Chapter IV: Part 4

One afternoon I had walked into the churchyard, and after having wandered through it, I lay down in the shade of the wall, near a grave that appeared to have been lately made. While lying thus, I heard a sob: I looked towards the place whence it came, and perceived a beautiful female kneeling beside a grave, devoutly counting her rosary--her tears falling fast upon the ground. I lay, afraid to move, least the noise might disturb her. She remained for some time, absorbed in devotion; then rose from her knees, and, taking a small jar of holy water, sprinkled the grave, and retired undisturbed by me. I mentioned the circumstance to no one, but, day after day, I was an unperceived witness of this scene. At length she saw me as she approached, and was retiring in haste. I came near her. She stood to let me pass. I said, “My presence shall give you no uneasiness: Adieu!” “Stay,” she said, “are you Don Galves’ good soldier?” I replied, “I live with him.” “Stay, you can feel for me: I have none to feel for, nor advise me. Blessed Virgin, be my friend!” She looked to heaven; her eyes beaming resignation and hope, the tears dropping on her bosom. I stretched out my hand to her: my eyes, I believe, were wet. I did not speak. “None,” she said mournfully, “can again have my hand: I gave it to Francisco.” “‘Tis the hand of friendship.” “I can have no friend but death.--You do not pray for the dead; you cannot pray with me.” I said, “I will listen to your’s.” She then began her usual prayers; then rose and sprinkled the grave with holy water, I inquired, “Whose grave do you water?” “My mother’s.” “How long has she been dead?” “Five years.” “Five years! have you done thus so long?” “Alas, no! my mother had been released[8]; but five weeks ago my mournful task again began; ’tis for Francisco: Adieu.” She sobbed and retired with a hurried step. I dare not embellish, lest this incident should not be credited; but I feel this is a cold account of what passed. I have not taken away, neither have I added a word that did not pass between us. From Galves I learned that Francisco had fallen in a Guerilla party. It is the belief in Spain, that every drop of holy water sprinkled upon the grave, quenches a flame in purgatory.

We had passed the winter in the most agreeable manner: we lived well. The inhabitants were on good terms with us: we had every thing in abundance; and amusements were not wanting. We had bull fights, at which we used to exhibit our powers. Several of our men were hurt. Our horsemen were particularly good bull fighters; and the women used to give them great praise. Often we had dancings in the evening: sometimes we got two or three of our band; and then we had dancing in style. Wine and mirth we never wanted: Music was our great want. The peasants used to dance to the sound of their rattles, consisting of two pieces of hard wood, which they held between their fingers, and by shaking their hands, kept time in the same manner as the boys, in Edinburgh and other parts, play what they call, “_cockledum ditt_.” They call them _castanetts_. They have one dance which I never saw in any other place: they call it _fandango_. I can hardly say it is a dance, for it is scarcely decent. The dancers first run to each other, as if they are looking for one another; then the woman runs away, the man follows: next he runs, and she follows. This they do alternately; all the time using the most expressive gestures, until both seem overcome; when they retire, and another couple take their place. This dance had a great effect upon us; but the Spaniards saw it without being moved, and laughed at the quick breathing and amorous looks of our men.

The winter in Boho was the shortest I ever passed in Spain; yet we remained in that town until May 1813. The only disagreeable thing was, that the wolves, which were very numerous, used to visit us at our advanced posts, when on duty through the night. One night, while on duty at the bridge, I thought I was to have fallen a prey to a very large wolf. My orders were, to be on the alert, and if I heard the least sound, to place my ear upon the ground, to distinguish if it were the tread of men or of horses, and give the alarm. The night was starry, and a little cloudy, when, about half past one o’clock, I could distinguish the tread of an animal. I believed it to be a stray mule, or ass; but at length could distinguish a large wolf, a few yards from the bridge, in the middle of the road, looking full upon me. I levelled my piece, and stood, my eyes fixed on his: I durst not fire, lest I should miss him, and give a false alarm. I expected him every moment to spring upon me. We stood thus looking upon each other, until the tread of the serjeant and guard to relieve me were heard, then the beast scampered off, and relieved me from my disagreeable situation.

