A blacksmith of ours of the name of Tidy, who had erected his forge in the old mill, was at work close by, shoeing the officers’ horses. The French sentry had crossed the plank to light his pipe, and was standing carelessly chatting with me, when who should I see approaching, but General Crauford, inquiring if Tidy had shod his horse. The Frenchman’s red wings soon attracted the General’s notice, and he suddenly with his well-known stern glance, inquired,
“Who the devil’s that you’re talking with, rifleman?”
I informed him the French sentry, who had come over for a light for his pipe.
“Indeed,” replied Crauford, “let him go about his business, he has no right here, nor we either,” said he, in a low whisper to his aide-de-camp, and away he walked.
Our battalion remained in the suburbs of Fuentes a few days, and the enemy who had desisted from their attempt to relieve Almeida, retired; we followed them and took up our quarters at Gallegos. Anxious to know the fate of Serjeant-Major Sharp, of the 14th Light Dragoons, immediately on our arrival I called on an old friend, a Corporal Henley,[[10]] of the same regiment, and he gave me the following particulars and further proceedings of that gallant and highly distinguished regiment.
“On the 5th, early in the morning,” said he, “after you left us, we assembled on our respective alarm posts, which at daylight we found to be none other than the position so gloriously contested and known as Fuentes d’Onor.
“The regiment formed in close columns and dismounted, the commissariat having arrived with the mules, rations were issued to both man and horse, and to many it proved to be their last. It so happened that during the distribution of corn, the horses of Lieutenant Shields had been forgotten. It was, therefore, necessary to make a collection from each dragoon, to make good the deficiency; one of these, named Trowers, under the influence of the preceding night’s liquor refused to allow any of his corn to be taken, and drawing his sword, declared with an oath, he would cut down the first man who dared to take a grain from his horse. As a matter of course, he was placed under arrest, and a drum-head court-martial was instantly summoned for the trial of the prisoner, at which also was arraigned the unfortunate Serjeant-Major Sharp; all the while the action was becoming general along the lines.
“Captain Bull’s troop of artillery, then on our right, marked with the most accurate skill the movements of the enemy, who in turn did not allow us to remain silent spectators, as their round-shot measured with equal exactness the standing of our columns. The court-martial being closed, the troops stood to their horses, and the proceedings were read: the dragoon was sentenced to receive three hundred lashes, and the Serjeant-Major reduced to the rank and pay of a private sentinel. The bars of the latter were immediately cut off, and a gun from Captain Bull’s train was brought to the flank of the regiment, and the prisoner ordered to be tied to it; in the moment of doing this, one of the staff came galloping up, his horse covered with foam, bearing orders for the regiment to take ground to the right and charge, covering our flank which in that direction was falling back, harassed by the enemy’s cavalry.
“The words ‘Stand to your horses—Mount—Three right—Gallop,’ followed in quick succession; and like shots from a six-pounder, we left the scenes of military discipline. The prisoner in this confusion, and half accoutred, made a leap into his saddle, and drawing his sword and giving his horse the spur, rushed into the ranks, and the non-commissioned officer, in whose charge he had been left, unable to prevent him, galloped after and mixed in the attack.
“This fortunate occurrence saved the poor fellow from the disgrace of the ‘lash,’ but his good fortune did not continue with him throughout the day, as he was one of the brave, who fell some short time afterwards, in the gallant charge made by a squadron of ours, on two of the enemy’s guns.