Chapter III: When the Fight Is Over

Harris sees with characteristic clearness of vision, and describes, with almost appalling _vraisemblance_, the grim scenes of the battle-field after the fiery tide of battle has ebbed from it. He says:--

"After the day's work was over, whilst strolling about the field,
just upon the spot where this charge had taken place, I remarked a
soldier of the 43rd and a French grenadier both dead, and lying close
together. They had apparently killed each other at the same moment,
for both weapons remained in the bodies of the slain. Brotherwood was
lying next me during a part of this day; he was a Leicestershire man,
and was killed afterwards by a cannon ball at Vittoria. I remember
his death more particularly from the circumstance of that very ball
killing three of the company at the same moment, viz., Lieutenant
Hopwood, Patrick Mahone, and himself. Brotherwood was amongst the
skirmishers with me on this day. He was always a lively fellow, but
rather irritable in disposition. Just as the French went to the
right-about, I remember he d--d them furiously, and all his bullets
being gone, he grabbed a razor from his haversack, rammed it down,
and fired it after them.

"During this day I myself narrowly escaped being killed by our own
dragoons, for somehow or other in the confusion I fell whilst they
were charging, and the whole squadron thundering past just missed
me as I lay amongst the dead and wounded. Tired and over-weighted
with my knapsack and all my shoemaking implements, I lay where I had
fallen for a short time and watched the cavalry as they gained the
enemy. I observed a fine gallant-looking officer leading them on in
that charge. He was a brave fellow, and bore himself like a hero;
with his sword waving in the air he cheered the men on, as he went
dashing upon the enemy and hewing and slashing at them in tremendous
style. I watched for him as the dragoons came off after that charge,
but saw him no more; he had fallen. Fine fellow! his conduct indeed
made an impression upon me that I shall never forget, and I was told
afterwards that he was a brother of Sir John Eustace.

"A French soldier was lying beside me at this time; he was badly
wounded, and hearing him moan as he lay, after I had done looking at
the cavalry I turned my attention to him, and getting up lifted his
head and poured some water into his mouth. He was dying fast; but he
thanked me in a foreign language, which, although I did not exactly
understand, I could easily make out by the look he gave me. Mullins,
of the Rifles, who stepped up whilst I supported his head, d--d me
for a fool for my pains. 'Better knock out his brains, Harris,' said
he, 'he has done us mischief enough, I'll be bound for it, to-day.'"

Harris, it will be noticed, has no reserves. He relates incidents which can hardly be regarded as creditable to the character of the British private, and does it with an amusing unconsciousness as to the impression his stories will produce on readers of a more sensitive age. The British soldier of that day had a rough chivalry of his own. He faced his foe gallantly on the battle-field. He would maintain a friendly barter of spirits and rations with him when night had fallen on contiguous bivouacs. But when his enemy was dead, and no more fighting remained to be done, and no exchange of clandestine brandy was possible, then the British private would empty his foeman's pockets or take a pair of serviceable boots from his feet with the easiest nonchalance. The transaction, he considered, did not injure the dead, and it contributed to the comfort of the living. So Harris's tale of the plundering and the night scenes of a battle-field resemble those to be found in Smollett's "Count Fathom"--with this superiority on the side of Harris, that his tales are transcripts of actual facts:--

"After the battle I strolled about the field, in order to see if
there was anything to be found worth picking up amongst the dead. The
first thing I saw was a three-pronged silver fork, which, as it lay
by itself, had most likely been dropped by some person who had been
on the lookout before me. A little farther on I saw a French soldier
sitting against a small rise in the ground or bank. He was wounded
in the throat and appeared very faint, the bosom of his coat being
saturated with the blood which had flowed down. By his side lay his
cap, and close to that was a bundle containing a quantity of gold and
silver crosses, which I concluded he had plundered from some convent
or church. He looked the picture of a sacrilegious thief, dying
hopelessly, and overtaken by Divine wrath. I kicked over his cap,
which was also full of plunder, but I declined taking anything from
him. I felt fearful of incurring the wrath of Heaven for the like
offence, so I left him, and passed on.

"A little farther off lay an officer of the 50th Regiment. I knew him
by sight, and recognised him as he lay. He was quite dead, and lying
on his back. He had been plundered, and his clothes were torn open.
Three bullet-holes were close together in the pit of his stomach.
Beside him lay an empty pocket-book, and his epaulette had been
pulled from his shoulder.

