The infantry soldier is armed with a musquet and bayonet: the musquets have the Tower of London mark, and, as well as the cavalry swords, would look all the better for cleaning. The sergeants of infantry do not carry halberts. The regular cavalry are few in number, and not quite so brilliant as the Marquis of Anglesea’s crack regiment, or the Tenth Hussars.
The punishment of flogging is resorted to: I have often heard the cries of the sufferers belonging to a black regiment, quartered near my abode. I fear it is impossible to keep discipline without it, or public opinion would, long ere this, have suppressed it in England.
The bands of music attached to the regiments have made great progress in their profession: three years ago they were hardly bearable. Unfortunately, now, the ruling military authorities will not give us much opportunity of judging of their talents. They were accustomed, on a fine evening, to leave the Fort, in the summer at nine, in the winter at eight o’clock, and crossing the Plaza, take their station in one of the streets adjoining, generally the street of Victoria, or, as we named it, Bond Street, from its being the fashionable one, and filled with shops: here they would entertain us for an hour or more, and I have been gratified in hearing many tunes that charmed me in Europe, such as the overture to Lodoiska, &c. Another attraction was the number of girls that nightly attended: many a lover (“how silvery sweet sound lovers’ tongues by night”) has taken this opportunity to address his fair one. On a moonlight night, I have frequently viewed the countenances and elegant figures of the sweet creatures, no envious bonnet intercepting; and now some unmusical being has deprived me of this pleasure—I wish he would read Lorenzo’s observation in the Merchant of Venice upon those who lack taste in [music].
About four times in the week, however, at eight or nine in the evening, one of the military bands parade from the Fort to their barracks at the Retiro, and at times we have heard some good music. On a fine night much company attend. From constant practice, the regimental musical bands have become proficients in their art; they perform some fine pieces of music, including the overture to Lodoiska, and the Polacca from the opera of The Cabinet. Braham ever occurs to my memory, when I hear the latter performed, and the enthusiasm with which a London audience always hail this song.
The dresses of the bands are of the Turkish costume, and though not so splendid as our third regiment of foot-guards, are equal to those of the line. They have instruments of English manufacture, all that constitutes a military band—triangle, cymbals, and bells, similar to our first regiment of Guards.
In 1820, some English shopkeepers and mechanics, in the excess of their zeal, determined to form a corps of cavalry, to act as body-guard to the governor. Twenty or thirty equipped themselves in a light blue jacket, and nondescript cap, and attended the procession as the life-guards of the state. The St. George assault, and vulgar exercise of the sword, made no part of their discipline. Now, whether Englishmen make but a poor figure when armed in the service of a foreign people, or that opinion is against it, from Coriolanus downwards, I know not; certain it is, that this regiment has decreased from its full complement to some five or six rank and file.
It was the custom until lately, to fire the fort guns on every 4th of July, the anniversary of our expedition under Whitelock. If they have discontinued it to spare us the mortification of being reminded of such an event, from my very soul I thank them;—it is a subject that makes the heart ache to think upon. No one can view the houses of Buenos Ayres without being struck with the impossibility of taking a town by such a mode of attack as it was our fate to pursue, against an inflamed population who were, from the highest to the lowest, our enemies. Well-informed men know that 5 or 6000 troops, with an adequate artillery, might have taken the town without scarcely entering it, and, what is more, by proper precautions might have kept it. The Spaniards had no troops of any consequence to oppose us; and if all the population of the town had ventured out of their fastnesses to combat us, the issue would not have been for one moment doubtful; for, as the lamented General Ross observed, when inquiring of an American friend of mine, his prisoner, the force near Baltimore, “I ask you, sir, of the regulars; it may rain militia.”
Our wounded, they tell me, were treated with kindness, especially by the female part of the population, who had been amongst the most inveterate of our foes. The heretic Englishman is not looked upon with that horror now, as it was formerly the fashion to paint him.
In the Annual Almanack, the following paragraph is tacked to the fatal 4th of July:—“Service in St. Domingo church: thanks to our Señora and St. Rosario, for the triumph, under their protection, in the year 1807, in having vanquished 12,000 English who attacked us.” With Macbeth, I am ready to exclaim, “May that pernicious hour stand aye accursed in the calendar!”