The first peep we got of the enemy was at a place called Toro, on the road towards Burgos. There our hussars had a sharp skirmish, in which they took some prisoners. Continuing our advance, we overtook their rear-guard the following day. After a little skirmishing and cannonading they continued their retreat to Burgos. The next morning we were startled by a tremendous explosion, that at first induced many of our men to think it an earthquake, until we ascertained the fact that it arose from the explosion of a mine, with which the French had destroyed the castle and some of the works of the town of Burgos.
On the 16th of June we passed through the pretty little town of Medina del Pomar, and encamped on the other side of it close to the banks of a large river. On this march we suffered much from a deficiency of supplies from the commissariat, as anything like rations we seldom received. Myself and one or two others, having some few pence, determined to start off on the sly, as we were not allowed to move from our camp ground, and purchase bread at a little village we beheld at the other side of the river, which we forded unobserved and entered the village. There, however, the alarm of the people became very great upon our appearance, and not wishing apparently to have any dealings with us, they asked an immense price for the bread. Irritated at this conduct, and urged by hunger, every man seized a loaf and threw down the usual price in the country. Seeing that we were all totally unarmed, for we had not even our side-arms, an immediate outcry was raised against us by the people, and we had to run for safety. This we did, carrying the loaves with us, until we were overtaken by some of the swift-footed peasantry, who came up to us with knives and clubs. Our lives being thus in jeopardy for the dearly-obtained bread, our party instantly had recourse to stones for defence. “Muerte a los peros Ingleses.” “Kill the English dogs,” was the general cry of the Spaniards, as they brandished their long knives. They were evidently about to make a rush in among us, by which my own personal adventures, and those of my comrades, would, in all probability, have been finished on the spot, when several men of the 43rd and 52nd regiments, belonging to our division, came running up, like ourselves, foraging. It was the turn of the Spaniards now to retreat—which they did in a hurry.
We had scarcely escaped the attack of the Spaniards and arrived at the bank of the river, when General Sir Lowry Cole came galloping up to us with some of the mounted staff, which indeed might be termed the police of the army. “Hallo! you plundering rascals of the light division—halt!” was the General’s command, as he pulled up his temple spectacles, which he generally wore. One only resource was left us, and that was to plunge into the river, which at that part was very deep, and swim across, holding the bread in our teeth. This we immediately adopted, when Sir Lowry, in an agitated tone, that did honour to his heart, called out—“Come back, men, for God’s sake—you’ll be drowned! Come back, and I’ll not punish you.” But the General’s fears were needless; we soon landed on the other side.
On arriving at our camp we found that the roll had been called over several times, and that we had been set down “absent without leave;” but we were lucky enough to escape with a slight reprimand.
I cannot here forbear making a few remarks with reference to the men who composed our battalion in the Peninsula. The reader will be apt to imagine, that those men who were in the habit of foraging after a day’s march, were but indifferent soldiers. Allow me, with some pretensions to the name of a veteran, to correct this error, and inform the reader, that these were the very men whose bravery and daring in the field far exceeded the merits of their more quiet comrades in quarters.
Our men, during the war, might be said to have been composed of three classes. One was zealous and brave to absolute devotion, but who, apart from their “fighting duties,” considered some little indulgence as a right; the other class barely did their duty when under the eye of their superior; while the third, and I am happy to say, by far the smallest in number, were skulkers and poltroons—their excuse was weakness from want of rations; they would crawl to the rear, and were seldom seen until after a battle had been fought, when they might be observed in the ranks until the Commissary again placed them on short allowance, when off they started; in this manner they swelled the muster-rolls.
But the first of these were the men who placed the Duke on his present pinnacle as one of the great captains of the age. During the whole of our advance from the frontiers of Portugal, until we entered the Pyrenees, not more (on the average) than one biscuit per day was served out to each man—and it consequently could not be expected that a soldier, weighed down by a heavy knapsack, and from sixty to eighty rounds of ammunition (such as we Riflemen carried at the time), could march from twenty to thirty miles a day on so short an allowance.
It was not unfrequent, therefore, after a day’s march to observe groups of our regiment, and, indeed, of the division, rooting up the fields with their swords and bayonets, in search of potatoes, &c., and these were the men who were able to undergo the fatigue of the next day.
The French, also, in their hurried retreat stocked themselves with several days’ provisions in advance; these were hung very temptingly from their knapsacks,[[15]] and as it were, in defiance of our hungry jaws; as a consequence, this gave rise to the well-known remark, or alternatives of the Light Division: “Damme, boys, if the Commissary don’t show his front we must either find a potato field, or have a killing day!”
Indeed, but for these resources, so dependent on our individual energies, his Grace, from our being always in front, might have occasionally found half his Light Division “stiff,” and the other half tucked under the blankets as “Belem Rangers.”