line as quick as lightning, pouring a thundering volley into the column of the enemy which was approaching, and the word “Charge!” sent us off like rockets. Our line hurried on with a simultaneous shout, and every bayonet met its bloody sheath in a moment. We were supported by the remainder of the regiment, and for several minutes were mixed together, both French and English, tugging at each other fiercely. Our fellows absolutely turned their muskets, and butted and smashed them down, as if dissatisfied with the more silent, but more effective execution of the bayonet. The scene was one of complete confusion; many of our own men were wounded by their comrades' balls from behind, as the surgeon afterwards declared, on comparing them, as they were extracted—he distinguished the British bullets by their greater size in relation to those of the French. The enemy, encouraged by their officers, rallied and fired several times boldly, but were again and again repulsed. The 51st and the 95th on our side attacked from a field, and assisted mainly in deciding the affair. The firing by degrees became less and less, and when our troops had completely chased the French back to their strong hold, they were ordered to return. So ended the sortie of the 6th of August. In returning to our huts we overtook, amongst several of the wounded, Lieutenant R——, of our's, my most intimate friend and companion; he was carried by four of our men, and was on his way to the hospital at West Zuburg. His altered voice, when he called to me, foreboded melancholy consequences. He had been shot in the side by one of the last bullets that the enemy discharged, after having done his duty gallantly, and was in the act of giving them a farewell shout and a farewell volley. As soon as the regiment halted, he was surrounded by his brother officers, and the Colonel particularly attended to him. My friend begged that I might be allowed to accompany him to the hospital, and remain with him during the night, which was readily permitted, and, with a sad farewell from all his brother officers, he was borne along in a blanket. I walked beside him, administering every attention in my power; and in about ten minutes we arrived at the church of West Zuburg, which was appropriated for the field-hospital. My friend was laid down upon some hay, shaken together upon a tombstone in the church. His side was immediately examined by the medical officers on duty, and he was bled; after which his wound was dressed, and a sheet was thrown over him; for, as the weather was very hot, the surgeon would not allow more covering. He did not appear to be in much pain, but felt very much exhausted, and, with his hand holding mine, he fell into a slumber. I sat beside him all the night, wetting his lips whenever he awoke, which, however, was not very often, with what had been delivered to me by the surgeon;—and such a night!—there scarcely passed an interval of five minutes between the arrival of one unfortunate fellow or another, who had been wounded in the sortie; and three surgeons were employed constantly from twelve o'clock until five in dressing their wounds. Brave fellows! had those who at home are inclined to look contemptuously on the soldier—had they but passed that night in that church, how differently would they feel towards the men whose sufferings so well entitle them to sympathy! In the morning the hospital was crowded with the wounded; the whole of the floor—pews, and all, filled with groaning sufferers, principally shot in the legs, and not a single bayonet-wound amongst them; which showed that in the contest the enemy kept at full musket's length from them, except when they could not help it; and no doubt their hospital proved on the same morning that they pretty often were obliged to be within a shorter distance of the British soldiers. It was twelve o'clock next day before proper quarters could be procured for my wounded friend; and about an hour before we removed him from the hospital, Lord Paget, Captain Paget of “the Revenge,” and Captain Richardson of “the CÆsar,” came in to visit the wounded. My friend was lying upon one side, apparently asleep, after having taken a cup of tea. These officers made the kindest inquiries after, not only him, but every man who seemed to be severely wounded. Next to my poor friend lay a man who had been shot through the body two days before; he was sitting up, or rather propped up by pads or pillows, and suffered, to all appearances, excessively from difficulty of breathing,—I suppose from being shot through the lungs. Captain Richardson recognized him as a man who came to Walcheren on board of his own ship, and spoke to him in the most tender-hearted manner. “Poor fellow!” said the Captain, “he has a wife and five small children, God help him!” and the manly weather-beaten cheek of the sailor felt the purest tear upon it that sensibility ever shed. He strove to restrain his feelings, and turned aside. The poor wounded soldier wept loudly as he cried “God bless your honour!” and those who were present joined in his feelings. Captain Richardson was, from appearance, the last man in the world, I should have thought, to have been capable of the “melting mood,” for he was a brawny stern son of the sea; however, the feeling heart was there; and never did it appear more evidently than in the behaviour of that rough sailor. I am convinced that the last moments of the poor soldier (who very soon after died) were softened by his tenderness. Lord Paget and his brother did honour to their feelings also, in the kindness and solicitude they manifested for the sad