At the battle of Vittoria one of our officers was disabled by a shot through the leg, but having contrived to drag himself to a road-side, he laid himself down there, in the hope that, among the passing thousands, some good Samaritan might be found with compassion enough to bind up his wound, and convey him to a place of shelter.
The rear of a battle is generally a queer place—the day is won and lost there a dozen times, unknown to the actual combatants—fellows who have never seen an enemy in the field, are there to be seen flourishing their drawn swords, and "cutting such fantastic tricks before high heaven, as make angels weep," while others are flying as if pursued by legions of demons; and, in short, while every thing is going on in front with the order and precision of a field-day, in rear every thing is confusion worse confounded.
When my wounded friend took post on the road-side, it was in the midst of a panic amongst the followers of the army, caused by an imaginary charge of cavalry—he tried in vain, for a length of time, to attract the notice of somebody, when his eyes were at length regaled by a staff surgeon of his acquaintance, who approached amid the crowd of fugitives, and, having no doubt but he would at length receive the requisite attention, he hailed him by name as soon as he came within reach. The person hailed, pulled up, with "Ah! my dear fellow, how do you do? I hope you are not badly hit?" "I can't answer for that," replied my friend, "all I know is, that my leg is bleeding profusely, and until some good-natured person dresses it and assists me to remove, here I must lie!" "Ah! that's right," returned the other, "keep yourself quiet—this is only an affair of cavalry—so that you may make yourself quite comfortable," and, clapping spurs to his horse, he was out of sight in a moment!
The next known character who presented himself was a volunteer, at that time attached to the regiment—an eccentric sort of a gentleman, but one who had a great deal of method in his eccentricity—for, though he always went into battle with us, I know not how it happened, but no one ever saw him again until it was all over—he must have been an especial favourite of the fickle goddess—for, by his own shewing, his absence from our part of the battle was always occasioned by his accidentally falling in with some other regiment which had lost all its officers, and, after rallying and leading them on to the most brilliant feat of the day, he, with the modesty becoming a hero, left them alone in their glory—in ignorance of the person to whom they owed so much, while he retired to his humble position as a volunteer!
On the occasion referred to, however, in place of being at the head of a regiment and leading them on to the front, he was at the head of half a dozen horses, which he had contrived to scrape together in the field, and was leading them the other road. As soon as he had descried my wounded friend he addressed him as did the doctor—was remarkably glad to see him, and hoped he was not badly hit—and, having received a similar reply, he declared that he was very sorry to hear it—very—"but," added he, "as you are lying there, at all events, perhaps you will be good enough to hold these horses for me until I return, for I know where I can get about as many more!"
Patience had not then ceased to be a virtue—and, lest my readers should think that I am drawing too largely on theirs, I shall resume the thread of my narrative.