Chapter I: About Soldiers' Wives

Anton's officers were quick to discover his steadiness, his frugality, his methodical loyalty to every duty of a soldier. He was first put on recruiting service, and then had his reward in the form which most delighted him. He was allowed to marry. Only to a certain proportion of soldiers in each regiment was granted this privilege; and Anton, who was an odd combination of soft domestic instincts and hard soldierly pluck, welcomed with a joy which he takes no pains to conceal the permission to impose on the object of his affections the hardships and the perils which must befall the wife of a soldier who accompanies her husband on active service.

Anton plainly showed all his usual Scottish sense in his choice of a helpmate. She was a hardy peasant girl, plain-featured and strong-bodied, as frugal, as uncomplaining, and as canny as Anton himself; and one chief merit of Anton's memoirs is the picture it offers of a woman's experiences, caught in the rush and whirl of the great history-making campaigns of the Peninsula.

Anton was still happier when, on his regiment being ordered on active service, he was allowed to take his wife with him. This was a very rare privilege indeed. Only four women were permitted to follow each company of the regiment; and Anton tells how, when the regiment had reached Ostend, at the beginning of the Waterloo campaign, even this privilege was suddenly narrowed, and instructions were received that only two women could be allowed to go with each company. Half the women of the regiment were thus left stranded, penniless and friendless, in a foreign port, and saw their red-coated husbands march off into space with many a backward look at their weeping wives.

But the hardy women of the barracks are not easily defeated. "We had been only two days in Ghent," says Anton, "when the women left at Ostend found their way to the regiment." They had marched on their own account in the regiment's track, and presented themselves bedraggled and footsore at its quarters in Ghent. The authorities were inexorable, and the weeping women were again conveyed back to the same place from which they escaped, and there closely watched. But woman's wit and wiles proved too much for the sentinels. In a week or two the forsaken but enterprising wives eluded the vigilance of the sentries, and joined their husbands once more; and as no official reports were made to their prejudice, they were allowed to follow the fortunes of their husbands during the campaign.

Anton, somewhat ungratefully--considering the devotion and sufferings of his own wife--says that, in his judgment, women ought not to be allowed to accompany the soldiers through a campaign. He writes:--

"On all occasions of troops being despatched to the scene of
expected hostilities women should not be permitted to accompany
them. If any exception is made in one single instance it only gives
room for pressing and almost irresistible applications from others,
and throws the performance of a very painful duty, namely, refusing
permission, on the officers commanding companies. Every private
soldier conceives that he has as good a right to this indulgence
for his wife as the first non-commissioned officer in the regiment,
and certainly he is right; she will prove much more useful than one
who, instead of being serviceable, considers herself entitled to be
served, assumes the consequence of a lady without any of the good
qualifications or accomplishments of one, and helps to embitter the
domestic enjoyments of others by exciting petty jealousies that
otherwise would never exist."

Anton gives very sensibly, and from the private soldier's point of view, his opinion of how the soldier's wife should be treated:--

"It is generally the case in selecting women to follow the army to
a foreign station, that choice is made of those without children,
as they are considered more capable of performing the services that
may be required of them than those encumbered with a family. This,
though just as regards our wants, is not so with respect to many a
well-deserving woman, who is thus cast on the public or left to her
own exertions, which too often fail her in the endeavour to support
herself and children, while the childless woman is selected to profit
from that circumstance.

"A woman who is permitted to accompany her husband receives a half
ration free; a child above seven years, one-third; and one under
seven years, a quarter of a ration; and although this is but a very
trifling allowance, would it not do much better to give it to those
of good character who are not permitted to accompany their husbands?
I must also remark that, on foreign stations where this allowance
is made to the women and children, it will be found that the least
necessitous are the first to apply and the first to be placed on
this benevolent list. I have seen privates' wives, with three or
more children, without rations; while the wives and children of
sergeant-majors and quartermaster-sergeants were getting them."

Anton gives--quite incidentally, and without betraying any consciousness that he is adding a very exceptional chapter to military records--an account of his own experiences as a married soldier, which is very amusing and sometimes very touching. Here is his story of an early Spanish bivouac, and one cannot but pity the feelings of a modest Scottish girl in such an environment:--

"After having seen the provisions distributed I set about looking
out for some accommodation for my wife, for we had not as yet been
accustomed to lie on the open field, as in bivouac, nor even seen
the like, and the tent was far from comfortable for a poor, wearied,
young woman; I shall not mention delicacy, for that would be out of
place--we must submit to circumstances. The names of seventeen men
were on the roll of the tent besides myself, so it may be easily
guessed how crowded it must have been had the whole been off duty,
but this was seldom the case. However, as no other shelter was to be
had we took a berth under it.