sufferers; indeed, his Lordship (I understood from one of the surgeons after the siege was over) visited the hospital several times a-day, divested of all the “pomp and circumstance” of his rank, and used to go from bed to bed, making the kindest inquiries about the men. Here, too, appearances would have deceived as much as with Captain Richardson, but in a different way; Lord Paget was a perfect military beau, bedecked with all the gaudery of a cavalry general, still farther set off by the oak branch waving gracefully in his chapeau, the very picture of military splendour; yet the feeling heart was shown in him as well as in the rough sailor: indeed his Lordship's subsequent conduct at Waterloo proves that the best qualities of the soldier may glow beneath feathers and embroidery. Truly, now-a-days it does not appear necessary that a good soldier must be dressed, like Charles the XIIth, in greased jack-boots and buckskin breeches; for it is generally reported in the army, that the Duke of Wellington has been heard to say, that “his dressy officers were his best soldiers.” My wounded friend was now removed to a house in the village, where there was not a being but an old woman, and a little boy of about nine years old, whose name (Yacob) was as quaint as his dress—a fac-simile of the costume of Queen Anne's time—knee-buckles, shoe-buckles, tight cravat, and a three-cornered “pinch,”—his lips holding a short tobacco-pipe, which he smoked by command of the old woman whenever he went out of doors. These two denizens of the cottage had only returned to West Zuburg that morning with a few other inhabitants. They were of great use in attending upon my friend; and to do the old woman justice, she behaved with great humanity, notwithstanding the irritable state of her mind, owing to the presence of the army in her village. She was very obliging except whenever her china basons or plates were touched, and then she lost her temper; for like Goldsmith's tea-cups, they were only ranged for show. I continued with my friend for two days, during which time the poor fellow talked almost incessantly of his father, and felt every apprehension of death: alas! this was but too well-founded; for after giving me his watch and other little articles of value for his parent, he closed his eyes for ever. The last duties were performed next day over his body and that of a German rifle officer, who was killed the day before. The officers of their respective regiments attended, and in plain deal coffins we consigned to the earth the bodies of two as fine young men as any in the army. It was a melancholy scene; yet there was a stern terror in the circumstances around, which kept the mind from indulging in weakness. There was no tear shed, and few words were spoken. The melancholy drum, mingled with frequent sounds of cannon from the town, was the dirge; and the deserted village through which the procession moved, with the warlike figures composing it, imparted feelings indescribable, and only to be understood by those who have been in similar circumstances. The sense of death and desolation, together with the peal of the cannon, wrought their combined effects on the faces of all; and I firmly believe, that had the officers and men, composing the mournful procession, their choice of immediate battle or undisputed victory, they would have taken the former. Woe to the foe who should have dared to encounter them at that moment! The enemy continued to annoy the British lines during the whole of the time we lay before the town (twelve or thirteen days) previous to the bombardment. Their riflemen were constantly creeping in front, behind low walls and fences, to pick out an odd man from our working-parties, and our German riflemen played at “hide and seek” with them wherever they could. The guns and mortars from the town, too, were ever and anon employed upon any party, or even a single man, at whom they could be brought to bear. The shells were also thrown amongst the huts or houses in which the enemy supposed any of our men might be, so that we were obliged to be constantly on the look-out, to avoid them when they fell. As instances of the precision with which they, as well as the shot, were thrown, I will mention two cases; one relating to Major Thompson, of the 68th, and the other to Mr. Cheselden, assistant-surgeon of the 81st. The former had moved out from behind the cover of a hedge, to direct some of his men, who were employed in working; he had not been thus exposed two minutes, when a shell was thrown close to him, and exploded, shattering his right arm below the elbow. This officer, on having the limb amputated, appeared to suffer no more than if the surgeon had been merely bleeding him; he looked steadily at the movements of the knife, occasionally directing the assistants to bring water, sponge, &c. &c. The other instance was this: Mr. Cheselden, in company with an officer of the Quartermaster General's staff and another, was amusing himself in looking over the lines. They had stopped upon a rising part of the road to talk with an orderly man and a drummer, who stood near. In a few moments a gun from the town was levelled at them, and the shot struck the earth close by, passing through the group, knocking them all down, and almost covering them with fragments of earth and sand. Worse consequences, however, followed: Mr. Cheselden's thigh was shattered, and the orderly man killed; the others received no injury except the discoloration of their clothes. The assistant surgeon's thigh was immediately amputated. The annoyance from the enemy's rifles was a good deal