May came at length, and we were obliged to leave our kind hosts. I never before felt regret at quitting a town in Spain. That morning we marched, the town was deserted by its inhabitants, who accompanied us a good way; girls weeping and running into the ranks to be protected from their parents, and hanging upon their old acquaintances; parents tearing away and scolding their children; soldiers and inhabitants singing or exchanging adieus. Almost every man had his handkerchief on the muzzle of his firelock. Don Galves’ children, weeping, took leave of me. I never saw them again. May God bless them! At length we were left to reflect upon our absent friends, and commence the toils of war afresh. We lay in camp until the whole army joined; then were reviewed by Lord Wellington, and received orders to take the line of march, and follow the enemy. We marched over a great part of Spain, quite across the country; many parts of which were very beautiful, more particularly that before we crossed the Ebro. But we were so harassed by fatigue, in our long marches, that we never left the camp; and were too weary to pay much attention to any thing that did not relieve our wants. We continued to advance until the 20th of June, when, reaching the neighbourhood of Vittoria, we encamped upon the face of a hill. Provisions were very scarce. We had not a bit of tobacco, and were smoking leaves and herbs. Colonel Cadogan rode away and got us half a pound of tobacco a man, which was most welcome. Next morning we got up as usual. The first piper played for parade; the second did not play at the usual time. We began to suspect all was not right. We remained thus until eleven o’clock, then received orders to fall in and follow the line of march. During our march we fell to one side, to allow a brigade, of guns to pass us at full speed. “Now,” said my comrades, “we will have work to do before night.” We crossed a river, and as we passed through a village, we saw, on the other side of the road, the French camp, and their fires still burning just as they had left them. Not a shot had been fired at this time. We observed a large Spanish column moving along the heights on our right. We halted and drew up in column. Orders were given to brush out our locks, oil them, and examine our flints; we being in the rear. These were soon followed by orders to open out from the centre, to allow the 71st to advance. Forward we moved up the hill. The firing was now very heavy. Our rear had not engaged before word came for the Doctor to assist Colonel Cadogan, who was wounded. Immediately we charged up the hill, the piper playing, “Hey Johnny Cope.” The French had possession of the top, but we soon forced them back, and drew up in column on the height; sending out four companies to our left to skirmish. The remainder moved on to the opposite height. As we advanced, driving them before us, a French officer, a pretty fellow, was pricking and forcing his men to stand. They heeded him not,--he was very harsh:--“Down with him!” cried one near me; and down he fell, pierced by more than one ball. Scarce were we upon the height, when a heavy column, dressed in great-coats, with white covers on their hats, exactly resembling the Spanish, gave us a volley, which put us to the right about at double quick time down the hill, the French close behind, through the whins. The four companies got the word, the French were on them. They likewise thought them Spaniards, until they got a volley that killed or wounded almost every one of them. We retired to the height covered by the 50th, who gave the pursuing column a volley which checked their speed. We moved up the remains of our shattered regiment to the height. Being in great want of ammunition, we were again served with sixty rounds a man, and kept up our fire for some time, until the bugle sounded to cease firing. We lay on the height for some time. Our drought was excessive; there was no water upon the height, save one small spring, which was rendered useless. One of our men, in the heat of the action, called out he would have a drink, let the world go as it would. He stooped to drink; a ball pierced his head--he fell with it in the well, which was discoloured by brains and blood. Thirsty as we were, we could not taste it. At this time, the Major had the command, our second Colonel being wounded. There were not 300 of us on the height able to do duty, out of above 1000 who drew rations in the morning. The cries of the wounded were most heart-rending. The French, on the opposite height, were getting under arms: we could give no assistance, as the enemy appeared to be six to one of us. Our orders were to maintain the height while there was a man of us. The word was given to shoulder arms. The French, at the same moment, got under arms. The engagement began in the plains: the French were amazed, and soon put to the right about through Vittoria. We followed as quick as our weary limbs would carry us. Our legs were full of thorns, and our feet bruised upon the roots of the trees. Coming to a bean field at the bottom of the heights, immediately the column was broke, and every man filled his haversack. We continued to advance until it was dark, and then encamped on a height above Vittoria. This was the dullest encampment I ever made. We had left 700 men behind,--none spoke--each hung his head, mourning the loss of a friend and comrade. About twelve o’clock, a man of each company was sent to receive half a pound of flour for each man, at the rate of our morning’s strength; so that there was more than could be used by those who had escaped. I had fired 108 rounds this day. Next morning we awoke, dull, stiff, and weary. I could scarce touch my head with my right hand--my shoulder was as black as, coal. We washed out our firelocks, and moved on again about twelve o’clock in the line of march.

Towards the afternoon of 22d, the day after the battle of Vittoria, a great number of our men joined, who had made their escape, after being taken the day before. We encamped and passed a night of congratulation; mutual hardships made us all brothers. The slain were forgot in our joy for those we had gained thus unexpectedly. Next morning, we made a more respectable appearance on parade, being now about 800 strong. The day following we continued our march. In the afternoon, we had a dreadful storm of thunder and rain. A Portuguese officer and his horse were killed by it. We encamped upon the face of a hill, the rain continuing to pour. The storm not abating, we could not get our tents up, and were exposed all night to its violence.