"Eleven soldiers lay in it that night along with us, all stretched
with their feet to the centre and their heads to the curtain of
the tent, every man's knapsack below his head, and his clothes and
accoutrements on his body; the one-half of the blankets under, and
the other spread over the whole, so that we all lay in one bed.
Often did my poor wife look up to the thin canvas that screened her
face from the night-dew and wish for the approaching morn. It was
announced at last, before daybreak, by an exclamation of 'Rouse!'
which passed from tent to tent along the lines, when every man
started up, folded his blanket, and strapped it on the back of his
knapsack, ready for a march, and soon afterwards the sound of bugle
and drum echoed from hill to hill; meanwhile, the army stood to arms,
each regiment at its alarm post, until about sunrise."

The regiment was in camp here for a short time, and Anton resolved on securing better accommodation for his wife. He says:--

"I now set about erecting a hut for myself and wife, resolving, if
possible, not to mix blankets with so many bedfellows again. This I
was the more anxious to do, because at that time the whole of the men
were affected with an eruption on their skin similar to the itch, and
their clothing was in a very filthy state, owing to its being seldom
shifted, and always kept on during the night.

"With the assistance of a few willing hands I finished the hut in
the course of the day, so that it served for a temporary shelter,
and prevented myself and wife from depriving the men of their very
limited accommodation in the tent. When I stretched myself down at
night in my new habitation, my head rested against the one end, while
my feet touched the other, at which was the entrance; my wife's apron
being hung up as a substitute for a door, a couple of pins on each
side served for lock and hinges, and feeble as that barrier was, none
of the men entered when that was suspended, and we might have left it
to its own keeping from morning till night without an article being
abstracted. Thieving, indeed, was unknown in the regiment; but, in
fact, there was little of worth to steal amongst us."

Later--in October, when the bitter winds were beginning to awake on the cold summits of the Pyrenees--the division encamped on the heights above Urdach. Anton then tried his fortunes once more with a hut. But disaster followed. He writes:--

"Here I erected a hut, larger than my former one and more
substantial. Having occupied that which I had left nearly four weeks,
I considered that, if I were to occupy this the half of that time,
I should be satisfied in bestowing more labour on it, and making
my accommodation more complete; but rain continued to fall for two
days in succession, and placed us in a very unpleasant situation. I
had cut a trench round the outside of my hut so as to carry off the
torrents which rushed against it from the declivities above, and my
poor wife was no less busily employed in securing the few articles
within.

"When the weather cleared I set about re-thatching my new habitation,
but the first night after I had finished my work a violent gale
struck every tent in the camp, and swept my little hut completely
off. I had thrown my blanket over it and fixed it down with cords
and pegs, on purpose to secure the thatch; having thus secured the
roof, or I may rather say my hut, for it was all roof and ends,
we stretched ourselves down, and the roaring of the wind in a few
minutes lulled us to sleep, for we felt confident of having made all
secure.

"Our repose, however, was short; we were awakened by the feeble
branches which composed the rafters falling on our heads, and, on
looking up, no roof sheltered us from the blast. The stars shone
brightly between the flying clouds, and the busy hum of a thousand
voices rose on the wind as the men strove to re-pitch the fallen
tents. We started to secure the few loose articles around us; we
looked for our blanket, but it was gone with the thatch and several
minor articles that were no more to be seen. The men lay close under
the fallen, fluttering tents, whilst I and my trembling companion
found shelter in the lee of a rock, until morning roused every
soldier to arms.

"My wife in the meantime nastily collected a few of the scattered
branches of the hut, and huddled them together, so as to cover an
umbrella, which served as a ceiling to the thatchless roof, until I
should return from duty and construct a more substantial dwelling.
Our loss, trifling as it may seem, was the more severely felt as
there was no opportunity of replacing it by any fair means of
purchase. Our day's provisions were among the articles missing, and
this was far from being a comfortable lookout for the day, as I had
to mount the advance picket that morning: however, we had a little
money, and, scarce as bread was, it was to be had for a good price.

"The advance picket was more than two miles from the camp, and as I
had not taken any provisions with me for the day, my wife bought a
small loaf and a little wine; this last she mulled and mixed with
some of the bread, and was bringing it to me, but in her too great
anxiety to reach me soon, by short roads, she slipped on one of the
steep banks and rolled down a considerable declivity. Fortunately,
she was not hurt, but heartily vexed at her own mishap, returned to
the camp, made a fresh purchase, and again hastened to me. The tear
was in her eye as she related the misfortunes of the day, but she
returned to camp gratified at having provided me with an unexpected
and comfortable refreshment.