lessened by the brigade of sailors. These extraordinary fellows delighted in hunting the “Munseers,” as they termed the French; and a more formidable pack never was unkennelled. Armed, each with an immense long pole or pike, a cutlass, and a pistol, they appeared to be a sort of force that, in case of a sortie, or where execution was to be done in the way of storming, would have been as destructive as a thousand hungry tigers: as it was, they annoyed the French skirmishers in all directions, by their irregular and extraordinary attacks. They usually went out in parties, as if they were going to hunt a wild beast, and no huntsman ever followed the chase with more delight. The French might fairly exclaim with the frogs in the fable—“Ah! Monsieur Bull, what is sport to you, is death to us.” Regularly every day after their mess (for they messed generally on a green in the Village of East Zuburg) they would start off to their “hunt,” as they called it, in parties headed by a petty officer. Then they would leap the dykes, which their poles enabled them to do, and dash through those which they could not otherwise cross; they were like a set of Newfoundland dogs in the marshes, and when they spied a few riflemen of the French, they ran at them helter-skelter: then pistol, cutlass, and pike, went to work in downright earnest. The French soldiers did not at all relish the tars—and no wonder; for the very appearance of them was terrific, and quite out of the usual order of things. Each man seemed a sort of Paul Jones—tarred, belted, and cutlassed as they were. Had we had occasion to storm Flushing, I have no doubt that they would have carried the breach themselves. The scenes which their eccentricities every hour presented, were worthy of the pencil of Hogarth. Among the most humorous of these, were their drills, musters, and marchings, or as they generally called such proceedings, “playing at soldiers.” All that their officers did, had no effect in keeping either silence or regularity; those officers, however, were “part and parcel of the same material as the Jacks themselves, and as able to go through the pipe-clay regularity of rank and file, as to deliver a sermon on the immortality of the soul.” But the fact is, they were not either expected or intended to be regular troops, and their drills were merely adopted to teach them to keep together in line when marching from one place to another; so that they might not go about the country after the manner of a troop of donkeys. These marches and drills afforded the highest degree of amusement, both to soldiers and officers; the disproportion in the sizes of the men—the front rank man, perhaps, four feet one, while the rear rank man, was six feet two; the giving of the word from the “middy,” always accompanied by a “G—— d——n;” the gibes and jeers of the men themselves. “Heads up, you beggar of Corpolar there,” a little slang-going Jack would cry out from the rear-rank, well knowing that his size secured him from the observation of the officer. Then perhaps the man immediately before him, to show his sense of decorum, would turn round and remark: “I say, who made you a fugle man, master Billy? can't ye behave like a sodger afore the commander, eh?” Then from another part of the squad, a stentorian roar would arise, with “I'll not stand this, if I do, bl——t me; here's this here bl——y Murphy stickin' a sword into my starn.” Then perhaps the middy Lord Chatham generally visited the lines every alternate day, attended by his staff and a few general officers, but he seldom remained long with us, and returned to his quarters at Middleburg. The more detailed duties were left to Sir Eyre Coote, who was extremely active during the whole time of the siege. Some amateurs also came occasionally from Middleburg, and we began in a few days to feel a little more comfort; for various pedlars ventured amongst us with different commodities, which greatly ameliorated our situation. The villages of East and West Zuburg became like a fair, with this exception, that the houses were deserted by their inhabitants and occupied by military officers. One of the civilian visitors had a very narrow escape in one of his walks, for in the midst of his contemplation of a statue in the garden attached to Sir Eyre Coote's quarters, a cannon-ball struck the marble, and threw the fragments about him. He soon decamped, and I will venture to assert, that he kept at a more respectful distance from the scene of operations ever after. Except an attempt to drown us all by opening the sluices, which failed, nothing very particular occurred after the sortie, until the bombardment. This threatened flood alarmed every body for a short time, but several of the principal inhabitants came from Middleburg to examine the state of the sluices, &c. and gave it as their opinion that the utmost extent of the threatened mischief could amount only to annoyance from the water, as they had it in their power to counteract its effects by means of their sluices and canals at Middleburg. By the 11th, the heavy cannon had been all brought up to the lines, principally dragged by sailors, and on the 13th (Sunday) at one o'clock all our batteries were ready to open. Every gun was manned, and the matches lighted, while a deathlike silence pervaded the air, not a breath stirred, and the sun was broadly shining, when the signal was given, and a hundred metal mouths opened upon the devoted town. The peal was like a thousand thunder claps: it shook every thing around, and gave to every heart an ecstasy of courage. At the moment the men felt that they could have conquered