Next day we arrived before Pamplona, where we lay for some time. One night we were ordered under arms at twelve o’clock; the report was, that Pamplona was to be stormed. We marched until day-break, then drew up in a hollow in the rear of the town, when we got orders to fall back to our old camp ground. Soon after we were relieved by a division of Spanish, and marched towards the Pyrenees, where we soon fell in with our old play-fellows the French, and had a very severe skirmish in the front of the village of Maya. The regiment was divided into two columns; the right commanded by Major Walker, the left by Major M‘Kenzie. We remained under arms all night, the French keeping up their fire. Next morning we forced them over the heights, into their own country, in style; then encamped. Fatigue parties were called to make rows and rain-works. Our two rear companies were appointed to move to the heights in the rear, upon the first alarm, and maintain them while a man should remain. The signal was three great guns; on the report of the first of which every man was to stand to his arms. One day we sent out a fatigue party, to cut wood to make arm-racks. They were not come back when a gun was fired. We stood to our arms, making ready to engage. It was a false alarm. Our fatigue parties were out for forage, and we were busy cooking, when the signal was given on the 25th July. The two rear companies, moved to the heights, the rest of the regiment to the alarm post, where we had work enough upon our arrival. The French were in great force, moving up the heights in solid column. We killed great numbers of them in their advance; but they still moved on. We were forced to give way, and continued thus to retire, maintaining every height to the last, contesting every foot of ground. At length we were forced to the height where our old quarter-guard used to be posted. We maintained our position against them a considerable time; during which, we had the mortification to see the French making merry in our camp, eating the dinner we had cooked for ourselves. What could we do? they were so much superior in numbers.

I have often admired the bravery of the French officers. This day, while I was in the rear-guard, covering the retreat, about two dozen of us were pursued and molested by a company of the French. Out of breath, and unable to run farther, we cried, “Let us make a stand and get breath, else we will never reach the top.” “Take your will,” returned the officers. Immediately we faced about--the French halted--their officers pricked them on. We formed front, across the road, and charged;--the French officers in the rear, urging their troops forward. All would not do--the men forced their officers fairly over the hill and ran. We had what we wished--an unmolested retreat--and moved slowly up the height. We were then joined by a brigade of Brunswickers,--gave three cheers, and charged the French along the heights, keeping up our fire till dark. A part of the regiment made fires, while the remainder kept their ground upon the main height, until about twelve o’clock. We then marched off towards the Black Forest, leaving our wounded, whose cries were piercing; but we could not help them. Numbers continued to follow us, crawling on their hands and knees, filling the air with their groans. Many, who could not do so, held out their hands, supplicating to be taken with us. We tore ourselves away, and hurried to get out of sight. We could not bear it.

