Chapter II: Fighting in the Pyrenees

Anton's own adventures in the Peninsula were brief, but of a stern and exciting quality. His regiment embarked on August 17, 1813, and thus reached Spain when the war had come to its latest stage--on the rough and hilly floor of the Pyrenees. The 42nd landed at Passages on September 7. The first sound of war which reached its ears was the sullen and distant boom of the guns thundering on San Sebastian. Anton had an eye for the picturesque, and he gives some interesting pictures of the scenery of the Pyrenees. Here is his description of a scene which met his eyes one daybreak shortly after landing:--

"The view from the summits of these mountains at that early hour,
when the sun began to gild their tops, and to throw his cheering rays
on the white canvas which speckled their sides, was grand beyond
description. The valleys below were hidden under an ocean of white,
wreathing mist, over which the hills, like a thousand islands,
raised their rocky summits amidst the pure serenity of a cloudless
atmosphere; the white tents of a British army spotted their sides,
while ten thousand bayonets glittered around. The drums, fifes,
bugles, and wild, warlike strains of the Highland bag-pipe, drowned
the notes of a hundred useless instruments that offered their softer
sounds to the soldiers' ears. Flocks of vultures hovered around to
feed on the bodies of men who had fallen in sequestered spots by the
hostile bullet, and were left to wolves and birds of prey, along with
the carcasses of the exhausted animals that had failed in bearing
their oppressive burdens to the expectant camp.

"As the sun rose over the mountains, the misty vapours rolled away,
and all the vales, woods, streams, and distant cottages appeared to
view. What a lovely prospect this must have been to the once happy
native of the soil!"

On October 6 the 42nd had its first near glimpse of mountain fighting, though the regiment took no actual part in the combat:--

"On October 6 we advanced towards the heights of Urdach, and
descended a few paces on the brow of that part of the mountain
which overlooks the valley of that name and the distant course of
the Nivelle. A thick cloud hovered beneath us, and hid the country
from our view. The loud report of guns in the valley shook the hills
and echoed throughout the dark woody ravines below, while the quick
rounds of musketry prepared us to expect an order to descend to the
scene of action. The division stood in columns of brigade, or in
lines along the mountain paths, as the position could be taken up.

"We remained upwards of two hours enveloped in the misty clouds,
every man full of anxiety to view the contest below. At last our
wishes were gratified; the curtain arose, and the interesting scene
burst all at once on our view. A far-discerning eye might see the
skirmishers of both armies approaching close to each other, each man
with well-directed aim looking along the deadly tube that sent the
intended messenger of death to the opposing adversary. Vineyards,
orchards, straggling bushy fences, and streamlets with steep banks
intersected the country, and afforded occasional cover to both sides,
as well as a rest to the marksman's musket in taking a deliberate
aim. The ascent of the cloud, which had hovered beneath us and
over the combatants, afforded them a view of our columns and lines
ready to descend, a prospect no less discouraging to the enemy than
animating to our friends."

Anton's first personal experience in the stirring business of war was at the passage of the Nivelle. The river, it will be remembered, was approached by a night march. Anton's account is interesting, though marred by a laborious attempt at fine writing:--

"The moon shone in the cloudless vault of heaven as we descended the
narrow paths of the mountains; behind us were our camp-fires and
blazing huts, while the ill-clothed and worse-disciplined troops of
Spain were hurrying up the mountain path to occupy the ground we had
left. To our right appeared the enemy's watch-fires, blazing brightly
on the distant brow of one of the diverging ridges that jut out from
the main body of the Pyrenees, their pickets little dreaming that we
were worming our way through the intricate windings so near their
posts, in order to rouse them to work in the morning. On our left
a deep, woody ravine, with its roaring stream, skirted our path;
before us the narrow ridge jutted out between two of those ravines,
in a peninsula form, until its extremity overlooked the valley where
we had witnessed the contest on October 6. The path led us down by
many a circuitous and steep descent to the vale of Urdach, which we
reached by daybreak.

