I rejoined my regiment at Barba del Puerco, a small village near the banks of the river Coa, on the other side of which the enemy had taken up their position. Our regiment was cantoned in the surrounding villages, while nightly we mounted a captain’s picquet on a height facing a bridge, on the other side of which the French had thrown out their advanced sentry. Two of our sentries were posted on the bridge, while a third was stationed half-way down the steep, to keep up the communication with our picquet above.
On the 19th of May, the company to which I belonged was on picquet. It was a fine, though windy night, a fleecy scud occasionally obscuring the light of the moon. About twelve o’clock, while our men were mostly asleep, we were suddenly woke by the rifle reports of our sentries, and the French drums playing their advance “rub-a-dub-dub,” which our men designated with the name of “old trowsers.” I was now, as it were, but a young sleepy-headed boy, and as yet had been scarcely aroused to a true sense of the profession I had embraced. I had never been under the fire of a French musket, and I felt an indescribable thrill on this occasion. The chilly hour of the night and peculiar inclination to sleep, at the time, had sunk my senses below zero. But I was speedily startled out of my lethargy by the whizzing of the enemies’ bullets, as they greeted my astonished hearing. My surprise soon, however, gave place to perfect recollection, and in less than a minute we were all under arms, the balls of the French whistling about us as a column came rushing over the bridge to force our position. Captain O’Hare, with his characteristic coolness, immediately gave us the word to “seek cover,” and we threw ourselves forward among the rocky and broken ground, from whence we kept up a galling fire upon those who had commenced storming our heights.
We were exceedingly hard pressed when three companies of our regiment, under Colonel Beckwith, came up to our relief, and the contest for a while was both doubtful and bloody. But, after about half an hour’s hard fighting, the enemy were obliged to retreat with much precipitation, and under a close and murderous fire from us. During this brief conflict some incidents occurred that, perhaps, are worth mentioning. Colonel Beckwith actually employed himself, at one time, in heaving large fragments of stone upon the French as they attempted to ascend the acclivity on which we were placed, and, while so engaged, got a musket-shot through his cap.
Another officer of ours, the Adjutant Lieutenant Stewart, a fine tall fellow, was engaged in a personal contest with two or three grenadiers, a number of whom had managed to ascend the hill on our right; at this critical moment one of our men, named Ballard, fortunately came to his aid, and shot one of his assailants, at which the other instantly surrendered. The above gallant officer, however, afterwards fell on our advance from Santarem the following year.
This was, I believe, the first and last time the French ever attempted surprising a rifle picquet.
Both our sentries at the bridge were taken prisoners, one of them badly wounded. A rather interesting recollection is attached to one of them, named Meagher, who, when the exchange of prisoners took place in 1814, returned to England and rejoined us at Dover. He was with us in France at the time of Waterloo, which, however, he was not present at on account of the following circumstance.
A quarrel had originated a few nights before the battle of Waterloo in a wine-house at Brussels, between some of our men, and the Belgian gens-d’armes, the consequence was, that the inhabitants were forced to send for the guards. These, of course, were soon on the spot, but were as soon attacked and beaten back by the Belgians, who would have driven them into the guard-house but for Meagher, who, suddenly turning to the assailants, levelled his rifle and shot the foremost through the body; on this, the whole of the gens-d’armes retreated, not, however, till after Meagher had received a cut on the side of the neck. For this affair he was put into prison, and a general court-martial honourably acquitted him, not until that battle had been fought which for ever destroyed Napoleon’s hopes. Our company, to which Meagher belonged, soon after presented a requisition to Captain Leach, who then commanded us, and through his intercession, Meagher obtained a Waterloo medal.
Shortly after this attempted surprise, we quitted Barba del Puerco for the town of Gallegos, situated some five or six miles from Ciudad Rodrigo.
The following laughable incident occurred to me while we lay at Gallegos:—I happened to be acquainted with General Crauford’s private servant, a German, chiefly through my being employed as orderly to the brigadier. At times when an opportunity offered, we used to take a glass of wine together upon the most convivial terms. One morning, however, when I thought the brigadier had gone out, as was his usual custom, I went to his room to ask the valet to partake of some wine which I had received from the patron of the house. On opening the door, I unhesitatingly went in, and beheld, as I imagined, the individual I wanted in a morning-gown looking out of the window. It entered into my head to surprise my servant friend, so, as he had not been disturbed by my approach, I stepped softly up to his rear, and with a sudden laugh, gave him a smart slap on the back. But my consternation and surprise may be better imagined than described, when the gentleman in the dressing-gown, starting round with a “Who the devil is that?” disclosed—not the merry phiz of the valet, but the stern features of General Crauford himself.
I thought I should have sunk through the ground at the moment, had it have opened to swallow me. I could only attempt to explain the mistake I had made, in a very humble way, as I gradually retreated to the door.