The roads were very bad, the rain continued to pour, and we made but little way. At day-break we formed on the outside of Maya, and got orders to cook; but scarce had we begun when the French made their appearance. We immediately moved on to a stronger height on the opposite side, and encamped. Here we got three days’ allowance of beef and bread served out to each man, and an allowance of liquor. As soon as cooking was over, we marched on to the Black Forest, and never halted, until two o’clock in the morning. The night was dark and stormy. The wounded officers were carried in blankets on the shoulders of the men, and the wounded soldiers, who had been enabled still to keep up with us, made the heart bleed at their cries; while the forcing up of the baggage caused such a noise, that the whole was a scene of misery and confusion. We halted to allow the baggage to get forward. Shortly after day-light the French advance came up with our rear-guard, consisting of a brigade of Portuguese, which continued to skirmish all the way through the forest. We lost a great number of men in this forest, unable to keep up through illness and fatigue, and not a few from the effects of liquor. It was found necessary to stave the stores of liquor; and the men were carrying it away in their bonnets. Many were intoxicated, and carried upon the shoulders of their comrades. We at length got out of the forest and encamped. Picquets were posted, and we began to cook; but we had scarcely commenced when the French were again upon us. The camp was moved, and we marched until two hours after dark. We were then drawn up in column, and lay down on the bare ground until next morning. The French moved about two miles, and then turned off on their left towards Pamplona, thinking there was nothing to stop them. We remained here until morning: day was scarce broke when we heard three guns fired towards our right. All were under arms in a moment, and we stood in this situation a considerable time. The noise of artillery and musketry was incessant on our right, but towards the afternoon the firing ceased, and the French were forced from the heights opposite Pamplona. After Lord Wellington had defeated them, they retreated by our right. We got orders to occupy a height in the wood. Two companies were sent at extended order down the wood, where we were not long before the enemy began to appear; and the firing commenced with their skirmishers. After doing our utmost for some time, we were forced to retire to the top of the height; and, when we arrived upon it, they were so numerous, it was vain to contend. We gave them two or three volleys, and retired through a small village, they following close in the rear. Then we drew up along the side of a strong rock, close by the main road, determined to defend it to the last. Lord Wellington sent a division to our assistance. The enemy seeing them approach, drew up and continued to annoy us for some time; then fell back upon the village and encamped. There were some fine fields of grain here, which they set fire to. We lay down fatigued and weary, having been constantly engaged almost the whole afternoon. Next morning, the 5th of August, the enemy began to retire, we following close at their heels through the Black Forest. They retired back into France. We halted upon our old camp ground for the space of half an hour, and then returned to our old quarters at Maya. We were very melancholy, the whole bringing to our minds the time when we last left it, and our wounded and dying comrades. After encamping on a height on the other side for two or three days, we were marched round to the heights of Roncesvalles, where we encamped, relieving a brigade of the 7th division. We lay here for a considerable time, working like galley slaves, from morning till evening, in building batteries and blockhouses. All the time I had been a soldier, my labour could not stand in the least comparison with my fatigues at this time. Orders were given that the heights should be kept by the 3d and 4th division, week about, (_alternately_.) We retired, moving down, and encamped on the other side of the village. A short time afterwards, we got orders for duty on the heights on the opposite side,--of which we were glad, thinking that the work would not be so severe. But we were disagreeably undeceived. Our labour was incessant; every day we were either on guard or on fatigue. All the time we remained here, we were not a night in bed out of two: besides, the weather was dreadful; we had always either snow or hail, the hail often as large as nuts. We were forced to put our knapsacks on our heads, to protect us from its violence. The mules, at these times, used to run crying up and down, hurt by the stones. The frost was most severe, accompanied by high winds. Often, for whole days and nights, we could not get a tent to stand. Many of us were frost-bitten, and others were found dead at their posts. At this time I cursed my hard fate, and groaned over my folly. Frequently have I been awakened, through the night, by the sobs of those around me in the tent; more especially, by the young soldiers, who had not been long from their mothers’ fire-sides. They often spent the darkness of the night in tears. The weather was so dreadful, the 92d regiment got grey trousers served out to them; they could not live with their kilts,--the cold would have killed them. In about two days after we went down to the valley, the day being good, the French came down from the heights nearest France. General Stewart being there at the same time with our advanced post, and seeing their manœuvres, ordered us to advance towards them. We soon beat them back, and retired to our post. A few days afterwards, the weather was so very bad, that great numbers of the men fell sick. We were then forced to leave the heights and encamp in the valley, leaving strong picquets in the block-houses on the main pass, which were relieved daily. Fatigue parties were sent up to work, nevertheless, every day the weather would permit. At this time we buried two guns of Captain Mitchell’s brigade of artillery, which displeased him much. Through intercession, General Stewart ordered up a fatigue party to raise them again. We were covered by the picquets, and, with great difficulty, at length got them raised and brought down to the valley. Each man on fatigue got an extra allowance of grog, the only welcome recompence.

We lay here for some time, frequently attacked in the block-houses by the French, and at length received orders to leave our purgatory in the heights, and move round towards Maya. We marched that whole afternoon and all night, until next morning; when the whole army formed on the other side of Maya. We were appointed the brigade of reserve, being far in the rear and very much fatigued. An attack was begun, almost as soon as we arrived. We moved towards the enemy’s works, which were very strong; but we forced them out, then moved round to our own right, the remainder of the army pursuing them. Their camp-ground, which was hutted like a little town, was occupied by us during the night.

November 10.--We, next morning, continued to move to our own right until we came to a village called Cambo, on the outside of which the enemy had batteries planted, and strong works. We kept up a severe fire for some time, but could not storm their works on account of the depth of the entrenchments. They found out that the Spanish troops, under Morillo, were fording the river on their right. We retired back into camp, and lay there two days: the weather was so bad we could not move out.

On the afternoon they blew up the bridge over the Nive, and retired out of the town. We then marched into it and were cantoned, and lay there for a considerable time, the French on one side and we on the other; our sentinel and their’s, on the bridge, not five yards asunder. The night before we crossed, the French came down to the banks of the river, with their music, and gave us a tune or two. We thought to change their tune before next night. We were then to be all under arms at a minute’s notice. About nine o’clock, the whole of our in-lying picquets were called to cover a party of sappers and miners, in raising a battery to cover our fording ground; and the sentinel on the broken bridge received orders to shoot the French sentinel, on the first gun for alarm being fired. Both were walking from one parapet to another,--the Frenchman unconscious of any unusual danger,--the English sentinel listening, and often looking to the victim; his heart revolting from the deed he dared not disobey. The match touched the signal gun; next moment the French sentinel fell into the river, pierced by a ball. As soon as the sappers and miners had constructed the battery, we moved back into the town, and remained until an hour before day. We were drawn up on our fording ground;--orders were given that not a man should speak above his breath. The whole being prepared,--the word was given to pass the river when three guns were fired on our left. Our right wing was sent out to cover the fording. The left forded the river; but we had not reached the opposite bank, when we received a volley from the enemy’s picquets. We gave three cheers,--splashed through the water; they retired, and we pursued them. The regiment formed upon the top of the height, sending out two companies to follow the enemy close; but they never came up with them.

