The subaltern

by G. R. Gleig

The reader is not, however, to suppose that all our days and night partook of the same tame character. Independently of the usual round of outpost duty (a duty which, to me at least, was never irksome, because it always served to keep my interest awake), a deserter would, from time to time, come over, and bring with him rumours of sorties intended. One of these brought with it a more than ordinary degree of excitement. We were sitting one Sunday evening, Grey and myself, in the upper loft of an old mill, where, by way of an indulgence, we had established ourselves. The commanding officer had read prayers to the battalion about half an hour previously, and the parade had just been dismissed, when a sergeant clambered up the ladder to inform us that the servants and batmen were commanded to sleep accoutred, that the horses were to be saddled, and the baggage in readiness to move at a moment's notice. On inquiring into the cause of this order, we learned that a French officer had arrived in camp, that he had brought with him intelligence that a sortie would take place a little before midnight, and that the garrison were already making preparations for the attack. As may be supposed, we put everything in proper trim forthwith; and having seen that our men lay down, with knapsacks buckled up, and pouches and bayonets slung on, we too threw ourselves on the floor in our clothes.

It might be about eleven o'clock when we were startled from our repose by the firing of cannon. The sound was, however, distant: it evidently came from the opposite side of the river, and it was followed by no musketry. We watched it, therefore, for a while, anxiously enough, and sat up prepared to issue forth as soon as our presence might be required. But no bugle sounded, nor was any other summons given; so we lay down again, and the night passed by in peace. I have reason to believe, however, that the French officer had not deceived us. An attack upon our position had been seriously intended, and the plan was abandoned only because this officer being missed, it was conjectured that we should be fully prepared to repel it.

Another little affair took place soon afterwards. Whether our posts on the left of Anglete had been of late pushed somewhat more in advance than formerly I cannot tell; but the enemy sent a message one morning by a flag of truce to the officer in command, desiring that he would fall back, otherwise they would compel him. The demand was of course met by a peremptory refusal, and they, having allowed him an hour to change his mind, proceeded to carry their threat into execution. A considerable body of light troops attacked the post, and a sharp skirmish ensued. The sound of firing soon drew assistance to our picket; and the result was, that the French once more retired within their works, leaving us in possession of the disputed ground. This event, with many others which I have not recorded, because they have in them even less of interest, occurred during the remaining days of February and the whole of March. On the 1st of April our position was changed, and we took from that period a more active part in the conduct of the siege.

The change of ground to which I now allude proved, at least for a day or two, extremely agreeable to the corps in general. My friend and myself had, indeed, as I have already stated, fixed our abode in an old mill—close to the camp, yet sufficiently apart from it to be freed from the bustle. It was a ruinous and dilapidated mansion, I admit; our living and sleeping chamber consisting simply of one half of a loft, and only of one half, because the flooring of the other half had given way; to which we ascended by means of a ladder or trap-stair, and from which we looked down upon our horses and mules that occupied the basement story. But in that old mill, the tiling of which was unsealed, and can hardly be said to have been proof against the weather, I spent some weary and many more pleasant evenings; for, ruinous as it was, it appeared comfortable to men who repaired to it from the sandy ground on which they had previously spent several days and nights under cover of the canvas. Though, therefore, I cannot accuse myself of murmuring at the removal of the camp, it is quite certain that I partook not in the general rejoicing which the occurrence produced among my comrades; or that the beauty of the spot to which my tent was transferred at all compensated for the loss of a boarded floor and a detached habitation.

It was, however, a delightful change to the majority. During the last week or ten days the heat of the sun had become exceedingly oppressive, beating, as it did, through the white canvas, and having its rays reflected back on all hands from a grey sandy soil. Not a tree grew near to shelter us; nor was there a blade of grass within sight on which the weary eye could repose. On the 1st of April we retired about a couple of miles into the heart of a pine-wood, and left the sand-hill to be guarded by the pickets alone. Our tents were pitched in a sweet little green vale, overshadowed with the dark foliage of the fir-trees, and near the margin of a small lake or pond of clear water. Here we remained in a state of comparative idleness and enjoyment for three days—running and leaping, and causing the men to run and leap for prizes—till an order arrived in the evening of the 3d, that we should be under arms at daybreak on the morrow, and cross the bridge to take part in the fatigues and dangers of the trenches.

