One day when Crawley and myself were working near each other in the trenches, a shell fell inconveniently close to us. Tom was instantly half buried in mud, awaiting the explosion. Perceiving it had sunk itself deep into the earth, the fuse being too long, I intended availing myself of the opportunity, to play a trick upon Crawley, by throwing a large lump of clay on his head directly the shell exploded, and so make him believe himself wounded. To obtain the clod I sprang at the other side of the trench, but exposed myself to a shot from the walls of the town, which immediately came in the form of grape, splashing me with mud from head to foot, and forcing me to throw myself back into the trench upon Crawley, who, in his fears, made sure that a shell had fixed itself upon his rear, and roared like a bull; in an instant, however, the sunken missile really burst; on the smoke dispersing, who should I behold but the Duke himself, crouched down, his head half averted, drily smiling at Crawley and me. Shot and shell pay no respect to persons, but the enemy did, as they seemed awake to the near vicinity of his Grace, and poured in shells, grape, and canister, with other delicacies of the kind, with unusual liberality, whenever he came amongst us; which they always appeared alive to. But the fact is, the Duke, like his renowned contemporary, had a remarkable cast of feature, which made him ever distinguishable, at an almost incredible distance.
Before I go further into my narrative I must detail an anecdote of Major O’Hare, my old Captain, who was noted for his excellent soldierly qualities.
We were on private parade one morning, when a party of convalescents from hospital came up. Among others was a sergeant of the name of Jackson, who had been absent from our company for the two previous years, during which period it would seem, he had been chiefly employed as hospital-sergeant at Belem, near Lisbon.
The Major’s aversion to absentees from the regiment was very well known among us, and we anticipated a scene—nor were we deceived.
“Is that you, Mr. Sergeant Jackson?” exclaimed the Major, as soon as the party came up. “And pray where, in God’s name, have you been for the last two years? The company have seen a little fighting during that period.”
“The doctors would not allow me to leave the hospital, Sir,” replied Jackson.
“I am sorry for that,” drily observed the Major. “All that I can do for you is, to give you your choice of a court-martial for absenting yourself from duty without leave, or to have your stripes taken off.”
The sergeant, after a little hesitation, preferred surrendering quietly his non-commissioned dignity to standing an inquiry into his conduct.
Turning round to the men, the Major remarked aloud, “By God, I will not have these brave fellows commanded by skulkers.” Then taking the sash and stripes that were cut off by the Sergeant-Major, he handed them to Corporal Ballard, observing at the same time, “You will not disgrace them.”
A very disagreeable duty, that usually fell upon a few of the best shots of the battalion, consisted in being obliged to run out, in independent files, to occupy a number of holes, that had been dug at night between our batteries and the walls of the town. From these pits, of which each man had one to himself, our particular business was to pick off any of the enemy who exposed themselves at their guns, on the walls through the embrasures. Many a Frenchman was thus knocked off by us. But it often occurred also that our men were killed or wounded in their holes, which made it doubly dangerous for the man of the relieving party, who, instead of finding a ready covering, perceived it occupied by a wounded or dead man. Before he could get a shelter therefore or remove the body, there was a great chance of his being shot.