Battle of Waterloo, [218.] March to Paris, [225.] Anecdotes there, [226.] Conclusion, [227.]
JOURNAL OF A SOLDIER
OF THE
SEVENTY-FIRST REGIMENT OF FOOT.
FROM motives of delicacy, which the narrative will explain, I choose to conceal my name, the knowledge of which can be of little importance to the reader. I pledge myself to write nothing but what came under my own observation, and what I was personally engaged in.
I was born of poor but respectable parents, in Edinburgh, who bestowed upon me an education superior to my rank in life. It was their ambition to educate me for one of the learned professions; my mother wishing me to be a clergyman, my father to be a writer. They kept from themselves many comforts, that I might appear genteel, and attend the best schools: my brothers and sister did not appear to belong to the same family. My parents had three children, two boys and a girl, besides myself. On me alone was lavished all their care. My brothers, John and William, could read and write, and at the age of twelve years, were bound apprentices to trades. My sister, Jane, was made, at home, a servant of all-work to assist my mother; I alone was a gentleman in a house of poverty.
My father had, for sometime, been in a bad state of health, and unable to follow his usual employment. I was unable to earn any thing for our support. In fact, I was a burden upon the family. The only certain income we had, was the board of my two brothers, and a weekly allowance from a benefit society of which my father was a member. The whole sum was five shillings for my brothers, and six from the society, which were soon to be reduced to three, as the time of full sick-money was almost expired.
I do confess, (as I intend to conceal nothing,) this distressed state of affairs softened not my heart. I became sullen and discontented at the abridgment of my usual comforts; and, unnatural wretch that I was! I vented that spleen upon my already too distressed parents. My former studies were no longer followed, for want of means to appear as I was wont. That innate principle of exertion, that can make a man struggle with, and support him in the greatest difficulties, had been stifled in me by indulgence and indolence. I forsook my former school-fellows, and got acquainted with others, alas! not for the better.
I was now sixteen years of age, tall and well made, of a genteel appearance and address. Amongst my new acquaintances, were a few who had formed themselves into a spouting club, where plays were acted to small parties of friends, who were liberal in their encomiums. I was quite bewildered with their praise, and thought of nothing but becoming another Rosicus,—making a fortune and acquiring a deathless name. I forsook my classical authors for Shakespeare, and the study of the stage. Thus, notwithstanding the many tears of my mother, and entreaties of my father, I hurried to ruin. I was seldom at home, as my parents constantly remonstrated with me on the folly of my proceedings. This I could not endure: I had been encouraged and assisted by them in all my former whims. All my undertakings were looked upon, by them, as the doings of a superior genius. To be crossed now, I thought the most unjust and cruel treatment.