At an early hour on the 4th we formed into marching order and took the direction of the bridge. This we crossed, the planks waving and bending as the cables swung to and fro with our tread; and then filing to the right, we halted in an open field above the village of Boucaut, where the ground of encampment was marked out. It was a day of heavy rain, so we were thoroughly saturated by the way; and as several hours elapsed ere the baggage came up, we were compelled to continue in that uncomfortable plight all the while. It came at length, however, and our tents were pitched; after which, having substituted dry for wet apparel, I spent the rest of the evening in lounging among the numerous stalls and booths which surrounded the market-place.

The village of Boucaut presented at this period a curious spectacle. It was not deserted by its inhabitants—all, or the greater number of whom, remained quietly in their houses. Their little shops were not closed; the inns—for there were two in the place—so far from being abandoned, were thronged with customers; cooks, waiters, landlady, and mine host were all in motion from morning till night; and crowds of peasantry came and went all day long laden with eggs, butter, cheese, poultry, and other luxuries. These articles of merchandise were exposed for sale in the centre of the market-place—a large square surrounded by high walls, along the sides of which sutlers' tents, porter booths, confectioners' stalls, and even tables loaded with hardware, shoes, stockings, &c., were laid out in regular order. The place was, moreover, full of people—soldiers, camp-followers, villagers, peasants, male and female; and much laughing and great merriment prevailed in every direction. To a mere spectator there was constant food for amusement; in the fruitless endeavours of an English soldier, for example, to make love to a pretty French girl; or in the vain efforts of a staid German to overreach some volatile but mercenary villager; whilst the ceaseless gabbling in all European tongues—the attempts made on all hands to carry on by signs that conversation to which the faculty of speech lent no assistance;—to watch these, and a thousand other extravagances, furnished ample and very agreeable employment to one who was willing to find amusement where he could. Yet with all this apparent confusion the greatest regularity prevailed. Not a single instance of violence to a native, either in person or property, occurred; indeed, both men and women scrupled not to assure us that they felt themselves far more secure under our protection than they had been while their own countrymen were among them.

It was our business, so long as the camp stood here, to move up every morning to the front, and to work in turns at the erection of batteries and redoubts, within half musket-shot of the walls of the citadel. The spot where I usually found myself stationed when my turn of duty came round, was a chateau situated upon the brow of an eminence, from the windows and garden of which I obtained a distinct view of one flank of the castle. Upon this building an incessant fire of round-shot, shells, grape, and occasionally of musketry, was kept up. The enemy had upon their walls a number of long swivel-guns, which they could elevate or depress, or turn in any direction at will, and with which as perfect an aim could be taken as with an ordinary carbine. These threw with great force iron balls of about a quarter of a pound weight. Beside them men were always stationed, who watched our movements so closely that it was impossible to show so much as your head at a window, or over the wall, without being saluted by a shot; whilst from time to time a nine-inch shell would tumble through the roof, and burst sometimes before we had time to escape into another apartment. Then the crashing of the cannon-balls as they rushed through the partitions—the occasional rattle of grape and canister which came pouring in by the windows,—all these things combined, produced a species of feeling of which no words can convey an adequate notion to him who has not experienced it. It was not terror—it can hardly be called alarm, for we followed our occupations unceasingly, and even our mirth was uninterrupted; but it kept the mind wound up to a pitch of excitation from which it was by no means an unpleasant matter to relieve it.

Ours was a mortar-battery. It was formed by heaping up earth against the interior of the garden wall, and proceeded with great rapidity. We likewise cut down trees, and constructed out of their branches fascines and gabions; but we had nothing to do in the trenches. Of these, indeed, not more than a couple were dug, the uneven nature of the ground producing numerous valleys and hollows, which saved us a great deal of toil, and very sufficiently supplied their place.

Besides taking charge of working parties, it came occasionally to my turn to command a picket. The post of which I was put in charge was the village of St Esprit, and the church formed the headquarters of the guard. It was a small building, but, fortunately for us, constructed with great solidity, inasmuch as it stood under the very muzzles of half-a-dozen field-pieces, which the enemy had placed in a redoubt about a short stone's-throw distant. To add to its strength, and to render it more tenable in case of attack, an embankment of earth—of earth carried from the churchyard, and so mixed with the mouldering bones of "the rude forefathers of the village"—was raised inside, to the height of perhaps four feet, above which ran a line of loopholes, cut out for the purpose of giving to its garrison an opportunity of firing with effect. When I say that the church formed the headquarters of the guard, I mean that the guard took up its station there during the night. So long as daylight lasted the men kept as much as possible concealed behind a few houses in the rear of the building, and left only a single sentinel there to watch the movements of the enemy.