"I speak not of these casualties as sufferings on my part, for there
were many worse off than I; but I point them out as some of the
privations to which the poor women following the army had to submit,
and which many of them were ill able to endure, and received but
little sympathy from their husbands while patiently bearing them."

Perseverance is a Scottish virtue, and Anton, with the industry of a Robinson Crusoe in kilts, set to work to invent a third hut. It represented a gallant but melancholy attempt to secure the comforts of domestic life amid the severities of war:--

"I set about constructing a hut that should be proof against wind
and rain. One of my officers (Lieutenant D. Farquharson) very kindly
made an offer of any pecuniary assistance I might require, and gave
me a blanket to replace that which was lost. The latter I accepted
gratefully, it was more than money could purchase; the former I
declined, as I was far from being in want.

"I now became a complete Robinson Crusoe in my daily labour, when
regimental duties permitted; and much I owe in gratitude to the
memory of those who then superintended those duties for the indulgent
manner in which I was treated, and not being troubled with vexatious
interruptions to draw me off from my domestic avocations. They are
now no more; they have fallen on the battle-field of a foreign
land. A few men willingly afforded me every assistance; their only
recompense being a small drop of spirits, which my wife had carefully
reserved from my daily allowance. The wood was at no great distance,
and the face of the hills was covered with broad ferns, which served
for thatch.

"I now laboured hard for three days, and every spare hour, when off
duty, was dedicated to the rendering of my hut proof against the
weather. My friend Fraser gave me the use of the intrenching tools,
and I dug an ample space within, three feet deep, and a trench around
the outside, four feet deep; this was to carry off the water from the
roof, and the latter I secured more substantially than many of our
Highland bothies are in the north of Scotland, or than the cabins
in the remote districts of Ireland. We were enjoying the comfort of
its nightly shelter, and I was adding something daily towards its
stability for upwards of two weeks; at last I constructed a fireplace
under the roof, and one of the men had brought a bundle of sticks for
fuel, and the fire was lighted for the first time.

"I was sitting on my knapsack taking a late dinner, quite at home,
with the dish on my knee, for I had no table, when the drum beat
'Orders.' I set down my dish (a wooden canteen, the one end of which
was taken out) unfinished, attended the call, and with no small
regret heard that the camp was to be struck, and everything ready
to be moved off that night (November 9, 1813). I cannot express how
vexed I was to leave my little habitation, my sole property, which I
held by military right; but I was bound to follow my feudal superior.
I had reared it at the expense of a blister on every finger, and I
exulted as much over it, in secret, as the rich man in the Gospel did
over his extensive possessions and his plentiful stores. On leaving
the camp that night, many of the married people set fire to their
huts, but I left mine with too much regret to become its incendiary;
and my poor Mary shed tears as she looked back upon it, as a bower of
happiness which she was leaving behind."

What the poor soldier's wife felt as she hung in the rear of the fighting line and watched the drifting smoke, pierced with gleams of red flame, where her husband stood to shoot and to be shot at; or with what emotion she scrutinised the figure of each wounded soldier limping, or being carried, to the rear cannot be guessed; and Anton does not stop to tell. Perhaps he had not imagination enough to understand any such emotions in his wife's bosom. Nothing, indeed, is more wonderful than the unconquerable cheerfulness Anton shows, as a husband, under all conditions; and if his wife ever grumbled, Anton does not allow her complaints to become audible to us. After the passage of the Nivelle the regiment encamped on the actual scene of the fighting. Says Anton:--

"We bivouacked on the field until morning, and fortunately for us
the night was fair, though cold and frosty. This was the first
night on which my wife and I had to lie down with no other covering
than a blanket between us and the sky, but we had many worse nights
than this afterwards, and worse fields before us; however, on
looking around, we generally saw many worse off than ourselves;
and, doubtless, were we always to look into others' misfortunes or
sufferings, when we suffer ourselves, we would find some cause for
self-congratulation amidst the most distressing hardships."

It would be interesting to know whether Mrs. Anton shared her husband's stubborn Scottish philosophy. But she is the inarticulate figure of the two. Her notes on her husband's memoirs would be very interesting; but, unfortunately, they are not handed down to us. Occasional glimpses are afforded us of the experience of other wives whose husbands probably had less of resource and address than Anton. Here is another picture of a woman's experiences in a campaign:--

"In the neighbourhood of our bivouac were a few straggling houses, in
which some staff officers took up their quarters, and our guard was
posted under the leafless branches of a chestnut tree in the close
vicinity. The sergeant of our guard, being a married man, considered
himself very fortunate in having secured a small pig-sty near his
post for his wife's accommodation, and the poor woman felt happy in
the possession, small as it was; for its roof was a shelter from the
wintry blasts, and its contiguity to the guard left no room to fear
danger, were she permitted to keep possession; however, this was not
to be the case.