thrice their numbers—their countenances brightened, and every peal seemed to impart an electric delight to their bosoms. The cannonade continued without an instant's intermission until 10 o'clock in the evening, when it ceased; but the mortars continued to throw shells during the whole of the night. Immediately after the cannonade ceased, the Congreve rockets were despatched upon their destructive missions. It was the first time they had been used in hostility; and indeed the manner in which they were managed, amply proved that practice was much wanted in order to render these destructive engines effective. Not more than one in six fell within the walls of the town, and a much less proportion went far enough to do injury. They usually dropped short in the ditches, and for the first hour we had no hope that the evil could be remedied; however, an improvement in their discharges might have been gradually observed. A more awfully grand effect cannot be imagined than these rockets produced. They and the mortars continued to play all night without intermission, and the garrison bravely returned the fire as well as they could; but the guns on the ramparts at many points were gradually silenced, and on the whole, the enemy was evidently getting the worst of the affair. Next morning, Monday 14th, the fleet bore up, and attacked the town, the walls of which were washed by the sea; they were mostly line-of-battle ships, and commanded by Sir Richard Strachan. It was about ten o'clock in the morning when they passed. They were full in our sight, and a grander effect could scarcely be imagined than the sight of their operations—sailing with a light breeze slowly up the broad Scheldt, and nearing the town, these immense moving batteries, as they passed, poured in tremendous broadsides, which were returned from the town. At each discharge from the ships, the bricks, tiles, &c. were seen flying into the air, whereas little or no effect was made on the ships by the guns from the town. One after the other following the same track, and doing similar execution, each grand and beautiful vessel passed by, until the St. Domingo grounded close to the town. In consequence of this, she was terribly peppered for half an hour—after that time the tide rose sufficiently to float her off; but she, sooner than remain idle, amused herself with repeated broadsides; so that, considering the immense damage done to the town, I am of opinion that the enemy would have much rather that the accident had not happened. This attack from the sea did an immensity of damage to the enemy, and contributed mainly to their conquest; indeed, they were so completely reduced, by this time, to all appearance, (having but a few guns capable of service,) that a flag of truce was despatched to them, in the full expectation that they would capitulate, and thus save farther injury to the unoffending inhabitants of the town. During the negotiation, which lasted about two hours, our ears were relieved from the monotonous thunder of the field, and we hoped no more blood would be shed in taking the place. But in these hopes we were disappointed, for the Commandant, General Monet, was determined to hold out to the last. In consequence of this the whole of the batteries were opened again upon the devoted town at about sunset, and with redoubled energy, for our men felt provoked at the enemy's obstinacy, and laid their hands to the work with renewed spirit and determination. The sailors' battery, containing six twenty-four-pounders, almost split our ears. These enthusiastic demidevils fired not as the other batteries did, but like broadsides from a ship—each discharge was eminently distinguished by its terrific noise, for the guns were all fired at once, and absolutely shook the earth at every round. So vehement were these seamen in their exertions, that they blew themselves up at last! This was done by a little squat fellow, who served the guns with ammunition: he placed a cartridge against a lighted match in his hurry; this exploding, communicated with a large quantity of powder, and the natural catastrophe followed. About twenty of the brave fellows, among whom was a young midshipman, were severely burnt and bruised; out of which number, were I to judge from their appearance as they were carried past us, I should suppose not more than half a dozen recovered. They were all jet black, their faces one shapeless mass, and their clothes and hair burnt to a cinder. In the midst of their suffering the only thing that seemed to ease them, was swearing at the little sailor, who was the author of their misfortune; while he, poor creature, in addition to his wounds and burns, patiently suffered the whole torrent of his comrades' abuse. The Congreve-rockets now resumed their place in the dreadful scene, and, from the preceding night's practice, did infinitely more execution than before. They, together with the lighted fusees of the shells, flying through the dark night, appeared to me like the idea I form of comets and stars in the confusion of the last day, and the thunder of the numerous batteries heightened the force of the comparison. I went to the top of the church; the unfortunate town was almost silent! scarcely a gun flashed from the ramparts, while our newly opened fire seemed to me like smiting a fallen man. The sublimity of the scene has been rarely equalled. The clouds, dark and rapid in their windy course, behind which a gleam of the rising moon was slowly appearing; the rockets on the left darting through the gloom, and spreading a red glare all over the earth, on which the active soldiers were serving the batteries; the shells flying through the air; the cannons thundering, and displaying their masters to the view by the red flames vomited from their mouths; the ships in the distance, and the town on fire in four places! The sight was truly awful!