We are all most warlike now—even the peaceful guardians of the public purse and gentle editors who would not hurt a fly; and perhaps it is no bad thing to recall the horrors of a captured town, lest we take all war to be but glory and gaiety and something to read about in the papers. Modern governments offer to the people the alarums and excursions of little wars, as the masters of ancient Rome amused their citizens with the grim combats of the circus; and we read the daily papers in the same spirit in which the Roman crowd followed the fights of favourite gladiators or the young Britons of to-day make holiday in looking on at football matches instead of playing on more modest fields themselves. War is a bad thing at the best. Even our hero, for all his gladness and prowess, was disappointed in the end; nor have many men that abounding gift of gaiety which carried him, one may be sure, through the peaceful years of later life, happy in spite of a recurring sense of injury. If he was neither rich nor famous, he could sing, like the traveller with the empty pockets, in the presence of the robber or of the War Office. And he found pleasure too in the preparation of these Memoirs; one feels it as one reads. He is in an amiable mood. He expresses the hope that he will hurt the feelings of no man, and all his pages are proof of his sincerity. Except for one or two Spanish generals, whom he cannot endure for the empty pomp and pride which marred the simple valour of their men, he has abundant admiration for friend and foe. He would have you know too, that when he treats of movements and of battles already described, he makes no claim to draw them better. He puts down what he saw with his own eyes, what he heard with his own ears,—that is the value of his work. To me at least he seems to give the very air of the battlefield. He is in the midst of the fight; he makes us see it from inside, breathe the smoke, and hear the hoarse word of command answered by the groan of the wounded.

It may be of interest to some to know that this young soldier was of the Blakeney family of Abbert in County Galway, where they were granted lands in the time of Queen Elizabeth. They came thither out of Norfolk, where, I am told, there is a Blakeney Harbour, which was called after them.

The Robert Blakeney of these Memoirs was born in Galway in 1789, joined the army in 1804, and left it in 1828. Not long before his resignation he married Maria Giulia Balbi, the last of her ancient family whose name is in the Libro d’Oro of Venice; for between her birth and that of her brother the Venetian Republic had come to an end. The little Maria was brought by her parents to Corfu. In that most lovely island of the world she grew to womanhood, and there she loved and married Robert Blakeney, whose fighting days were done.

Successive Lords High Commissioners were Blakeney’s friends, and found him work to do. Under Lord Nugent he was Inspector of Police in Corfu; under Sir Howard Douglas he was Inspector of Health in the Island of Zante; and later, under Lord Seaton, he became Resident of the Island of Paxo. This office he held for twenty-one years, until he died in 1858 in his seventieth year.

So there came to him, when he was still young, a life of peace passed in a land of dreams. But the thoughts of the old soldier turned often to the more misty island of his birth, and to that famous peninsula made sacred to his memory by the blood of gallant comrades. His heart grew warm again as he summoned from the past the battles, sieges, fortunes of his adventurous boyhood, the happy days of youth, of friendship and of war.

JULIAN STURGIS.

CONTENTS.

CHAPTER I.
PAGE
I JOIN THE ARMY AND MAKE ACQUAINTANCE WITH THE PERILS OF THE SEA[1]
CHAPTER II.
I SERVE IN A DANISH CAMPAIGN WITH SMALL GLORY[7]
CHAPTER III.
WE LAND IN THE PENINSULA[14]
CHAPTER IV.
WITH THE ADVANCE OF SIR JOHN MOORE[22]
CHAPTER V.
WE RETREAT WITH SIR JOHN MOORE[31]
CHAPTER VI.
WITH THE REARGUARD OF THE RETREATING ARMY[40]
CHAPTER VII.
THE RETREAT CONTINUED[52]
CHAPTER VIII.
THE RETREAT CONTINUED[66]
CHAPTER IX.
THE RETREAT CONTINUED[82]
CHAPTER X.
THE RETREAT CONTINUED[94]
CHAPTER XI.
AT THE BATTLE OF CORUNNA[108]
CHAPTER XII.
WE AFFECT THE SENTIMENTAL BRITISH PUBLIC, AND GAIN BUT LITTLE GLORY IN HOLLAND[124]
CHAPTER XIII.
WE RETURN TO THE PENINSULA[133]
CHAPTER XIV.
A LITTLE CAMPAIGN FROM TARIFA[152]
CHAPTER XV.
WE ENTERTAIN RIGHT ROYALLY AT TARIFA[167]
CHAPTER XVI.
FROM TARIFA TO BAROSSA[177]
CHAPTER XVII.
IN THE BATTLE OF BAROSSA[189]
CHAPTER XVIII.
WE RETURN TO TARIFA AND THENCE TO LISBON[201]
CHAPTER XIX.
WE AGAIN ADVANCE INTO SPAIN[213]
CHAPTER XX.
IN THE BATTLE OF ARROYO MOLINOS[224]
CHAPTER XXI.
I AM MADE BEAR-LEADER[233]
CHAPTER XXII.
I CONTINUE TO PLAY THE GAOLER[244]
CHAPTER XXIII.
I GET MY COMPANY AND PROCEED TO BADAJOZ[255]
CHAPTER XXIV.
AT BADAJOZ[266]
CHAPTER XXV.
AFTER SOME ADVENTURES BY SEA AND LAND I JOIN MY NEW REGIMENT IN THE PYRENEES[281]
CHAPTER XXVI.
FIGHTING IN THE PYRENEES[296]
CHAPTER XXVII.
IN THE BATTLE OF NIVELLE[308]
CHAPTER XXVIII.
I RETURN WOUNDED TO IRELAND, AND TRAVEL IN A COACH OF THAT COUNTRY[322]
CHAPTER XXIX.
AT THE GRAND REVIEW IN PARIS[333]
CHAPTER XXX.
AT BRUSSELS WITH DUKE D’ARENBERG[345]
CHAPTER XXXI.
I MAKE MY BOW[359]
INDEX[371]