All the night of the 11th of December, we lay in camp upon the face of a height near the Spaniards. In the afternoon of the 12th, we received orders to move round towards Bayonne, where we were quartered along the main road. There we remained a few days, until we received orders to march to our own right to assist a Spanish force who were engaged with superior numbers. We set off by day-light, in the morning of the 13th, towards them, and were moving on when General Hill sent an aid-de-camp after us, saying, “That is not the direction,--follow me.” We put to the right-about, to the main road towards Bayonne. We soon came to the scene of action, and were immediately engaged. We had continued firing, without intermission, for five hours, advancing and retreating, and lost a great number of men, but could not gain a bit of ground. Towards evening we were relieved by a brigade which belonged to another division. As many of us as could be collected were drawn up. General Hill gave us great praise for our behaviour this day, and ordered an extra allowance of liquor to each man. We were marched back to our old quarters along the road side. The day’s service had been very severe, but now I took it with the coolest indifference; I felt no alarm; it was all of course. I began to think my body charmed. My mind had come to that pass--I took every thing as it came without a thought. If I was at ease, with plenty, I was happy: If in the midst of the enemy’s fire, or of the greatest privations, I was not concerned. I had been in so many changes of plenty and want, ease and danger, they had ceased to be anticipated either with joy or fear.

We lay upon the road-side for two or three days, having two companies, three leagues to the rear, carrying the wounded to the hospital. We were next cantoned three leagues above Bayonne, along the side of the river. We had strong picquets planted along the banks. The French were cantoned upon the other side. Never a night passed that we were not molested by boats passing up and down the river with provisions and necessaries to the town. Our orders were to turn out, and keep up a constant fire upon them while passing. We had two grasshopper guns planted upon the side of the river, by means of which we one night sunk a boat loaded with clothing for the army, setting it on fire with red hot shot. Next day we were encamped in the rear of the town, being relieved by a brigade of Portuguese. We remained in camp two or three days, expecting to be attacked, the enemy having crossed above us on the river. We posted picquets in the town near our camp. At length receiving orders to march, we moved on until we came to a river on our right, which ran very swift. Part of the regiment having crossed, we got orders to come to the right-about, and were marched back to our old camp ground. Next morning we received orders to take another road towards Salvatero, where we encamped that night, and remained until the whole army assembled the following day. About two o’clock in the afternoon we were under arms, and moved towards the river, covered by a brigade of artillery. We forded, and continued to skirmish alongst the heights until the town was taken. We lost only one man during the whole time. We encamped upon the other side of the town; and next morning, followed the line of march, until we came before a town called Aris. We had severe fighting before we got into it. We were led on by an aid-de-camp. The contest lasted until after dark. We planted picquets in different streets of the town; the enemy did the same in others. Different patroles were sent out, during the night; but the French were always found on the alert. They retired before day-light; and we marched into the town, with our music at the head of the regiments. The town appeared then quite desolate, not worth twopence; but we were not three days in it until the French inhabitants came back, opened their shops and houses, and it became a fine lively place. There was a good deal of plundering the first night; for the soldiers going into the houses, and finding no person within, helped themselves. The people have a way of keeping their fowls in cans, full of grease, about the size of a hen. This we found out by accident; for, wanting some grease to fry in cooking, we took one of these cans, and cut out the fowl. We commenced a search for the grease cans, and were very successful. The fowls were excellent. We lay here a considerable time, then were marched towards Toulouse, and halted at a village four leagues from it, with orders to turn out on a moment’s notice. We were drawn out at twelve o’clock at night, and marched close up to the town, designing to throw a bridge over the river; but it ran so swift, that we failed in our attempt. We then kindled fires in all quarters, and returned to the village. Next morning we marched round towards the main road to Toulouse, and were cantoned along the road. We lay here for some time, and were, every morning, under arms an hour before day. At length, on the 10th of April, we received orders to attack Toulouse, and moved on by another road, on the opposite side from the one we had lain upon. We were drawn up in column, in rear of a house, and remained there for some time, sending out the flank companies to skirmish; and, at length, forced the enemy back upon their works. The contest now began to be more severe. A brigade of guns coming up, played upon their works for some time, and then retired, night coming on. We were posted in the different streets of the suburbs, to watch the enemy’s motions. At last we got our allowance of liquor served out, and retired to our cantonment.