"I had moved on but a few paces, when I recollected that perhaps the
officer's shoes might serve me, my own being considerably the worse
for wear, so I returned again, went back, pulled one of his shoes
off, and knelt down on one knee to try it on. It was not much better
than my own; however, I determined on the exchange, and proceeded to
take off its fellow. As I did so I was startled by the sharp report
of a firelock, and at the same moment a bullet whistled close by my
head. Instantly starting up I turned and looked in the direction
whence the shot had come. There was no person near me in this part
of the field. The dead and the dying lay thickly all around, but
nothing else could I see. I looked to the priming of my rifle, and
again turned to the dead officer of the 50th. It was evident that
some plundering scoundrel had taken a shot at me, and the fact of his
doing so proclaimed him one of the enemy. To distinguish him amongst
the bodies strewn about was impossible; perhaps he might himself be
one of the wounded. Hardly had I effected the exchange, put on the
dead officer's shoes, and resumed my rifle, when another shot took
place, and a second ball whistled past me. This time I was ready, and
turning quickly I saw my man; he was just about to squat down behind
a small mound about twenty paces from me. I took a haphazard shot at
him, and instantly knocked him over. I immediately ran up to him; he
had fallen on his face, and I heaved him over on his back, bestrode
his body, and drew my sword-bayonet. There was, however, no occasion
for the precaution, as he was even then in the agonies of death.

"It was a relief to me to find I had not been mistaken. He was a
French light infantry man, and I therefore took it quite in the way
of business--he had attempted my life, and lost his own. It was the
fortune of war; so stooping down with my sword I cut the green
string that sustained his calabash, and took a hearty pull to quench
my thirst.

"After I had shot the French light infantry man, and quenched my
thirst from his calabash, finding he was quite dead, I proceeded to
search him. Whilst I turned him about in the endeavour at finding
the booty I felt pretty certain he had gathered from the slain, an
officer of the 60th approached and accosted me.

"'What, looking for money, my lad,' said he, 'eh?'

"'I am, sir,' I answered; 'but I cannot discover where this fellow
has hid his hoard.'

"'You knocked him over, my man,' he said, 'in good style, and deserve
something for the shot. Here,' he continued, stooping down, and
feeling in the lining of the Frenchman's coat, 'this is the place
where these rascals generally carry their coin. Rip up the lining of
his coat, and then search in his stock. I know them better than you
seem to do.'

"Thanking the officer for his courtesy, I proceeded to cut open the
lining of his jacket with my sword-bayonet, and was quickly rewarded
for my labour by finding a yellow silk purse, wrapped up in an old
black silk handkerchief. The purse contained several doubloons, three
or four Napoleons, and a few dollars. Whilst I was counting the
money, the value of which, except the dollars, I did not then know, I
heard the bugle of the Rifles sound out the assembly, so I touched my
cap to the officer and returned towards them.

"The men were standing at ease, with the officers in front. As I
approached them, Major Travers, who was in command of the four
companies, called me to him.

"'What have you got there, sir?' he said. 'Show me.'

"I handed him the purse, expecting a reprimand for my pains. He,
however, only laughed as he examined it, and turning showed it to his
brother officers.

"'You did that well, Harris,' he said, 'and I am sorry the purse
is not better filled. Fall in.' In saying this, he handed me back
the purse, and I joined my company. Soon afterwards, the roll being
called, we were all ordered to lie down and gain a little rest after
our day's work.

"We lay as we had stood enranked upon the field, and in a few
minutes, I dare say, one-half of that green line, over-wearied with
their exertions, were asleep upon the ground they had so short a time
before been fighting on. After we had lain for some little time I saw
several men strolling about the fields, so I again quietly rose, with
one or two others of the Rifles, and once more looked about me to see
what I could pick up amongst the slain.

"I had rambled some distance when I saw a French officer running
towards me with all his might, pursued by at least half-a-dozen
horsemen. The Frenchman was a tall, handsome-looking man, dressed
in a blue uniform; he ran as swiftly as a wild Indian, turning and
doubling like a hare. I held up my hand, and called to his pursuers
not to hurt him. One of the horsemen, however, cut him down with a
desperate blow when close beside me, and the next, wheeling round as
he leaned from his saddle, passed his sword through the body.

"I am sorry to say there was an English dragoon amongst these
scoundrels; the rest, by their dress, I judged to be Portuguese
cavalry. Whether the Frenchman thus slaughtered was a prisoner trying
to escape, or what was the cause of this cold-blooded piece of
cruelty, I know not, as the horsemen immediately galloped off without
a word of explanation; and, feeling quite disgusted with the scene I
had witnessed, I returned to my comrades, and again throwing myself
down, was soon as fast asleep as any there."

The plundering exploits of the British private were not always confined to his foes, living or dead. His own officers sometimes suffered. Says Harris:--

"I remember there was an officer, named, I think, Cardo, with the
Rifles. He was a great beau; but although rather effeminate and
ladylike in manners, so much so as to be remarked by the whole
regiment at that time, yet he was found to be a most gallant officer
when we were engaged with the enemy in the field. He was killed
whilst fighting bravely in the Pyrenees; and amongst other jewellery
he wore, he had a ring on his finger worth 150 guineas.

"As he lay dead on the field, one of our Riflemen, named Orr,
observed the sparkling gem, and immediately resolved to make prize of
it. The ring, however, was so firmly fixed that Orr could not draw
it from the finger, and, whipping out his knife, cut the finger off
by the joint. After the battle Orr offered the ring for sale amongst
the officers, and on inquiry the manner in which he had obtained
it transpired. Orr was in consequence tried by court-martial, and
sentenced to receive five hundred lashes, which sentence was carried
into execution."