Next morning we fell in at daylight, and, in a short time after, pursued our march by the same route the French had taken the preceding day. The ground was covered with gum cistus, which had been previously burned, either through accident, or to serve some purpose, among which they had left visible marks of their confused flight, in the torn pieces of clothing and broken arms which strewed their line of march. They continued their retreat without halting until they reached Ciudade Roderigo, a fortified town on the Spanish frontier, at which place, having crossed the Agueda, they made a stand and concentrated their force. In consequence of this our army also halted, and, in a few days after, our regiment was quartered in a Portuguese village within some miles of them.
On the advance to this place, I became acquainted with a lad of the name of Henry G——. While on guard with him one day, I perceived him reading a book, which, on inquiry, I found to be Cromek’s Remains of Nithsdale and Galloway Song, which he had borrowed from an officer’s servant. Books of any kind were rare amongst us at that time, but one of this description had too much nationality in it, not to be considered a valuable prize in a foreign land. We read the book together, and a similarity of feeling and sentiment subsequently led to a friendship which continued unimpaired while we remained in the Peninsula. In his romantic turn of mind and acute sensibility, he bore a strong resemblance to my former friend and shipmate, William. He had read a great deal, but, like myself, he had read with little discrimination. The effects were nearly the same in both, a propensity to day-dreaming and castle-building. Many a weary mile have we travelled together, almost unconscious of progression, charming the sense of hunger away by anticipating our future honour and preferment, and in forming romantic schemes of rural retirement, when our campaigns were ended. This peculiarity of disposition, although it might sometimes occasion us uneasiness, where others, less sensitive, felt but little, yet, on the whole, in a life like ours, where the scene was continually shifting, it rendered our minds more elastic; and the continual play of fancy which was thus excited, diversified the lights and shadows so much, that even now, I am at a loss to say, whether at that time I felt more pain or pleasure. We had only been a few days in quarters, when my friend Henry was near being involved in an affair, the consequence of which would have ruined a mind like his for ever. The captain of his company was a man of a strange disposition, which rendered him an object of dislike to both officers and men. A fellow of infinite jest, he rarely spoke but in a humorous strain; but there was ‘a laughing devil in his sneer,’ and, like the cat, when she has secured her prey, he always felt most inclined to sport with the individual on whose destruction he was bent. It would be endless to enter into a detail of the methods by which he tormented his company,—those who served under him will remember them well; suffice it to say, that I have known many officers who possessed bad qualities, but none who possessed fewer good ones than Captain S.
On the march, he was in the habit of riding his mule among the ranks, very much to the annoyance of his company, and one day during the previous advance, the column was marching through fields which were fenced in by broad thin stones. The other officers finding they could not get through conveniently with the regiment, had taken a lane to the right of the column, but he continued to move on; finding, however, that his mule could not get through the openings made, he desired Henry to overturn one of the stones. Henry made the attempt, but finding his strength inadequate to the task, and seeing himself getting behind the regiment, he passed through and rejoined his company. The captain had now to take the same road with the other officers. When he overtook the column, foaming with rage, he commenced in a measured, affected style, to abuse Henry, ending with his usual phrase of encouragement, ‘I’ll get you a sweet five hundred.’ From that day forward, poor Henry was marked out as a butt for his caprice and tyranny. Not long after, two men of the company were ordered to be confined on a charge of selling their necessaries, one of whom happened to be Henry’s comrade, and Captain S—— thinking this a favourable opportunity for carrying his promise into effect, ordered him to be confined also. A court-martial was ordered, and the prisoners warned for trial. Whether by some sinister manœuvreing, or that it fell his regular turn, Captain S—— was president.
The witnesses were examined; the evidence was sufficiently clear against the other two, but none was adduced against Henry.
The president, trusting, I suppose, to his influence with the other members, proceeded (without taking any notice of the total want of evidence against Henry) to recommend the prisoners to acknowledge the crime laid to their charge, and throw themselves on the mercy of the court. Poor Henry was so struck with the flagrant injustice of this proceeding, that he could scarcely muster courage sufficient to say that he had heard no evidence against him. The president did not allow him to finish what he had to say, before he opened on him with a string of the most abusive epithets; and then, addressing himself to the members of the court—‘Gentlemen,’ said he, ‘this is one of the most insolent dogs in my company. You may take my word for it, he is guilty—he confessed to me that he was, before I confined him, which I can prove.’ The members sat mute, as is generally the case while under the influence of a superior officer’s rhetoric; and Henry had bade farewell to hope, when one of the officers, who was but a young subaltern, bursting through the blind deference too often cringingly paid to power, even in matters where discipline is not concerned, and giving way to the words which a natural love of justice prompted,—‘We have no right, Captain S——,’ said he, ‘sitting here as we do, to try the case according to the evidence laid before us, to presume that the prisoner is guilty, in the absence of all evidence. Nor are we entitled to pay attention to any representation which you may feel inclined to make, prejudicial to his character. Sitting where you do as president of this court—either sufficient evidence must be produced against the prisoner, or we are bound to acquit him.’