I shall ever remember an adventure that happened to me towards the afternoon. We were in extended order, firing and retiring. I had just risen to run behind my file, when a spent shot struck me on the groin, and took the breath from me. “God receive my soul!” I said; and sat down resigned. The French were advancing fast. I laid my musket down, and gasped for breath. I was sick, and put my canteen to my head, but could not taste the water: however, I washed my mouth, and grew less faint. I looked to my thigh, and seeing no blood, took resolution to put my hand to the part to feel the wound. My hand was unstained by blood; but the part was so painful that I could not touch it. At this moment of helplessness the French came up. One of them made a charge at me, as I sat pale as death. In another moment I would have been transfixed, had not his next man forced the point past me: “Do not touch the good Scot,” said he; and then, addressing himself to me, added, “Do you remember me?” I had not recovered my breath sufficiently to speak distinctly: I answered, “No."--“I saw you at Sobral,” he replied. Immediately I recognized him to be a soldier whose life I had saved from a Portuguese, who was going to kill him as he lay wounded. “Yes I know you,” I replied. “God bless you!” cried he; and giving me a pancake out of his hat, moved on with his fellows, the rear of whom took my knapsack, and left me lying. I had fallen down for greater security. I soon recovered so far as to walk, though with pain, and joined the regiment, next advance. We were quartered in wine stores, where we lay for a considerable time, sending out a regiment, each night, on duty. The 71st happened to be the regiment on duty, on the night in which the French evacuated Toulouse. We immediately gave notice, and marched into the town; halted half an hour, until the cavalry passed through it, and then moved on after them. We fell in with a number of the enemy’s sick and wounded, whom we sent back to the town. We halted at Villa Franca, and were cantoned. Soult lay in a town on the heights, in front, about one league and a half from us. We remained here two or three days; when we were all turned out, cavalry and artillery, the French being under arms. Three guns were fired. The French did not seem inclined to attack us. We were encamped again. In the course of the day, flags of truce were passing between the armies. At length, General Soult came in his carriage, guarded by a squadron of his cavalry. We then got word that Buonaparte was deposed, and we were soon to have peace. Joy beamed on every face, and made every tongue eloquent. We sung and drank that whole night, and talked of home. Next morning falling back to Toulouse, we were cantoned there, and lay for a long time, looking anxiously for orders to embark for England. At length we marched to Bourdeaux, were reviewed by Lord Wellington, and embarked for Ireland.

We arrived at Cork in June 1814. I had now been seven years and eleven months a soldier, and, therefore, hoped for my discharge. I had still one year to serve, although enlisted for seven. Being only sixteen years of age, my seven years were counted from my eighteenth. Had I called myself seventeen, I should have now been free: but I scorned to lie; neither was I aware of this circumstance. Upon our arrival at Cork, we were marched to Limerick, and lay there a long time; then got the route for Cork to embark for America. I wanted but a few months to be free. I sought my discharge, but was refused. I was almost tempted to desert. I lamented my becoming a soldier at this time more than I had done on the retreat, or upon the Pyrennees. To be so near home and almost free, and yet to be sent across the Atlantic, was very galling. I knew not what to do. I kept my honour, and embarked. What vexed me, was some being discharged who had not been so long soldiers as I had been; only they were above eighteen when they enlisted.

We lay on board six weeks before setting sail. When on our way, a schooner fired a gun and brought us to, and gave us orders for Deal. My heart bounded with joy: “Freedom, freedom!"--I would not have taken a thousand pounds to stay,--I would have left the army without a shirt. I was oppressed all the time I was on board; my mind dwelt on nothing but home. If any one asked a question or spoke to me, I was so absent that I seldom answered to the point. After the ship was put about for England, a load was taken from my mind, and I became more happy. We landed all our heavy baggage at Deal, then sailed round to Gravesend and disembarked. We lay there only one afternoon, then were put on board the smacks, and were landed at Antwerp.

Next morning we were marched to Louis, where we lay, quartered in the different villages around, until the 16th of June, 1815. We used to be drilled every day. We were going out, for a field day, on the 16th, when we were ordered back and formed on one side of the village. We stopped here a short time; then were sent to quarters to pack up every thing and march. We immediately marched off towards the French frontier. We had a very severe march of sixteen miles, expecting to halt and be quartered in every town through which we passed. We knew not where we were marching. About one o’clock in the morning, we were halted in a village. A brigade of Brunswickers marching out, we took their quarters, hungry and weary. Next morning, the 17th, we got our allowance of liquor, and moved on until the heat of the day; when we encamped, and our baggage was ordered to take the high road to Brussels. We sent out fatigue parties for water, and set a cooking. Our fires were not well kindled, when we got orders to fall in, and move on along the high road towards Waterloo. The whole length of the road was very much crowded by artillery and ammunition carts, all advancing towards Waterloo. The troops were much embarrassed in marching, the roads were so crowded. As soon as we arrived on the ground, we formed in column. The rain began to pour. The firing had never ceased all yesterday and to day, at a distance. We encamped and began to cook; when the enemy came in sight, and again spoiled our cooking. We advanced towards them. When we reached the height they retired; which caused the whole army to get under arms and move to their positions. Night coming on, we stood under arms for some time. The army then retired to their own rear, and lay down under arms, leaving the 71st in advance. During the whole night, the rain never ceased. Two hours after day-break, General Hill came down, taking away the left subdivision of the 10th company to cover his recognisance. Shortly afterwards we got half an allowance of liquor, which was the most welcome thing I ever received. I was so stiff and sore from the rain, I could not move with freedom for some time. A little afterwards the weather clearing up, we began to clean our arms and prepare for action. The whole of the opposite heights were, covered by the enemy.