"We were now approaching the Nivelle, and all its woody margins were
lined with light troops, our battalions forming in columns about two
furlongs from the bank of the river: not a musket was yet fired.
The guns were already posted on all the commanding eminences on the
left of the river. The generals had given their orders regarding the
attack about to be made, the movements likely to follow, and their
aides-de-camp were flying from corps to corps with the preparatory
directions. No voice was heard, save that of command, until the foot
of the advanced skirmisher was dipped in the stream; the bullet
arrests him in his advance, and, as if at the command of some
necromancer, thick and obscuring clouds rise from bank to bank, from
eminence to eminence, as the loud thunder of war bursts from ten
thousand muskets.

"The river is passed, and the soldiers of France retire or fall
before their stern invaders. We pass through a wood and come to the
bottom of a steep hill (the heights of Ainhoe), the face of which
presents long ridges of formidable breastworks, behind which the
enemy keeps up a heavy fire of musketry, and fears no danger in the
security of his cover. On the summit overlooking these works is a
battery which commands that part of the river within its range.

"The 11th Regiment was now ordered to ascend and storm those
breastworks, and never did a regiment perform a task so dangerous,
so obstructed, and apparently impracticable, with better success or
in better order. Its line was preserved without a break, not only in
climbing the hill but in springing over the breastworks, bayoneting
those that waited its approach, even until it cleared the battery on
the western summit, where, justly proud of its conquest, it made the
hills echo to its loud huzzahs.

"Meantime our regiment advanced more to the right, where, on a gentle
slope of the hill, stood the huts (the recent camp or quarters)
of the enemy. Some of those huts caught fire, and, owing to the
combustible material of which they were constructed, the whole were
nearly enveloped in one blaze. The position which the enemy had
occupied in the morning was now in our possession, and the sixth
division crowned the heights of Ainhoe.

"The regiment's loss this day did not exceed twenty-seven killed and
wounded; among the latter were Captain Mungo M'Pherson and Lieutenant
Kenneth M'Dougall.

"This was the first engagement I was in, and I considered myself no
longer a recruit. I had now smelled the enemy's powder, as the old
soldiers boastingly exclaimed; I had heard his bullets whistling
past my ears, seen them dropping harmless at my feet, and burrowing
in the ground. I had observed, during this contest, the men whom I
knew to be the greatest boasters in the company, men who never ceased
enlarging on the exploits they had accomplished, the actions they had
witnessed, or the hardships they had endured, when they had such a
one as myself to listen to their stories; I observed some of those
boasters very closely, and I could not help remarking that the men
who spoke less acted better.

"It is, perhaps, needless to observe that it is scarcely in the
power of an individual foot-soldier to perform any enterprising
feat in the field of action, unless he be on some detached duty in
front, such as is frequently the case with the skirmishers. If he is
with the battalion he must keep in his ranks; it is on the united
movement of the whole body that general success depends; and he that
rushes forward is equally blamable with him who lags behind, though
certainly the former may do so with less chance of censure, and no
dread of shame. A man may drop behind in the field but this is a
dreadful risk to his reputation, and even attended with immediate
personal danger, while within the range of shot and shells; and woe
to the man that does it, whether through fatigue, sudden sickness,
or fear--let him seek death, and welcome it from the hand of a
foe, rather than give room for any surmise respecting his courage;
for when others are boasting of what they have seen, suffered, or
performed, he must remain in silent mortification.

"I have seen it frequently remarked, in the periodicals of the time,
that the loss in killed and wounded was greater than was actually
acknowledged on our side; that we overrated the enemy's loss, and
underrated our own; but this is not the case. The loss of the enemy,
of course, is a guess rather than a certainty, until we become
possessed of their official returns; but that of our own is never
underrated. Indeed, a soldier feels a greater pride in boasting of
his wounds than in trying to conceal them; mere scratches are often
magnified into wounds, and stated as such in the returns.