"Our adjutant's clerk, who had never occasion to approach the field
in time of danger, had taken up his quarters in one of the adjoining
houses, after the action ceased, but, being dispossessed by some
superiors, and every other place preoccupied by soldiers who would
not suffer his intrusion, he meanly invaded the miserable shelter
selected for the poor woman. In vain she remonstrated with him, in
vain she requested him with tears to allow her the sole possession of
a place so unfit for his accommodation, and which she had laboured
hard to clean out for her own; but to no purpose, she might remain
if she pleased, but he should not depart. It is doubtful whether
we had a woman in the regiment so regardless of her character as
to have taken a night's shelter, in the absence of her husband,
otherwise than with the crowd, where no advantage could be taken of
her situation or weakness; but every man acted towards a modest woman
with that kindness which he would towards a sister. Indeed, we had
women in the regiment that, if they had been in possession, would
have kept him out and put him at defiance to enter, but this one was
not possessed of that masculine boldness; she therefore bundled up
her few articles, and, hastening across the road, the only distance
by which she had been separated from her husband, threw herself in
his arms and burst into tears.

"Three months only had elapsed since this couple joined the regiment.
She was a comely, modest, interesting young woman, and always
unassumingly but cleanly and decently dressed. But allowing that
she had had but few or no accomplishments or amiable qualifications
to recommend her to sympathy, it is but natural to think that
whatever distressed her affected the husband. They had as yet seen or
experienced but little of the petulant intrusions or consequential
presumptuous ill-manners to which soldiers and their wives are
sometimes obliged to submit without remonstrance. 'What is the
matter with you, dear?' the sergeant asked, somewhat astonished at
her unexpected appearance. 'Oh!' she exclaimed, 'I've been turned
out o' yon bit placey that I was in, an' I'm come to stop wi' you a'
night.' 'Who turned you out?' the sergeant hastily inquired. 'Oh,
say naething about it, I'll be as well here wi' you as I would ha'e
been yonder by mysel'; let us mak' no disagreement about the matter
wi' them that we canna shake oursel's free o'; let the proud little
creature keep it to himsel' in quietness; we are strangers as yet, so
dinna let angry words be heard.' 'But what creature turned you out?
surely it was not a man.' 'Ay, he thinks himsel' ane;' she whispered,
'It was G--t.' 'Is it possible,' said the sergeant, 'that a married
man can be possessed of so little feeling as to turn you out to the
inclemency of the night, and neither his wife nor child accompanying
him to plead for the accommodation?' 'I am happier with you,' she
replied, 'than if I had lain all night in yon hole; but, dear, oh,
dear, how hard it rains; the fire will be drowned out, an' we'll be
starved to death before mornin'.'

"'Poor body!' the sergeant ejaculated, as he wrapped the blanket
round her shoulders, 'I'll soon make a good fire; sit you under that
branch of the tree, the reek will annoy you less, and the drops will
not fall so thick nor so heavy.' 'I'm well enough,' she returned,
'and I care na' for the reek or the rain when wi' you; but dinna min'
the fire till this heavy dag's o'er, ye'll get yoursel' a' wet.' The
sergeant threw a faggot of wood on the fire, and in a short time
nothing was heard but the rattling of rain and hailstones, the
braying of mules, and the tinkling of their bells.

"This was a severe night, the rain poured down in torrents until
midnight, when it was succeeded by snow, which covered the face of
the country before daybreak."

It may be suspected that Anton, who is much given to literary excursions and alarums, has infused a little of what he regarded as appropriate pathos into this scene. Nevertheless, it is a picture with real human interest.

Here are some additional examples of what the soldiers' wives in Wellington's campaign suffered. The troops had to ford the Adour, whose ice-fed and ice-cold waters were swollen with winter rains. Says Anton:--

"In passing through, the men supported each other as well as they
could, so as to prevent them falling, for the stones in the bottom
were very slippery. The wife of a sergeant of one of the regiments
attempted to pass on a donkey with a child in her arms, and owing to
some sudden stumble or slip of the animal, the child gave a start and
dropped into the stream; the distracted mother gave a shriek, leaped
after the infant, and both were swept off by the rapid current in
the presence of the husband, who plunged into the water in hopes to
recover them, but they were gone for ever, and he himself was with
difficulty rescued. After this accident, the women who were following
the army remained until the bridge was so far repaired as to enable
them to pass over."