A young lad, who had joined but a short time before, said to me, while we were cleaning: “Tom, you are an old soldier, and have escaped often, and have every chance to escape this time also. I am sure I am to fall."--“Nonsense, be not gloomy."--“I am certain,” he said: “All I ask is, that you will tell my parents, when you get home, that I ask God’s pardon for the evil I have done, and the grief I have given them. Be sure to tell I died praying for their blessing and pardon.” I grew dull myself, but gave him all the heart I could. He only shook his head: I could say nothing to alter his belief.

The artillery had been tearing away, since day-break, in different parts of the line. About twelve o’clock, we received orders to fall in, for attack. We then marched up to our position, where we lay on the face of a brae, covering a brigade of guns. We were so overcome by the fatigue of the two days’ march, that, scarce had we lain down, until many of us fell asleep. I slept sound for some time, while the cannon-balls, plunging in amongst us, killed a great many. I was suddenly awakened. A ball struck the ground a little below me, turned me heels-over-head, broke my musket in pieces, and killed a lad at my side. I was stunned and confused, and knew not whether I was wounded or not. I felt a numbness in my arm for sometime. We lay thus about an hour and a half under a dreadful fire, which cost us about 60 men, while we had never fired a shot. The balls were falling thick amongst us. The young man I lately spoke of, lost his legs by a shot, at this time. They were cut very close: he soon bled to death. “Tom,” said he, “remember your charge: my mother wept sore when my brother died in her arms. Do not tell her all how I died; if she saw me thus, it would break her heart: farewell, God bless my parents!” He said no more, his lips quivered, and he ceased to breathe. About two o’clock, a squadron of lancers came down, hurraying, to charge the brigade of guns: they knew not what was in the rear. General Barnes gave the word, “Form square.” In a moment, the whole brigade were on their feet, ready to receive the enemy. The General said, “Seventy-first, I have often heard of your bravery, I hope it will not be worse, than it has been, to-day.” Down they came upon our square. We soon put them to the right-about. Shortly after, we received orders to move to the heights. Onwards we marched, and stood for a short time in square, receiving cavalry every now and then. The noise and smoke were dreadful. At this time, I could see but a very little way from me; but, all around, the wounded and slain lay very thick. We then moved on, in column, for a considerable way, and formed line; gave three cheers, fired a few volleys, charged the enemy, and drove them back. At this moment, a squadron of cavalry rode furiously down upon our line. Scarce had we time to form. The square was only complete in front, when they were upon the points of our bayonets. Many of our men were out of place. There was a good deal of jostling for a minute or two, and a good deal of laughing. Our quarter-master lost his bonnet in riding into the square,--got it up,--put it on, back foremost, and wore it thus all day. Not a moment had we to regard our dress. A French General lay dead in the square; he had a number of ornaments upon his breast. Our men fell to plucking them off, pushing each other as they passed, and snatching at them. We stood in square for some time, whilst the 13th dragoons and a squadron of French dragoons were engaged. The 13th dragoons retiring to the rear of our column, we gave the French a volley, which put them to the right-about; then the 13th at them again. They did this for some time, we cheering the 13th, and feeling every blow they received. When a Frenchman fell, we shouted; and when one of the 13th, we groaned. We wished to join them, but were forced to stand in square. The whole army retired to the heights in the rear, the French closely pursuing to our formation, where we stood, four deep, for a considerable time. As we fell back, a shot cut the straps of the knapsack of one near me: it fell, and was rolling away; he snatched it up, saying, “I am not to lose you that way, you are all I have in the world;” tied it on the best manner he could, and marched on.

Lord Wellington came riding up. We formed square, with him in our centre, to receive cavalry. Shortly the whole army received orders to advance. We moved forwards in two columns, four deep, the French retiring at the same time. We were charged several times, in our advance. This was our last effort; nothing could impede us; the whole of the enemy retired, leaving their guns and ammunition, and every other thing behind. We moved on towards a village, and charged right through, killing great numbers, the village was so crowded. We then formed on the other side of it, and lay down under the canopy of heaven, hungry and wearied to death.