"I never yet, among the many I have seen wounded, knew but one
individual who kept his wound from being placed on the list; his name
was Stewart. We were evacuating a redoubt on the heights of Toulouse,
when a bullet struck him behind, pierced through his cartridge-box,
cut his clothes, and hit him smartly on the breech. 'I shall give
that to the rascal again,' he said, as he recovered himself and
picked up the bullet. 'I shall be ashamed,' he added, 'to let it be
known that I was struck behind.' Had this bullet struck him on the
breast or limbs, there would have been one more on our list of that
day's casualties."

Late in November the army went into cantonments; but on the night of December 8, the troops were in motion again. Says Anton:--

"On the night of December 8, our division was under arms in columns
of brigades until nearly daybreak, the artificers being employed
in placing a bridge of pontoons over the river, below the town. As
soon as this was finished, the troops began to pass along, while the
drummers, left behind, beat the reveille at the usual places. This
circumstance induced the enemy to conclude that we still occupied our
quarters, although we were forming our columns silently in their
neighbourhood, concealed amidst a dense mist. As soon as objects were
discernible, a signal gun announced our time of advance. A wooden
bridge still remained over the river at Ustritz, but so far broken
down by the enemy as to be impassable; the discharge of this gun,
however, so alarmed the French conscript sentries posted at the end
of the bridge, on the right bank, that they retired in great haste
towards the picket to which they belonged, and our artificers lost no
time in making the necessary repairs for the passage of the troops
and stores.

"The greater part of this day's action consisted in skirmishing, in
which the light infantry companies sustained the principal brunt.
Towards the close of the day, the enemy retired upon a farmhouse
situated on a commanding eminence, having some of the adjoining
fields enclosed by low dry-stone walls and quickset hedges, behind
which they appeared in considerable force, supported by some
artillery. In dislodging these troops, Captain George Stewart and
Lieutenant James Stewart, both of the light company, were killed on
the spot, and Lieutenant Brander was severely wounded."

A sudden burst of tempestuous weather arrested the movements of the troops, and the men returned to their camps. Directly the rains ceased, however, Soult was once more in movement. Swiftly marching to his right, he threw the whole strength of his army on the British left, holding the Jean de Luz road. Failing here, he faced about, pushed on at speed to his left, and leaped on the British right. In the toilsome marches and bloody combats of these operations, the 42nd had a full share. Here is a picture by Anton of the fighting near Bayonne:--

"On the sixth division's attaining the heights overlooking Bayonne,
its movements were immediately directed to its right, so as to
support more effectually the left of the second; and Sir Denis Pack
ordered the 42nd to advance to the main road, by which a brigade of
the enemy was retiring. Our colonel was as anxious to execute the
order as the men were proud to have been selected to perform it, but
he led us into such a brake of furze, thorns, and brambles that it
would have been impossible to have taken our bare-thighed regiment
through its impenetrable meshes. The general, observing our painful
but ineffectual struggling, withdrew us from that spot, and pointed
to another place by which we should have advanced, and which would
have been practicable; but by this time the enemy had passed our
mark, and were descending towards the valley of the Adour, where,
joined by another brigade, they made a determined stand against the
92nd Highlanders, that were coming round on the other flank.

"The ground at that place was intersected with deep drains, loose
stone walls, and thorn bushes. Here a contest ensued, which cannot be
described with justice to both parties; perhaps the like seldom or
never occurred during the war. The enemy, although on their retreat,
were within a short distance of their own fortified position of
Bayonne, and in view of their own army and people, from whom praise
or censure was to be expected; they were also in the animating
discharge of an urgent duty, namely, that of opposing the invaders
of their beloved country. Yet, notwithstanding all these stimulants,
the gallant 92nd bore down every opposition. The guns ceased to play
upon this spot, so closely were both parties intermixed. Muskets
were broken, bayonets bent, and stones were thrown with deadly
vengeance. Victory crowned our native band, but it was dearly bought.
Fourteen officers, eight sergeants, and 163 rank and file lay killed
and wounded on the spot, and thrice that number of the enemy were
scattered in heaps around them.