—In the midst of this convulsion Colonel Pack, with a party of his own regiment, the 71st, the 36th, and the German Legion, assaulted a battery which the enemy had constructed on the left of the town, and which did considerable execution among our men. Availing himself of a few moments of darkness, he advanced at the head of his column to the very mouths of the guns! The next moment the discharge of a huge rocket shed over the whole battery a red light, and just as the assailants were clambering up its sides. Short, but desperate, was the work; the French defended themselves with great courage, but the bayonets of the British carried the battery gallantly; and thus, one of the enemy's last resources was cut off. The Frenchmen were instantly marched to the rear; and it was an encouraging sight for our soldiers to distinguish, through the gloom, the outline of the figures of their countrymen victoriously seizing on the enemy's best battery, under the very walls of the town. During this dreadful night and the preceding, the inhabitants of Middleburg, whose kindred and friends were inside of the besieged town, had been running about the rear of our lines, lamenting their fate; and at every discharge of rocket or shell, seeming to shudder with apprehension. These feelings were rendered more poignant when they considered that the English had, previous to opening the batteries, sent a flag of truce in vain, to propose that the women and children should be allowed to pass out from the town—for this proposal was refused by Monet. It was known also to the inhabitants of Middleburg and to us, that these women with their children assembled in a body, and proceeded to the quarters of that General, to entreat him to grant the request; but they were answered by the appearance of a six-pounder before the gate, and assured that if they did not disperse, it would be employed to compel them to do so! At day-break, Monet sued for a suspension of hostilities for two days: of course this was refused; but two hours were given him to consider further, before the bombardment should proceed. He could have gained nothing by further obstinacy: it could only have had the effect of producing the cruel destruction of the town and its inhabitants: accordingly, he wisely capitulated within the time allowed him for coming to a determination. The garrison (upwards of a thousand) were permitted to march out with honours; and, having drawn up outside the gates, their bands playing and the eagle flying, they laid down their arms, and were marched off prisoners of war. On entering the town, we found it in a most deplorable state of dilapidation, particularly on the side exposed to the sea, and that which had been opposed to our right. The flames were still raging where the rockets had taken effect, and one whole street was a mere heap of ruins: the stadthouse was burnt down: few houses, indeed, in the whole town escaped being shot through by our balls; and there were no less than four holes made thus in the room of a cheesemonger's house, where I afterwards took up my quarters. One of the balls had passed through the centre of an old-fashioned clock, and another had broken to pieces a fine oak table. In the billiard-room, near the beach, there were five or six large shot, piled up as a curiosity: these had passed into the room from our ships. The countenances of the inhabitants when we marched in, were not joyous; they had suffered too much; they looked as if they were spirit-broken; and no house of accommodation opened to the British, but two—the one kept by an Englishman, of the name of Hector, and the other by a native. A considerable number of wounded remained, both of French and natives; among the latter I found a most interesting young girl, who had suffered amputation of the thigh: she had been hit by one of our shells, while in bed. Hundreds of the inhabitants were dug out from the ruins, dying and dead; tears and groans and desolation were to be met with at every step. “Alem! Vlissengen!” In a few days after the capitulation, we were ordered to Middleburg, where we relaxed a little from the severities of the siege. With the exception of the dread of sickness, which pervaded all Englishmen at that time, every thing to us was enjoyment in this city. It was fair-time when we arrived: delight was in every body's countenance; and this hilarity in one of the prettiest little cities on earth, where hospitality was lavished on us, removed a great deal of our dread of the prevailing fever, which was then daily destroying fifty or sixty of our men. The officers were quartered at the houses of the principal inhabitants, who behaved with the most praiseworthy kindness to all, furnishing not only quarters of a superior kind, but excellent tables and wine. I have particular reason to remember gratefully the people of the house in which I was myself quartered, because their kindness appeared even more disinterested than the rest, as will be seen by the following circumstance:—I had arrived late at Middleburg, having been detained behind the regiment, and on one of the most rainy and thundering nights that ever visited a hot summer. By some of the people I was directed to the straad where the best hotel was situated, and after a long search found the house, and rang at the door. I was admitted by a very pretty and interesting