Under England's flag

by Charles Boothby

UNDER ENGLAND’S FLAG

That branch of the military profession to which I was destined (the Royal Engineers) requires an early dedication to its peculiar studies. We are put under military discipline while we are yet boys, and are in many respects good soldiers before we come to be men. Hence a consequence is derived to this service which I think is favourably felt by its members in after life; and this is, that their companions in arms and in the labours and dangers of war are, for the most part, those with whom they have shared the yoke of education, and the more than redeeming pleasures of youthful fellowship. Much doubt, therefore, in the selection of friends, and much of the disappointment and injury which so often accrue from a bad choice, are hereby spared, since at a period when Nature seldom permits any sustained disguise, each young mind has furnished itself with friends, chosen, as it were, in the castle of truth. Here it has obtained the knowledge of which to seek and which to shun. Thus, when at the age of seventeen or eighteen I assumed the sword of a British officer, the branch of service into which I entered contained numbers of my chosen friends, whose hearts I knew to the bottom, and who knew mine. A character on both sides was already established which we would have died rather than sully, and certainly the advantages of this emulous friendship did not terminate with the individual, but extended to the service in which they were employed. Of all my early friends, I never knew one who was not eager and importunate to be placed in the front of danger and of enterprise, or who thought even for a moment of sparing any extent of labour, peril, loss of liberty, or life itself in the service of his country; and most of these, in the flower of youth and dawn of military glory, have fallen in battle.

After about a year spent on a home station, in compliance with my earnest request, I was nominated, early in 1805, to proceed with a foreign expedition, going, no one knew whither, under the command of Sir James Craig.

This order plunged me immediately into a new state of existence, wherein every sort of agitation, activity, and conflicting emotion succeeded to the monotony of routine duty. I exulted that I was so early to taste of foreign service, and the note of preparation and outfit was well suited to the stirring propensity of youth; but in the midst of all my satisfaction and ardent hope there did lurk a fear and a dread at the bottom of my heart of something I had first to encounter.

My father and mother had accustomed the hearts of their children to such unbounded tenderness and love as is sure to draw a proportionate return; and in spite of the commonness of such separation, I knew better than any one else could that the thoughts of my departure would make that home unhappy whose happiness and peace I prized above all other things.

I knew that my incomparable father, whatever he might feel, had no wish to make a home soldier of his son. I knew he would both mourn and approve my departure. But it was a thing which lay in my way and hung at my heart, and my first object on arriving in London was to seek my new commanding officer, and gain his consent to my making a hurried journey to take leave of my friends.

The name of my new chief I had long known, for his fine person and dark flashing eye had been pointed out to me when a boy as belonging to the finest officer in the service, and his manner and conversation were all that a raw boy could hope to find in a young man, of kindness, genius, and experience. My heart beat with the thoughts of serving under such a master, of being trained to actual service under his eye, and (youthful vanity perhaps added) of being made by him as fine and clever a fellow as himself.

He entered at once into the feelings which made me so desirous to make a journey home, and the moment he could ascertain that the time would serve, “Be off then, Boothby,” he said, “but make all the haste you can back; and if I have left London, lose not a moment in getting to Portsmouth.”

Away I went. The parting scene was more trying even than I anticipated, but “Time and the hour run through the roughest day,” and I was soon on my way back to London. I had seen my father’s venerable form and manly features shaken with childish weeping as he held me to his breast, and though long the pang of that sight dwelt in my mind—for I have ever since cherished that sacred picture as one of the holiest my memory can retain—I never shall forget the relief and lightness I felt from having got through this sad passage of tears and lamentations. On arriving in London I feared that my Chief had left it, so I hastened to that second mother who had spent the short interval of my absence in collecting all the various articles desirable for an officer in the Mediterranean, to which we were supposed to be destined.

I found her in her drawing-room, where every sofa, cabinet, chair, and table was covered with my clothes and linen, which hers and other kind hands were marking. The perpetual consciousness of doing kind and useful acts had made an angelic smile the inseparable companion of her face, and with that loved, that dearly-remembered smile did she now receive me.

To all the stores she had so laboured to procure for me she had added as her own present a complete writing-box and dressing-case combined—a luxury of peculiar value to me, which my own funds would have found it difficult to compass; but finding me uneasy lest I should be left behind or be thought tardy by my commander, “Go,” she said, “you shan’t wait for your baggage; we will have it all packed up, and I will send my butler with it to Portsmouth, that I may be sure of its reaching you.”