"The sun sank over the blue waves of the Bay of Biscay, and darkness
rested on the fields, before the fire of the skirmishers ceased. Both
armies, wearied of the struggle, rested on the ground during the
night, the pickets occupying the dilapidated remains of the houses in
front; to these the wounded men crawled for shelter, or were carried
thither if near the spot.

"The unfortunate men who had fallen in remote places were suffered to
remain under the inclement sky, until morning brought them relief, or
death ended their sufferings. The rain poured down heavily during the
night, and those who had crawled for shelter to the dry ditches along
the roads or fields breathed their last beneath the gathering floods."

The bitter, incessant rain now drove the army into permanent winter quarters, and the British troops shivered in their bleak camps from December 14, 1813, to February 21, 1814. On the latter date camps were broken up, and the campaign of 1814 began. Anton's account of the first great fight of that campaign--Orthez--is naturally concerned only in the doings of his own regiment:--

"On the afternoon of the 25th we were ordered to halt, just as we
were about to ford the Gave, below a large farmhouse, where the river
is fordable, but was said to have been set with spikes, so as to form
an obstruction to our passage. Perhaps there was no truth in this
report; however, we suddenly retrograded and passed on pontoons, not
far from a small village, in which we were quartered for the night.
On the following day we approached the neighbourhood of Orthez, where
we pitched camp on the south side of the gently rising heights, the
north side of which forms the left bank of the Pau and overlooks the
handsome town beyond.

"An explosion, occasioned by the blowing up of a bridge, excited the
curiosity of a few to steal up the height, notwithstanding that we
had been charged against discovering ourselves to the enemy. Others
followed the example, and as no measures were taken, or perhaps were
necessary, to prevent it, the men indulged themselves with a view
of Orthez, the beautiful valley, with the Pau stealing softly along
its south side, while the long range of mountain heights bounding
it on the north rose abruptly over the road leading from Bayonne
and Peyrehorade. Many a man gazed on that mountain range who little
thought that before to-morrow's sun should go down, he would be
stretched upon it a lifeless corpse."

Orthez was, in many respects, a memorable fight. Soult was superior in numbers, held an almost impregnable position, fought with great skill, and for one delusive golden moment believed he had beaten Wellington! As he saw the British columns which had attacked both his right and left flanks reeling back, broken and disordered, it is said that he smote his thigh and exclaimed with excitement, "At last I have them!" The battle was won by the obstinate valour of the British soldiers, especially of the immortal Light Division and the swiftness of Wellington's counter-stroke at Soult's centre. Soult's left was covered by the Pau, and his centre by what seemed to be an impassable marsh. Two diverging and hilly ridges, thrust out like the horns of a bull, constituted his right and left flanks.

Beresford's attack on the French right, though urged five times over, failed. Picton's assault on the horn which formed Soult's left, urged with equal fire, also failed. Wellington won by sending the Light Division across the marsh and breaking Soult's centre. The 42nd formed part of Picton's attacking force, and the onfall of such troops under such a leader is not easily arrested; but the position held by the French was practically impregnable. In a private letter Picton wrote: "We were for nearly two hours exposed to the most continued and severe cannonade I ever witnessed. One of our 9-pounders had every man killed by round shot." In Anton's account the fire of this fierce fight is somehow chilled:--

"Early on the morning of Sunday, the 27th, we marched down the left
bank of the Pau, passed over on a pontoon bridge, and directed
our course upon the main road up the valley towards Orthez. Two
divisions of the army were already on the road before us. The heights
on our left appeared to be in the possession of the enemy, and as
our movements were plainly to attack his centre or his left, which
was posted in and above the town, corresponding movements became
necessary on his part, and his ranks were seen advancing along the
ridge parallel with ours. As the mountain approaches that place
where the road to St. Severe passes over it from Orthez, there is a
downward bend of about a mile; it rises, however, to a considerable
height on the east side of that road, and commands the town and its
approaches.

