The eagle spread her wings,
And from Almeida flew away.”
Although these regiments were rendered somewhat unpopular from this circumstance, it is generally admitted, by those capable of judging, that there were not two finer in the service. Our battalion had been particularly fond of the 4th, while they were quartered at Colchester, where they had christened us in a friendly feeling, “The young 4th.” The melancholy death of their Colonel, who, from an over-sensitive feeling of honour, shot himself shortly after the foregoing unlucky affair, was generally regretted.
The evacuation of the fortress of Almeida having rendered the presence of our division thereabouts no longer necessary, another movement was made to the southward to General Hill, who commanded the second division, at this time menaced by a very superior force of the French.
On the first day’s march we passed through Sabugal, crossed the Coa, and encamped in a chesnut wood, close to our former scene of action.
Here a very strange panic occurred, that might have been attended with most disastrous effects. About twelve at night I was stretched on my back under the boughs of a tree, admiring the comet that at that period created some sensation in Europe, from its nearness to the earth, when a general alarm and outcry was raised in the division that “The French were upon us.” In a moment I started up, and seized my rifle. The different regiments were assembling in the greatest disorder, while the general cries of alarm on all sides induced many to feel a terror that was, perhaps, never felt in battle. Among others I plainly observed General Crauford, desiring all whom he met to fall in and load. After a short while the panic ceased: we all looked foolish enough at the great ado about nothing, though some attributed the cause to French spies having got among us, others to some bullocks grazing by, that had knocked down several stands of arms; others again accused the comet, and among the latter in our battalion was that worthy, Tom Crawley, who stoutly contended the comet was a sign we ought to leave the country, as it would shortly drop down and burn up that part of Europe. Tom himself at this period, it was shrewdly suspected, had a great desire to turn his steps homewards.
We continued our march through Castello Branco, Portalegre, and encamped on a low ground called Monte Reguingo, on the right of the road leading to Campo Mayor. There we remained about six weeks, during which we suffered dreadfully for want of rations as well as from the oppressive heat of the weather; we called it the furnace camp. Tom, while we remained at Reguingo, imagined himself poisoned. He had eaten rather ravenously of some pork and caravançes (a sort of pulse), and was suddenly seized with violent paroxysms of pain through his over-gorging. Old Doctor Burke being sent for, found Crawley on the ground groaning most piteously, and swelled to an enormous size, while two of his comrades were busy rubbing the lower part of his belly. The Doctor, who fancied Spain during the last two years had brought Tom’s stomach to suit the convenience of the commissary, commenced a volley of abuse—“you cannibal, what garbage have you been swallowing,” he cried, “to leave you in this condition?” “Oh, murther, do you hear him boys,” roared the sufferer, as he turned up his eyes towards his tormentor. “By the mother of God, Sir, this infernal country will kill the whole of us—may a curse fall on it; arrah, Doctor dear, when I came into it I had a stomach like any other Christian; but now, oh God, have mercy on me poor stomach, that for want of Christian food is turned into a scavenger’s cart, obliged to take in every rubbage.” The Doctor, who seldom did anything by halves, gave him an emetic sufficient to physic a dromedary. Crawley, however, who never feared death on the field, now seemed to hesitate to meet him in quarters, and between the groans he uttered, made the most vehement promises of mending his sinful life if spared. Never was an intended pious scene made more truly ludicrous; our men were in convulsions of laughter.
In July we returned to assist in the blockade of Ciudad Rodrigo, and took up a position at a village called Atalaya, at the base of the Sierra de Gata, a range of mountains. Here Lord Wellington’s staff frequently went out hunting. On these occasions they generally had five or six men of the Rifles to assist. The place abounded in wolves and wild boars, so that a great deal of amusement was experienced in this sport. I generally had the good fortune to be selected, with others of our battalion, to attend his Lordship’s staff in these excursions. The chase was very exciting, particularly from the ferocious nature of the game we sought. I well remember the first wild boar I saw in one of these hunts: he was a huge fellow, with tusks of a most alarming size, but although we fired several shots, and the hounds pursued him, he escaped. One day we came upon three young wolf cubs, the old ones having abandoned them on our approach. These animals, which we presented to one of our officers, remained in his possession for a long time, and became as docile and playful as kittens.
Here we were joined by our third battalion, under the command of Colonel Barnard, Colonel Beckwith having retired through ill-health, a gallant and very distinguished officer, now known as General Sir Andrew Barnard; at the same time, also, we were reinforced, by a batch of recruits from England, and by one Tommy Searchfield, a character well known to all the Light Brigade. This gentleman, a squat, square little fellow, had formerly been a “middy” in the Royal Navy, and now come over to us as a cadet, and subsequently obtained a lieutenancy.
“Tommy’s” first feat was something after the lessons he had received under the immortal Nelson. He had been accustomed hitherto to meet his enemies “muzzle to muzzle,” and, consequently, whenever the least intimation was given of the presence of the French, would imagine them almost passing through the loopholes, or as he termed them, our “ports.” On one occasion he bawled aloud, “to quarters,” and seizing hold of a rope, suspended outside the church of the village, to one of the bells in the belfry; to our surprise, and that of the inhabitants also, ran up it like a cat, to keep the “look-out” for the enemy. We, however, were some distance from them. The officers, for want of better employment, occupied their own and our time erecting sham fortifications in the woods, &c., and thus turned “Tom’s” peculiarities to their amusement. Searchfield, however, got “awake” to them, and his original good-natured simplicity giving way to experience, he gently informed his tormentors that he kept “a clean brace of pistols” about him, “at any time at their sarvice.” This unexpected show of pluck made his “teazers” less gibing, and “Tommy” took his proper position; and, I believe, became as respectable as any of them.