young lady, who said in French that her father would be down stairs immediately, and politely showed me into the parlour. In a moment a respectable-looking man, of about sixty years of age, entered, and addressed me in Dutch, with a most affable air, the politeness of which I understood, but the meaning not at all, for I knew no more of the Dutch language than I did of the Coptic; however, the young lady soon explained in French what the old man said, and I found his address was nothing more than that he was extremely glad to see me as a British officer, and that every thing in his power was at my service. I replied, that I had just arrived from Flushing, and that I was directed to his hotel as being the best—that I was very wet, and that I wished for some refreshment. The lady smiled as she conveyed my words to her father in his own language, on which the old man clasped my hand in both of his, and in the most pressing manner begged me to make his house my home while I staid in the town. The daughter interpreted this request, adding her own invitation with such an air of sincerity, that I accepted the kind offer. We soon became intimate: supper was served, and the old gentleman and I finished a bottle or two of genuine old wine in the happiest manner possible. I slept there that night, and at breakfast the next morning he produced a “billet” for me, signed by the principal burgo-master, having got my name from my card, and thus he regularly quartered me upon himself. I remained at the house of this most hospitable man until the general embarkation. He treated me more like his own son than a stranger—all my wishes were anticipated, and some of the happiest months of my existence were decidedly those I passed beneath the generous Dutchman's roof. Our corps became very sickly in a few days, and we lost the greatest number both of officers and men. How I escaped, I know not; I took no precaution to avoid the effects of the climate, except indeed that I made a liberal use of segars and good “Hollands,” agreeably diluted. Some pure water-drinkers fared worse, and fell victims to the fever: I am inclined to think, upon the whole, that my plan was the best. Good-living seemed to be the order of the day, while we remained at Middleburg, from the Commander-in-Chief down to the Sub. I do not now speak from actual observation of Lord Chatham's merits, as regards his Lordship's gastronomy, for I was both too young, and of too humble a rank, to expect such an honour; but from general report, and the circumstance of a man having fallen and dislocated his shoulder under the weight of a most admirable turtle, which he was conveying to the quarters of the Commander-in-Chief, as a present from Sir William Curtis, who had accompanied the expedition in his yacht. In the latter end of December, we marched to Flushing, to embark, as the island was to be evacuated by the British troops. Here we witnessed the finishing stroke of destruction given to that unhappy town. Every thing that could be rendered useful to the fortification was destroyed, the fine arsenal was set on fire, the guns spiked, bridges broken, and docks demolished, before the eyes of the sorrowful townspeople. The burning of the arsenal was a grand and melancholy spectacle—it illuminated the whole atmosphere, and so strong was the heat reflected upon the town by it, that the inhabitants were necessitated to use water-engines against their various dwellings, to prevent a general conflagration. A terrific hurricane soon followed this, and injured our fleet of transports off Flushing excessively: the crews of two were lost. This delayed us a few days longer. At length the whole of our forces were embarked, and we sailed on the 23rd of December from the island, in which eleven thousand of our gallant comrades had been consigned to the grave. It was one of the most black, rainy, and foggy mornings that ever hung over the moist flats of Holland, when we weighed anchor, and our departure was saluted from the opposite shore, Cadsand, with thirty-six pound shot, which (although from the distance we kept, it could not do much injury) the enemy, as if in exultation, sent us as a parting compliment: one shot unluckily took effect, and killed a sergeant of the 71st. We were but a short time at sea; for on Christmas-day we landed at Deal; very different beings as to dress, &c., to what we were when we left that port a few months before. Thus ended the Walcheren Expedition. It was my first campaign in the service, and although attended with some trouble, and a great deal of danger, I remember even its worst passages with pleasure; for they were associated with my morning of life, and as such have become subjects of sweet recollection to me now. My troubles, on the whole, were nearly counterbalanced by gentle contingencies. The life of a campaigner would be a dreary picture indeed, if some relief were not thrown into it by the light of the heart: and seldom, thank Heaven! has there occurred a scene in my military panorama where I could not find a gleam. Whence comes the brightest? From woman's eyes. A soldier is nothing without his lass—his life reads badly—cold, dull, and monotonous. But this, gentle reader, was not my case; enthusiastic, imaginative, ready to adore every thing sentimental, or romantic, how could I avoid the flowery way? I did fall in love—as every young officer should do, who knows his duty; and the first decided symptom of my derangement, was the following poetical fit which seized me as soon as I found I was no more in Walcheren. |
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