"On our coming near this bending, our brigade was ordered to move to
its left; several enclosures were in our way, but this was no time
to respect them, as the enemy was welcoming us with round shot and
shell. The gardens and nurseries were trodden down in an instant,
and a forest of bayonets glittered round a small farmhouse that
overlooked a wooded ravine on the north side.

"The light companies which had preceded the brigade were keeping up a
sharp fire upon the enemy's skirmishers, and our Grenadier company
was ordered to take post along the bank overlooking the ravine, and
commanding a narrow road below. No place seemed less practicable for
cavalry to act, but the enemy were determined to make every effort
to re-establish their lines on the heights from which they had
been driven by the light troops, and some of their squadrons were
seen approaching to drive back our advance, which by this time was
reinforced by the Grenadiers, but the more effectually to repel an
attack, two additional companies were despatched to reinforce those
already sent, and these had scarcely been formed when the charge of
cavalry was announced; it was met and repulsed; men and horses were
tumbled over the steep bank on the narrow road below, skirting the
ravine.

"The gallant young officer who led that charge, passed through the
ranks like a lion pouncing on his prey, and was made prisoner by
M'Namara of the Grenadier company. This man, if my memory serve
me well, gave the horse and sword to one of our captains, who was
afterwards appointed brevet-major; but poor M'Namara, who was more of
a soldier than a courtier, rose not to corporal. After this repulse
of the cavalry, we passed through the ravine, and moved towards the
road that passes over the bending of the hill. The light infantry
companies of the brigade, under the command of Major Cowel, were
skirmishing in front. The major was severely wounded, and carried to
the rear.

"The hill rises rather abruptly on the east side of the road, and
slopes gradually towards the north side, to which our advance was
directed, in order to turn the enemy's right, which had fallen back
as we advanced. There is a small village consisting of one street on
that brow of the hill towards the north, upon which the enemy was
driven back, and from this kept up a destructive fire of musketry
from garden walls, windows, and loopholes. Our regiment was ordered
to drive him from that annoying post, which I may say had now become
the right of his position. The bearer of this order was Lieutenant
Innes, who was then acting brigade-major to Sir D. Pack; he preceded
the regiment, and may be said to have led it on. The word of command
to advance at the charge was received with loud animating cheers.

"No movement in the field is made with greater confidence of success
than that of the charge; it affords little time for thinking,
while it creates a fearless excitement, and tends to give a fresh
impulse to the blood of the advancing soldier, rouses his courage,
strengthens every nerve, and drowns every fear of danger or of death;
thus emboldened, amidst the deafening shouts that anticipate victory,
he rushes on and mingles with the flying foe.

"In an instant the village was in our possession, and the fugitives
were partly intercepted by the advance of the second division of the
army, under Lord Hill, which had passed the Pau above Orthez, and was
now approaching round the east end of the heights.

"The enemy, thus dispossessed of his last position of any importance,
commenced a hasty retreat through some enclosed fields and young
plantations, through which his columns directed their course, until
impeded by intersecting ditches which induced them to take the main
road; there the ranks were broken, confusion ensued, and a complete
rout was the consequence.

"Fortunately for them the sun was nearly set, and although the
pursuit continued for several miles, they succeeded in keeping the
lead, and having reassembled during the night, continued their
retreat towards the Adour.

"The loss of the regiment in this battle was four officers, six
sergeants, and eighty-eight rank and file. We left behind us our
dead, our dying, and our wounded; the former careless who shut those
eyes that looked up to heaven from their gory bed, or who should
consign their naked limbs to a grave in the field of a strange land.
Night suspended hostilities, and the army bivouacked in columns on
the fields bordering the road leading to St. Severe.

"Night after a battle is always glorious to the undisputed victors;
they draw close to one another to hear and tell of the hazards of
the day, while some show the petty prizes snatched off the field,
and curse some inter-meddling satrap that would not let them linger
behind to get a better. The batmen and baggage-guard join the jocund
circles round the camp-fires, and exhibit some full canteens of
wine, the hastily snatched spoil of the day, or the plunder of some
poultry-house, baker's oven, or farmer's pantry, no less acceptable
to men long used to mouldy ship biscuit and scanty fare than silver
or gold would have been to those who experienced no want.

