“Oh, love is the soul of a neat Irishman,” &c.
About this period we had a regiment of Brunswickers sent to join our division, and one of our least amusing duties soon consisted in watching them, to prevent their deserting to the enemy. It was the prevalence of this honourable propensity among them, I believe, that induced Lord Wellington to distribute their force among the different divisions of the army. These “death and glory men,” as we used to term them, from their badge of the skull and cross-bones which was worn on their shakos and accoutrements, were dressed in dark green, which but too frequently enabled them to steal past our guards and join the French, with whom many of their connexions were. Among other attributes with which these allies were gifted, was a canine appetite, that induced them to kill and eat all the dogs they could privately lay hold of. By this means the different dogs of the division disappeared before the Germans with a celerity truly astonishing, and we were in ignorance of their fate until the fact became openly proclaimed and acknowledged. Among other animals thus “potted for consumption” was a dog which, from its having attached itself to our regiment, we had christened “Rifle.” Rifle could never be induced to leave us, and upon one or two occasions when we had lost it, had always managed to rejoin us again. We used often to joke among ourselves at Rifle’s antipathy to a red coat, and his decided preference to green; but although, poor fellow! he had survived many of our skirmishes, in which he used to run about barking and expressing his delight as much as a dog could, it was only, after all, to be devoured by the insatiable jaws of the Brunswickers.
We had in the company a sergeant of the name of Fleming, a tall athletic brave fellow, from the Lake of Killarney. One night being posted in picquet, he unluckily came in collision with one of the Brunswick officers, and suspecting his intentions to bolt to the enemy, knocked him down with his rifle and otherwise maltreated him. The result was, that Fleming was tried by a brigade court-martial, convicted for the assault, and sentenced to be reduced to the ranks, and to receive a corporal punishment of five hundred lashes. This put us all on the alert, and the officers also, by whom he was very much liked. The division being formed, by order of General Crauford, the prisoner was brought to the centre of the square, and the minutes of the court-martial read aloud, Fleming proceeded to strip, while the men stood attentively yet sullenly awaiting the result. The General now addressed him, saying:
“Prisoner Fleming, the offence which you have been guilty of, is of so heinous a nature, that could it be proved to be wilfully committed, it would be most unpardonable; but the excellent character for gallantry and honourable conduct, given of you by your officers, is such that I take the responsibility on myself, relying on the plea made by you. I shall not flog you, therefore, but your stripes will be cut off, and I trust your future conduct will testify that the discretion I now use, is not misplaced; and I here,” proceeded the General, turning round to the division, “take the opportunity of declaring, that if any of those gentlemen (meaning the Brunswickers,) have a wish to go over to the enemy, let them express it, and I give my word of honour I will grant them a pass to that effect instantly, for we are better without such.”
Fleming was shortly afterwards reinstated, but, poor fellow! he was destined to an early though a more honourable fate, and fell leading on the ladder party, in the forlorn hope at Badajoz.
All this time, and for a great part of that in which we were quartered here, a very friendly intercourse was carried on between the French and ourselves. We frequently met them bathing in the Rio Mayor, and would as often have swimming and even jumping matches. In these games, however, we mostly beat them, but that was attributed, perhaps, to their half-starved, distressed condition. This our stolen intercourses soon made us more awake to, until at length, touched with pity, our men went so far as to share with them the ration biscuits, which we were occasionally supplied with from England, by our shipping; indeed we buried all national hostility in our anxiety to assist and relieve them. Tobacco was in great request; we used to carry some of ours to them, while they in return would bring us a little brandy. Their “réveille” was our summons as well as theirs, and although our old captain seldom troubled us to fall in at the “réveille,” it was not unusual to find the rear of our army under arms, and, perhaps, expecting an attack. But the captain knew his customers, for though playful as lambs, we were watchful as leopards.
It will not be amiss, perhaps, if I give the reader an idea of the resources and intrinsic position of the two armies, thus contending on a soil to which both were aliens. It will be necessary to enter a little into the holds either party had on the opinions of the inhabitants.
The French, it must be recollected, were fighting for the usurpation—if it may be so termed—of the Spanish throne by Joseph Bonaparte, and had to contend with all the elements that composed and monopolized the prejudices of the Spanish and Portuguese people. The whole war was one between innovation, and long and deeply rooted prejudice; and the French troops, consequently, were on all occasions, nightly and daily, not only open to attacks from the British, but in constant alarm from the natives, whose animosity made them alive to the slightest opportunity that presented itself for doing them mischief.
No Frenchman, however fatigued, dared to straggle or fall back: it was instant death to him. The guerillas and peasantry watched with the thirst of wolves, and slaughtered all who fell into their hands. These dangers were, also, doubly increased by the absence of uniforms amongst the Spaniards, who, up to this time, wore their own peasant dresses. This disabled the French from recognizing either friends or foes. In addition to these, they had another of greater magnitude than any, their provision and ammunition resources depended entirely on their communication with France—separated from them by the Pyrenees, and long distances from the scene of contention itself; this made their supplies exceedingly precarious, and but for the contributions levied by the French generals on the inhabitants, would have kept them oft-times pendant ’twixt hunger and the bayonets of their enemies.
The priesthood, also, numbers of whom were of the French church, had to return many obligations to their revolutionary opponents, such as their banishment, wholesale, from their “snuggeries” during the year of terror; these, therefore, sided always with the Spaniards, and by their influence, combined with the Spanish inquisitorial clergy, gave a colour and energy to the cause we had engaged in.