Captain S—— turned the scowl of his dark grey eyes upon him, wherein the disappointment of baffled revenge and rage was distinctly visible: but the subaltern bore the look intended for his annihilation with the utmost indifference—there even seemed to be a smile of contempt playing on his countenance. Captain S—— then proceeded to bring forward evidence to prove Henry’s connection with the crime for which the prisoners were tried—principally for the purpose of proving that he had confessed his guilt; and, according to the president’s opinion, this evidence was perfectly conclusive. The officer already mentioned, seeing that Henry was nearly sinking under the influence of his feelings, said, ‘Don’t be afraid, my man, justice will be done you—I believe you to be innocent—at least I have heard nothing yet to induce me to think otherwise; take time, collect yourself, and if you have any questions to ask the evidence, or any witnesses to call in your defence, to disprove what has been stated, speak out fearlessly.’ Encouraged by the officer’s kind and manly conduct, and with his assistance, Henry cross-questioned the evidence, and brought forward witnesses that not only disproved all that had been stated against him, but fixed a suspicion on the minds of those present, that the president had not only confined him without cause, but had suborned witnesses for the purpose of bringing him to punishment. Captain S—— seeing that his designs were frustrated, sullenly gave up the point, and poor Henry was acquitted: but had it not been for the independent character of the officer above mentioned, he might not have escaped punishment. Courts-martial were at that time much too frequent to expect that justice would be always administered impartially by them; and I am sorry to say it was too often evident that individual pique influenced the decisions. In some regiments, indeed, courts-martial were resorted to merely to give a colour to the proceedings of the officer commanding, whose wishes were oftener consulted than the ends of justice. This was not remedied by what are called company courts-martial, where the individual was tried by his peers; for I remember in one case, where I was president, the point in agitation among the members was not, ‘what punishment was adequate to the crime?’ but ‘what punishment would please the commanding officer?’ and I had some difficulty in convincing them that the former was the point they had to determine. The surveillance, established by the commander-in-chief over courts-martial, was a wise measure, and has altered matters very much. Indeed, too much praise cannot be bestowed on His Royal Highness, for the humane and effective policy which has been gradually introduced into the army: the situation of the soldier at present is very different from what it was twenty years ago. From the specimen Henry had got of Captain S——’s disposition, he thought it the wisest plan to get transferred from his company, which he effected shortly after.
A few days after this occurrence, our regiment was moved to the village of Fuentes de Honore, a few miles nearer Almeida; great part of the way, we moved through a wood of oak trees, in which the inhabitants of the surrounding villages had herds of swine feeding: here the voice of the cuckoo never was mute; night and day its simple notes were heard in every quarter of the wood.
The village we now occupied was in Spain, and formed a striking contrast to those of Portugal; the inhabitants and their houses wore an air of neatness, cleanliness, and comfort about them, unlike anything we had as yet seen in the country; their dress and language were also different.
The site of the village itself was beautiful and romantic; it lay in a sort of ravine, down which a small river brawled over an irregular rocky bed, in some places forming precipitous falls of many feet; the acclivity on each side was occasionally abrupt, covered with trees and thick brushwood. Three leagues to the left of our front lay the villages of Gallegos and Espeja, in and about which our light division and cavalry were quartered. Between this and Fuentes lay a large wood, which, receding on the right, formed a plain, flanked by a deep ravine, being a continuation of that in which the village lay; in our rear was another plain, (on which our army subsequently formed,) and behind that, in a valley, Villa Fermosa, the river Coa running past it.
We had not been many days here, when we received intelligence that the light troops were falling back upon our village, the enemy having re-crossed the Agueda in great force, for the purpose of relieving Almeida, which we had blockaded. On the morning we received this intelligence, (the 3d of May, 1811,) our regiment turned out of the town, and took up their position with the rest of the division on a plain, some distance behind it. The morning was uncommonly beautiful, the sun shone bright and warm, the various odoriferous shrubs, which were scattered profusely around, perfumed the air, and the woods rang with the songs of birds. The light division and cavalry falling back, followed by the columns of the French, the various divisions of the army assembling on the plain from different quarters, their arms glittering in the sun, bugles blowing, drums beating, the various staff-officers galloping about to different parts of the line giving orders, formed a scene which realised to my mind all that I had ever read of feats of arms, or the pomp of war; a scene which no one could behold unmoved, or without feeling a portion of that enthusiasm which always accompanies ‘deeds of high daring;’ a scene justly conceived and well described by Moore, in the beautiful song—