"Midnight shuts our eyes in welcome slumber, and nought is heard
to break the awful stillness that prevails, save the tinkling of
the mule-bells and the tread of a silent soldier round the expiring
embers of a camp-fire."

The pursuit of the enemy after Orthez witnessed some wild and some amusing scenes:--

"On the 28th we advanced on the road leading to St. Severe, our
cavalry in front pursuing and harassing the enemy's rear, and making
a number of his stragglers prisoners. Many of these were deeply
gashed by sabre wounds, and, being unable to get on so fast as the
escorts urged, they fell down by the roadside faint from loss of
blood, or panting with thirst, frequently soliciting a little water
to cool their parched tongues. It is but justice to say that the
British soldier attended to their appeals and relieved them when in
his power so to do, and sympathised as much for them as if they had
never fired a shot at him.

"We halted this day about three leagues from St. Severe, where the
road is crossed by a considerable stream. A considerable quantity of
vine-supporters lay scattered in bundles contiguous to our regiment's
camp ground, and dry wood being always a desirable article for those
who had the culinary duties to perform, a general charge was made in
order to secure a quantity before the other regiments came to the
knowledge of it.

"Our colonel had just dismounted, and was about to proceed to a
farmhouse adjoining to stable his horse, when the sudden rush of the
men, after having piled their arms and thrown down their knapsacks,
attracted his attention. He gazed upon them with astonishment,
hesitated a moment, and asked one of the guard the cause of so sudden
a movement. This soon discovered itself, for the men were loaded
with armsful of sticks, and rejoicing over their booty and good
luck, anticipating the comfortable warmth it would afford during
the drizzly night. Sir Denis Pack had taken up his quarters in the
farmhouse, or was supposed to have done so, and nothing was more
likely than that he would take an interest in protecting the owner's
property. The colonel, whether in dread of the general, or a mistaken
sense of justice, called out to the marauders, as he was pleased to
call them, to carry back their burdens. Some obeyed, others dropped
them at their feet, and a few less obedient persisted in bringing
them along; but the whole seemed rather unwilling to comply. The
colonel, dissatisfied at the apathy displayed in obeying his orders,
darted among the offenders and personally chastised those who seemed
the most reluctant to obey.

"Among the most refractory of those wood foragers were two men of
singular dispositions; their names were Henderson and Doury. The
former was a contradictory, obstinate, careless, awkward fellow. His
visage was long, his lips thick, his mouth always open, and, to use
a Scotch term, slavering. His feet were flat-soled, without any
spring, and he marched like a wearied pedlar under a pack, jolting
along the road. He had not seen much service, but, like many old
soldiers, he had much to say--he was nicknamed 'the Gomeral.' Doury
was a silly, good-natured simpleton, the butt of every man's jest,
yet no jester himself; for, when excited, his utterance failed so far
that it was little else than a breathless gibbering of inarticulate
sounds. Such another couple was not in the regiment, or perhaps in
the brigade, and would not be accepted of for the service in time
of peace. Those two were bringing in their burdens notwithstanding
the interdiction, and had entered the field on which the colonel was
standing. The colonel, observing that Henderson led the other on,
strode hastily forward to enforce obedience. Doury was the first to
observe him, fled past his companion, dropped the sticks at his feet,
and escaped. Not so Henderson: he fell over the bundle dropped at his
feet, with his face pressed against the soft, miry field; the colonel
overtook him as he recovered, seized him by the kilt, the pins of
which yielded to the tug, and left his naked flesh to some merited
chastisement. This excited bursts of laughter from all the men, and
the poor fellow afterwards declared that he was more vexed at the
laughter than hurt by the punishment."