We had been oppressed, all day, by the weight of our blankets and great coats, which were drenched with rain, and lay upon our shoulders like logs of wood. Scarce was my body stretched upon the ground, when sleep closed my eyes. Next morning, when I awoke, I was quite stupid. The whole night my mind had been harassed by dreams: I was fighting and charging, re-acting the scenes of the day, which were strangely jumbled with the scenes I had been in before. I rose up and looked around, and began to recollect. The events of the 18th came before me one by one; still they were confused, the whole appearing as an unpleasant dream. My comrades began to awake and talk of it; then the events were embodied as realities. Many an action had I been in, wherein the individual exertions of our regiment had been much greater, and our fighting more severe; but never had I been where the firing was so dreadful, and the noise so great. When I looked over the field of battle, it was covered and heaped in many places; figures moving up and down upon it, the wounded crawling along the rows of dead, was a horrible spectacle: yet I looked on with less concern, I must say, at the moment, than I have felt at an accident when in quarters. I have been sad at the burial of a comrade who died of sickness in the hospital, and followed him almost in tears, yet have I seen, after a battle, fifty men put into the same trench, and comrades amongst them, almost with indifference. I looked over the field of Waterloo as a matter of course--a matter of small concern.

In the morning we got half an allowance of liquor, and remained here until mid-day, under arms, then received orders to cook. When cooking was over, we marched on towards France. Nothing particular happened before reaching Paris, where we lay in the lines until the French capitulated. We had our posts planted at each side of the city. The French troops retired, and we got under arms and marched towards the gates. We had a cannon on each side of the gate, and gunners with lighted matches standing by them. We marched into the city; passed Lord Wellington, who stood at the gates, and were encamped on the main road in the Thuilleries, where we remained all the time we were here.

In marching through the city, a lad, dressed as a Frenchman, was looking up the companies very anxiously: one of our men said, “Knock the French fellow down.” “Dinna be sae fast man,” said he; we stared to hear broad Scotch in Paris at this time: “I am looking for my cousin,"--he added, naming him; but he had been left behind, wounded.

When we were in camp before the Thuilleries, the first day, two girls were looking very eagerly up and down the regiment, when we were on parade: “Do you wish a careless husband, my dear?” said one of our lads.--“May be; will you be’t?” said a Glasgow voice. “Where the devil do you come from?” said the rough fellow. “We’re Paisley lasses; this is our regiment: we want to see if there’s ony body here we ken.” The soldier, who was a Glasgow lad, could not speak. There is a music in our native tongue, in a foreign land, where it is not to be looked for, that often melts the heart when we hear it unexpectedly. These two girls had found their way from Paisley to Paris, and were working at tambouring, and did very well.

We lay three months in Paris. All that time I saw very little of it: I did not care to ask leave from the camp. At length we were marched to Flanders, to winter quarters; and I got my discharge. I left my comrades with regret; but the service with joy. I came down to the coast to embark, with light steps and a joyful heart, singing, “When wild war’s deadly blast was blawn.” I was poor as poor could be; but I had hope before me, and pleasing dreams of home, I had saved nothing this campaign; and the money I had before was all gone. Government found me the means of getting to Edinburgh. Hope and joy were my companions, until I entered the Firth. I was on deck; the morning began to dawn; the shores of Lothian began to rise out of the mist. “There is the land of cakes,” said the captain. A sigh escaped me,--recollections crowded upon me--painful recollections. I went below to conceal my feelings, and never came up until the vessel was in the harbour. I ran from her, and hid myself in a public-house. All the time I had been away was forgot. I felt as if I had been in Leith the day before. I was so foolish as to think I would be known, and laughed at. In about half an hour, I reasoned myself out of my foolish notions, but could not bring myself to go up the Walk to Edinburgh. I went by the Easter Road. Every thing was strange to me, so many alterations had taken place; yet I was afraid to look any person in the face, lest he should recognise me. I was suffering as keenly, at this moment, as when I went away: I felt my face burning with shame. At length, I reached the door of the last house I had been in, before leaving Edinburgh. I had not power to knock: happy was it for me, that I did not. A young girl came into the stair. I asked her if Mrs. ---- lived there. “No,” she said, “she has flitted long ago.” “Where does she live?” “I do not know."--Where to go I knew not. I came down stairs, and recognised a sign which had been in the same place before I went away. In I went, and inquired. The landlord knew me. “Tom,” said he, “are you come back safe? Poor fellow! give me your hand.” “Does my mother live?"--“Yes, yes; come in, and I will send for her,--not to let the surprise be too great.” Away he went. I could not remain, but followed him; and, the next minute, I was in the arms of my mother.

* * * * *

I have been with my mother, these fourteen months. She is sinking fast to the grave. I am happy I am here to lay her head in it.--Jeanie has been married, these five years, and goes between her own and her mother’s house, to take care of her.--John is in London, following out his business.--William has been in Glasgow.

_Letter by the Writer of the Journal to
his Friend, inclosing the last part of
the manuscript._

_Edinburgh, May, 1818._

DEAR JOHN,