Anton's own wife had an unfortunate experience on the Adour:--

"After having crossed the river, we marched a few miles up the
right bank, or contiguous thereto, on the main road, and took up
our camp-ground for the night in a newly-ploughed field, rendered
a complete mire by the rain and hail which fell upon us with
dreadful fury as we were piling our arms on the broken ridges. Yet,
notwithstanding the severity of this headlong torrent, a hundred
fires were blazing in a few minutes along the side of the fences that
bordered the fields. Fortunately for us, General Pack had taken up
his quarters in the farmhouse adjoining, and allowed straw, of which
there was abundance, to be taken for the bottom of the tents; this
was an unexpected indulgence, even although the straw was rather wet.

"I was General Pack's orderly this night, and had a good roof over
my head, and the dry floor of a cartshed, with plenty of dry straw
for a bed; but my poor wife was absent, for the first time since we
left home. She was detained, along with several other women, on the
right bank of the Adour, until the bridge was repaired. While this
was doing, one of the women belonging to the regiment begged her to
take charge of a little ass-colt with a couple of bundles, until she
should go back to St. Severe to make some purchases; she complied,
and before the other returned, the bridge was repaired. One regiment
had passed, and she followed, driving the colt before her; but before
she got to the farther end, the stubborn animal stood still and would
not move a foot. Another regiment was advancing, the passage was
impeded, and what to do she knew not.

"She was in the act of removing the woman's bundles from the beast's
back, and struggling to get out of the way, determined to leave the
animal, when a grenadier of the advancing regiment, casting his eye
on a finely-polished horn with the masonic arms cut on it, and slung
over her shoulder, stepped aside, saying, 'Poor creature, I shall not
see you left struggling there, for the sake of what is slung by your
side.' At the same time, handing his musket to one of his comrades,
he lifted the colt in his arms and carried it to the end of the
bridge. My poor wife thanked him with the tear in her eye, the only
acknowledgment she could make for his kindness."

In the fighting at Toulouse, one of the married men in the regiment was killed, and Anton gives a somewhat laboured, but touching, account of the grief of the soldier's widow:--

* * * * *

"Here fell Cunningham, a corporal in the grenadier company, a man
much esteemed in the regiment; he was a married man, but young, and
was interred before his wife entered the dear-bought field; but
she had heard of his fate, and flew, in spite of every opposition,
to the field; she looked around among the yet unburied soldiers to
find her own, but she found him not. She flew to the place where the
wreck of the regiment lay on the field. 'Tell me,' she asked, 'where
Cunningham is laid, that I may see him and lay him in the grave with
my own hand!' A tear rose in the soldier's eye as he pointed towards
the place, and twenty men started up to accompany her to the spot,
for they respected the man and esteemed the woman.

"They lifted the corpse; the wounds were in his breast; she washed
them, and pressing his cold lips to hers, wept over him, wrapped
the body in a blanket, and the soldiers consigned it to the grave.
Mournful she stood over the spot where her husband was laid, the
earth was again closed over him, and she now stood a lonely,
unprotected being, far from her country or the home of her childhood.
I should not, perhaps, say unprotected, for, however callous our
feelings may occasionally be, amidst a thousand distressing objects
that surround us, any one of which, if individually presented to
our consideration at any other time or place than the battle-field,
would excite our sympathy, yet amidst all these neither the widow
nor the orphan is left unregarded, or in some measure unprovided
for. In this instance, the officer who commanded the company to
which Cunningham belonged, having been severely wounded, sent for
the widow; she became his sick-nurse, and under his protection was
restored in decent respectability to her home.

"The only protection a poor soldier can offer to a woman, suddenly
bereft of her husband, far from her kinsfolk, and without a residence
or home, would, under more favourable circumstances, be considered as
an insult, and perhaps under these, from the pressure of grief that
actually weighs her down, be extremely indelicate.

"I make free to offer this remark, in justification of many a
good woman, who, in a few months, perhaps weeks, after her sudden
bereavement, becomes the wife of a second husband; and, although
slightingly spoken of by some of little feeling, in and out of the
army, yet this is, perhaps, the only alternative to save a lone,
innocent woman's reputation; and the soldier who offers himself may
be as little inclined to the connection through any selfish motive
as the woman may be from any desire of his love, but the peculiar
situation in which she is placed renders it necessary, without
consulting false feelings, or regarding the idle remarks that may be
made, to feel grateful for a protector, and in a soldier, the most
binding is the surest."