War is a rough school, and under its hard experiences all the finery of an army quickly vanishes. Colours fade, feathers moult, bright metals turn rusty, uniforms grow ragged, and the once "smart" army becomes, from the tailor's point of view, a thing to weep over or to shudder at. Here is a picture of a gallant army in rags and sandals:--

"At this time the clothing of the army at large, but the Highland
brigade in particular, was in a very tattered state. The clothing of
the 91st Regiment had been two years in wear; the men were thus under
the necessity of repairing their old garments in the best manner they
could: some had the elbows of their coats mended with grey cloth,
others had the one-half of the sleeve of a different colour from the
body; and their trousers were in equally as bad a condition as their
coats.

"The 42nd, which was the only corps in the brigade that wore the
kilt, was beginning to lose it by degrees; men falling sick and
left in the rear frequently got the kilt made into trousers, and on
joining the regiment again no plaid could be furnished to supply
the loss. Thus a great want of uniformity prevailed; but this was
of minor importance when compared to the want of shoes. As our
march continued daily, no time was to be found to repair them until
completely worn out; this left a number to march with bare feet
or, as we termed it, to pad the hoof. These men being occasionally
permitted to straggle out of the ranks to select the soft part of
the roads or fields adjoining, others who had not the same reason to
offer for this indulgence followed the example, until each regiment
marched regardless of keeping in rank, and sometimes mixed with other
corps in front and rear. To put a stop to this irregularity, the
men without shoes were formed by themselves and marched, under the
command of officers and non-commissioned officers, in rear of the
brigade.

"It is impossible to describe the painful state that some of those
shoeless men were in, crippling along the way, their feet cut or
torn by sharp stones or brambles. To remedy the want of shoes, the
raw hides of the newly-slaughtered bullocks were given to cut up, on
purpose to form a sort of buskins for the bare-footed soldiers. This
served as a substitute for shoes, and enabled the wearers to march in
the ranks of their respective companies.

"Our knapsacks were also by this time beginning to display, from
their torn ends, their worthless contents; and as our line of march
was in an opposite direction from our expected supplies, our exterior
appearance was daily getting worse; but the real spirit of the
soldier was improving, and I make little doubt but we would have
followed our leaders to the extremity of Europe without grumbling. We
were getting hardier and stronger every day in person; the more we
suffered, the more confidence we felt in our strength; all in health,
and no sickness. The man in patched clothes and a piece of untanned
hide about his feet, when he looked around him, saw others in some
respects as ill appointed as himself; and he almost felt a pride in
despising any new-comer with dangling plumes, plaited or crimped
frills, white gloves, and handsome shoes--all good-for-nothing
frippery to the hardy, toil-worn soldier, the man of flint, powder,
and steel, as he thought himself. His was the gloveless hand and the
shoeless foot that braved alike the cold and the heat, the toil of
the field and the fatigue of the march; nothing came wrong to him; he
started in the morning from his hard pillow and harder bed, required
no time to blacken his shoes, but braced up his knapsack, regardless
of the state of the roads or weather, and was ready to march off.

"I have already mentioned that there was some skirmishing with the
enemy this day, as we advanced. Here we had three men killed and
several wounded. One of those who were killed had been doing the duty
of pioneer previous to this day; doubtless he had considered this a
degrading duty, and had pressingly requested to be permitted to join
the ranks. His request was granted; this was his first entry on the
field since he obtained that indulgence, and here he fell. He lay
on the field adjoining the road; some one had rifled his knapsack,
but had thrown the blanket over him. Having the general's baggage
in charge I was following the brigade with the guard and the mules
when I observed some soldiers examining to what regiment the killed
belonged; one bore off the knapsack, but left the blanket carelessly
cast on the corpse, a batman was making a prize of the blanket, and a
Portuguese muleteer was about to take off the kilt.

"I could be at no loss to know to what regiment he belonged, as the
42nd was the only corps in the division that had that dress, and
I desired one of the guard to recover the blanket, and to spread
it over the body, for we had no time to inter it. He sprang on the
spoilers in an instant, snatched the blanket from the batman, and
seizing the muleteer rather roughly, tumbled him into the ditch that
lined the road; then, spreading the blanket over the corpse, left it;
but doubtless to be soon stripped again. Thus falls the poor soldier."