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.