Down to Portsmouth then I went on the outside of the Mail, in the highest health and the ardent spirits of youth—spirits that made, I suppose, even my body buoyant and elastic, for the Mail overturned in the night and threw me on the road without giving me so much as a scratch or a bruise. It was about twenty miles from London when we met a team of horses standing in a slant direction on the road, the night very foggy with misting rain, and the lamps not penetrating farther into the mist than the rumps of the wheelers. The coachman, to avoid the waggon, turned suddenly out of the way and ran up the bank. Finding the coach swaggering, I got up, with my face to the horses, hardly daring to suppose it possible that the Mail could overturn, when the unwieldy monster was on one wheel, and then down it came with a terminal bang. During my descent I had just time to hope that I might escape with the fracture of one or two legs, and then found myself on my two shoulders, very much pleased with the novelty and ease of the journey. I got me up, and spied the monster with his two free wheels whirling with great velocity, but quite compact and still in the body, and as soon as I had shaken my feathers and opened my senses I began to think of the one female and three males in the inside, whom I supposed to be either dead or asleep. I ran to open the door, when the guard, having thought of the same thing, did it for me, and we then took out the folks one by one, like pickled ghirkins, or anything else preserved in a jar, by putting our hands to the bottom. We found that the inmates were only stupefied, though all had bruises of some kind, and one little gentleman complained that he was nipped in the loins by the mighty pressure of his neighbour, who had sat upon him some time after the door was opened, to recollect himself or to give thanks for his escape.

The Start.

“Down to Portsmouth then I went on the outside of the Mail.”

The lady told me “she was terribly hurt indeed,” and so, when we got to the supper place, I gave her a kipperkin of boiled port wine with much spice. She agreed it was very nice, and looked more cheery, but the rest of the inside passengers seemed to think that it would not look well to eat after being overturned.

Not one on the outside was hurt in the least degree, and I, being on the top of the coach, had the farthest fly.

I had not been without my fears that on arriving at Portsmouth I should have to hasten on board, and perhaps sail without my baggage; but the wind had changed, all the troops were not yet embarked, and nobody seemed to be thinking of anything but gaiety and amusement, or the not unpleasant business of laying in comforts for the voyage.

Sir James Craig and Lefebure were lodging together, and kindly took me in till I could provide myself better. With Lefebure I had early acquaintance, and since entering the Army we had been employed in neighbouring stations, and I knew that under Sir James Craig’s command he had come to be reckoned perhaps the best officer of his early standing. He, I found, was to be of our company, as well as Hoste and Lewis, two more of my earlier friends.

Our second in command was Sir John Stuart, whom I saw for the first time. The best and bravest could not have chosen fitter company than every one of these. Sir James Craig and Sir John Stuart were of great experience and superior rank. Sir John Stuart had served long at Gibraltar; Sir James Craig everywhere. The rest might be called equals, for in youth, inexperience, and rank they were about equal, but of the whole party I was the junior officer.

Two excellent vessels, a ship and a brig, were appointed for our accommodation, and some of us were allotted to the ship and some to the brig.

Each party now addressed itself to the important task of laying in a comfortable sea stock, and the two ships agreed, as opportunity should occur, that they would interchange fresh meat on the voyage.

For our part we provided several sheep and pigs, a milch goat, and a great many ducks and fowls, with hay and grain for their provender, a prodigious quantity of eggs and potatoes, butter, cheese, and lard, of pickles, sauces, spices, portable soup, white and brown maccaroni, vermicelli, and celery seed, with a variety of other stores, but particularly a great stock of bottled porter, a barrel of ale, and a pretty allowance of wine and spirits.

The procuring and embarking of all these various things, animate and inanimate, fell in equal portions to Lewis and myself. It was no light task, but neither was it bad fun. Lewis was a pleasant, lively, and most efficient colleague; many a voyage did we make to Spithead; many an hour did we spend on board to see proper accommodation prepared for our live stock, and to place our stores out of the reach of damage or of breakage.

The general obligation of such provisioning makes the streets of Portsmouth like a rabbit-warren, the scarlet purchasers popping in and out of the shop doors incessantly in long succession.

Between two and three weeks passed over not unpleasantly, for letters and various accidents had extended my acquaintance amongst the staff of the army, and tended to wear off any feeling of strangeness.

The general impression was that Malta was our destination in the first instance, as indeed it was known that we were charged with despatches for that island.

On the 18th of April 1805 we set sail—a numerous fleet of transports under the convoy of the Queen, a three-decker, having the Commander of the Forces on board and his staff, and the Dragon, a seventy-four, carrying Sir John Stuart, the second in command, and his staff.

The army was supposed to be from 8000 to 10,000 strong, accompanied as well by four companies of artillery, and a prodigal supply of all warlike stores.

Portsmouth, April 17, 1805.

My dearest Father—I can only say we are all going on board, and expect to sail to-morrow, certainly for the Mediterranean. Don’t write any more to this place. I am perfectly happy and comfortable. God bless you, and my mother, and Louisa.—Ever yours, my dearest Dad,

Chas. Boothby.

You must not expect to hear from me any more, but I will seize every opportunity.