CHAPTER XXXIV.
An orderly dragoon puts us all in confusion—A stir—Retreat upon Santander—The dangers of forgetfulness—Cure for a fever—We return to our old quarters—Captain Shields and Major Clark’s visit—An appeal—A new mode of raising “Volunteers”—Glory or death by famine—One hundred and twenty men are starved into the service again—Scene in Santander—British soldiers and subjects—More assassinations—A cold-blooded Spaniard—A peace-loving Commandant—Captain Oakley and his “cats”—Continued horrors of the convent—Assassination—A relief from purgatory—A conclusion.
In consequence of the weakened state of the garrison and the convent, the inhabitants and Commandant of Santander were in constant fear of incursions from the enemy, who seemed to be beating about the neighbourhood. Indeed, at one time they crossed a river, some three leagues distant from the town, on the Madrid road, by means of pontoons, obliging the Spanish troops doing duty thereabouts to retire upon Santander.
One evening an orderly dragoon came post haste from Colonel Arbuthnot, to inform me that the Carlists were beating about our quarters, with orders to hold myself, and the whole of the prisoners and convalescents, in readiness to leave the convent at a moment’s notice; but not to stir until the Spanish guard doing duty over the convent had retired, in which case our retreat was to be covered by them.—Covered by them indeed! Here was a pretty predicament! upwards of three hundred British soldiers, without arms, under the auspices of a parcel of Spaniards! We had not a single stand of fire-arms, excepting my servant’s rifle; for even the Lancers, that were performing orderly duty, had been deprived of all but their swords. I instantly sent for the sergeant-major, and acquainted him with the orders received, directing him to get the men in readiness. I then ordered a couple of the Lancers to ride round and reconnoitre, and being assured by the Captain of the Spanish guard of his duly warning me before he marched, I laid myself full dressed on my bed.
I had just dozed off, when in drove two of the dragoons, informing me that our Spanish guard had retired, and that there was every reason to believe that the Carlists were in the wood behind the convent, indeed that we were surrounded; here was a blessing, not even shaving time allowed us by the Carlists. However, I instantly ordered the men to fall in as quietly as possible, and putting them under the command of Lieutenant de Becker of the 6th, and placing Captain Deacon (who at the time had blisters applied to his head and breast) on an old door, borne on the shoulders of men, off they started. Having thus cleared the convent, the sergeant-major, a few dragoons, and some Irishmen armed with sticks, covered their retreat. As we were about to follow the rest, two Spanish soldiers made their appearance, nearly out of breath, with their muskets and bayonets fixed. It appeared that, in their hurried flight, they had forgotten the Captain’s cloak. Here was a lucky chance!—Up went their heels and down they went on their backs, and, in a twinkling, their muskets and pouches were wrenched from them and shouldered for our own protection. The reader is, I expect, with his hair on end, anticipating some dreadful encounter; but this, after all, turned out, like most of our air-castles to be nothing but a bottle of smoke—though contrary to expectation, it certainly saved the life of Captain Deacon, whose illness took a turn through the confusion, and he recovered rapidly.
Fortunately the night was of a fine starlight, and we reached Santander at about three in the morning, and discovered that the whole blunder was occasioned by the Spanish troops moving without orders; we of course returned to our old quarters.
Shortly after this, two officers—Captain Shields of the 8th, and Major Clark of the 6th, were sent from head-quarters to persuade, if possible, the men to rejoin their regiments. They requested me to order them to fall in; which I did,—and the whole formed in a field opposite the convent.
The two officers, as their eyes first glanced on the gloomy ranks before them, stared in silent astonishment. “Good God!” at length ejaculated Shields, with deep emphasis, “can it be possible that these men once formed my old company, the grenadiers!” It was too true.
Clark, stepping forward, appealed to them as their old officer, and pathetically begged of them to listen. Shields did the same. But they would not, they said, say or do anything until Captain Costello had given his opinion, on whom, as an old soldier, they relied for just and practical advice.
At this, I of course came forward, and addressed them somewhat to this effect: