From its eminence, I remember to have seen one of the finest views of the two armies I ever witnessed. The rifles were extended in the distance for perhaps two miles, and rapidly on the advance to the enemy’s position. These were followed by our heavy columns, whose heads were just emerging from a wood about a quarter of a mile in our rear. Everything seemed conducted with the order and regularity of a field day. Meanwhile the rear columns of the French were slowly retiring, but in a few minutes the scene became exceedingly animated by our artillery opening their fire upon the retreating forces.
This was the signal for us to set to work. We instantly moved down from our lofty station, and were soon engaged skirmishing and endeavouring to out-flank and drive in their light troops, which, after a hard struggle, we at length accomplished, but not before many men had fallen on both sides. The enemy, however, although they slowly retired, continually turned, making temporary stands, whenever the ground seemed favourable.
One affecting circumstance that took place in this action, made a deep impression on my memory. A French officer whom we had observed very conspicuously cheering on his men, had fallen by a rifle-shot through the thigh, when two of our buglers ran forward for the purpose of easing him of his money. This, I must observe, the French generally kept concealed in a kind of belt round their waists. As soon, therefore, as the buglers came up to him, they commenced quarrelling as to which of them should possess his property. The more readily to disencumber him of his belt, each of them had fallen on his knees over the poor Frenchman, and one of the buglers had drawn a knife to cut the strap that secured the hoped-for treasure, when the other endeavouring to restrain him brought on a scuffle, during which, I am sorry to relate, the knife entered the body of the wounded man, and he expired on the spot. I had arrived just in time to perceive the occurrence, and could with difficulty restrain myself from shooting the owner of the knife on the spot, until he told me it was purely accidental.
After pursuing the enemy through the town, where we took a number of prisoners (among whom were some of my own company, taken the day before) in a water-mill, we encamped at night on the side of an extensive hill. The country, here also, was well wooded and watered, and exceedingly picturesque, as was also the position occupied by the enemy. We were encamped on a range of heights, while the French lay below in a beautiful valley; the outlying sentries of both armies being not more than two hundred yards apart.
This night our company, with Captain Belvard’s, formed the outlying picquet. As we had had no rations for two days previous, we were soon busily employed in cooking what we had taken from the prisoners; during this ceremony, a man of the name of Humphrey Allen, a tall powerful fellow, whom we had also nick-named “Long Tom of Lincoln,” came up from the rear, where, during the preceding skirmish, he had been employed taking the wounded. On asking to be allowed to join one of the messes, he was immediately refused, on account of his having gone out of action with the wounded, when the care of them devolved upon the buglers or bandsmen alone. This, I must remark, was at first a common excuse for getting from under fire, and soon became marked with indignation by the braver men; at length, during the latter part of the campaign, no good soldier would venture, under so frivolous a pretence, so to expose himself to the indignation of his comrades, excepting for any very extreme cases. In the preceding instance, however, Allen proved himself more daring than humane.
Taking up his rifle, very coolly observing that he would soon get something to eat if a Frenchman had it: walked quietly down to our outlying picquets, and taking deliberate aim, shot one of the French sentries on the spot: in an instant he was across the field to where he fell, and having hoisted him on his shoulders, was in the act of bearing him back to our line, which the French perceiving, not only fired, but pursued him, and compelled him to drop his prize.
A general alarm, meanwhile, was occasioned by this firing, and before it could be checked, Colonel Beckwith came down, and having traced its origin, sent for Allen.
“Why, Zur,” replied Tom, to the inquiry of the Colonel “I arn’t had nought to eat these two days, and thought as how I might find summut in the Frencher’s knapsack.”
Although he had been guilty of a cruelty which no law of arms could justify, he managed to escape with a severe reprimand.[[8]]
In the course of an hour after, being on sentry at our advance posts, I was leisurely sauntering up and down, occasionally looking about me, and stooping to cull some flowers that grew in the field which divided us from the enemy. It was just at the close of the evening, or between the lights. The French sentry, who advanced occasionally seemingly for the same purpose, at last came so near, that I feared he was up to some manœuvre, or about to fire at me; with this, I instantly cocked my rifle, and was awaiting his approach, when he suddenly rushed towards me, bellowing out in French, “Déserteur! Déserteur!” Of course at the words I allowed him to approach, which he did, exclaiming, “Je suis allemand,” and instantly turning on his quondam comrades, fired into them. The report of his fire caused the picquets of both parties to fall in, and the whole line of sentries again to be engaged. However, he stuck by me all the time, shaking his fist at them, and loading and firing with all the jaw-breaking oaths that the French and his native German could supply him with.