Head-quarters were at Grenalda, some miles distant from where we lay, and a company of our regiment occasionally did duty over the Duke, whose quarters were in the house of the Alcalde. We had strict orders to admit no one inside the gates leading to the house, unless some particular despatch from the front, or from Don Julian Sanchez, the Guerilla chieftain. Indeed, a report had arisen amongst us, at the time, that his Grace was not altogether right in his head; but this was mere fiction. I used to observe him walking through the market-place, leading by the hand a little Spanish girl, some five or six years old, and humming a short tune or dry whistle, and occasionally purchasing little sweets, at the child’s request, from the paysannes of the stalls.
Here, for the first time, I saw Don Julian Sanchez, the noted Guerilla leader, linked arm in arm with the Duke—an instance peculiar to the time, of obscure merit rising of its own impulse to an equality with the greatest man of the age.
My readers may well suppose I did not slightly notice the square well-set figure, dark scowl, and flashing eyes of the Guerilla, whose humble birth-place I afterwards visited, in a small village between Rodrigo and Salamanca. I had been informed that he first began his career as a pig-boy, but owing to some cruelties exercised on a branch of his family by the French, he took an inveterate hatred to them, which he exemplified by surprising and slaughtering two or three of their soldiers, whom he found asleep in a wood. Accompanied by one or two others, he continued and increased his sanguinary feats, and gradually collected a small band, then a body, and eventually commanded upwards of twenty thousand Guerillas, well-armed, and equipped with British arms and accoutrements, and who rendered more assistance to the cause of the British than all the Spanish troops beside.
Our regiments, by constant collision with the French, were getting exceedingly thinned, and recruits from England came but very slowly, until we found it necessary at last to incorporate some of the Spaniards; for this purpose several non-commissioned officers and men were sent into the adjacent villages recruiting. In the course of a short time, and to our surprise, we were joined by a sufficient number of Spaniards to give ten or twelve men to each company in the battalion. But the mystery was soon unravelled, and by the recruits themselves, who, on joining, gave us to understand, by a significant twist of the neck, and a “Carago” (much like the very breaking of one), that they had but three alternatives to choose from, to enter either the British, or Don Julian’s service, or be hanged! The despotic sway of Sanchez, and his threat in the bargain, so disjointed their inclination for the Guerillas, that they hastily fled their native “woods” and “threshold,” for fear of really finding themselves noosed up to them, and gladly joined the British regiments. Many of them were even made corporals, and, indeed, proved themselves worthy of their new comrades, whom they rivalled in every undertaking of courage and determination.[[14]]
While lying here I will give a short description of our regiment’s opinion of flogging, not indeed by words, but by signs, as the following anecdote will show, although the sound of cats was seldom heard in our battalion; for I can safely say, that for the six years I served in Spain not more than six men, to my recollection, were punished in our battalion, and yet withal I cannot brag of our fellows being the honestest branch in the British army. At the time I speak of we had a man in our regiment of the name of Stratton, who, after robbing several of his comrades of trifling articles, took it into his head to desert to the enemy, and was detected in the act, in a wood that leads from Rodrigo to Salamanca, by the vigilant Guerillas, and brought back prisoner to our cantonments. He was tried by a regimental court-martial, and sentenced to receive four hundred lashes.
After the proceedings of the court-martial were read by the Adjutant, in a wood near the village where the regiment was formed for punishment, Major Cameron, who commanded us at the time, devised the following plan to find out the true character of the prisoner, for the Major was not only a brave and gallant soldier, but a shrewd man, and knew well that the men were better judges of the good or bad qualities of each other than the officers could possibly be. He addressed the prisoner as follows:—“Stratton, I ought to have had you tried by a general court-martial; in that case you would have been shot; but the high character the regiment has borne in the army prevents me from having it mentioned in general orders, that a man of the Rifles could be guilty of the heinous crime of desertion to the enemy. I am yet willing to show you kindness. Now, Sir, if the men of the battalion will be answerable for your future good conduct, I shall pardon you.” Turning round at the same time, Major Cameron looked the men in the face while he stood in the square, as if waiting for an answer.
A pause took place, no answer being given. The Major said: “Strip, Sir.” He was tied to a tree, and received twenty-five lashes; the second bugler was preparing to commence, when the Major again said, “Will you not be answerable, men, for Stratton’s conduct? Well, then, if his own company will be answerable for his good behaviour I shall forgive him.” The prisoner, at these words, looked round with an imploring eye, as far as his position would allow him, looking towards his own company, saying, “Do, men, speak for me, I will not act so in future.” I recollect it well, each man leaning on the muzzle of his rifle with his left hand, while his right covered his face, and all silent; not a man spoke. “Go on,” said the Major; the culprit received twenty-five lashes more, when the Major again said, “Now, Sir, if only one man in the regiment will speak in your behalf, I shall take you down.” Still silent, while the third bugler commenced: when the prisoner had received about sixteen lashes, a voice from the square called out, “Forgive him, Sir!”—“Stop, bugler, stop!” said the Major; “who was the man that spoke?” “I did, Sir!” was the answer. “Step into the square;” when a man of the prisoner’s own company came forward. “Oh! is it you, Robinson?” said Major Cameron; “I thought as much; as little-good-for-nothing a fellow as himself; but take him down.”
When the prisoner was conducted out of the square, the Major addressed the men, saying: “Your conduct in the field is well known by the British army; but,” added the Major, “your moral worth I have not known before; not a man would speak in that fellow’s behalf, except the man who did, whom you know as well as I do.” This may serve to show, that however soldiers dislike this mode of punishment, they still like to see a rascal punished; and nothing tends to destroy all feeling of pity for his sufferings more than his having been guilty of an act of cowardice, or robbing his comrade.
Some months before our present sojourn at Allamada, Napoleon had made his disastrous campaign in Russia, when Moscow was burnt. The circumstance was now brought to our notice by the general order, soliciting a day’s pay from the officers and men of the army towards defraying the losses sustained by the Russians. This was most cheerfully bestowed by every man in our battalion except two, the above-mentioned Stratton and another man of the name of Frost; and to crown the occurrence the day was made one of jollity and fun. Country dances were struck up by the band, and it was most laughable to behold, one and all, officers as well as private soldiers kicking about their heels to the tune of “The Downfall of Paris.”
Our division had been cantoned in and about Allamada during the winter, when, soldier-like, ever sighing after a change of scene, the men of our battalion generally began to grow tired of their monotonous and inactive life: however, we received orders for marching. This occurred about the middle of May, when we commenced the campaign of 1813, and a spirit of enterprize, notwithstanding past sufferings, extended itself throughout the light division. We left Allamada in high spirits. On the third day’s march our battalion encamped near Salamanca, in a wood, where we were joined by the Life Guards and Oxford Blues, that had just come out from England, and whom we beheld drawn up at the side of the road. Their fresh and well-fed appearance gave rise to many jests at the expense of the “householders.” They in fact, as I learnt, took us at first, from our dark clothing and embrowned visages, for a foreign regiment.