Perseverance is a Scottish virtue, and Anton, with the industry of a Robinson Crusoe in kilts, set to work to invent a third hut. It represented a gallant but melancholy attempt to secure the comforts of domestic life amid the severities of war:—
"I set about constructing a hut that should be proof against wind and rain. One of my officers (Lieutenant D. Farquharson) very kindly made an offer of any pecuniary assistance I might require, and gave me a blanket to replace that which was lost. The latter I accepted gratefully, it was more than money could purchase; the former I declined, as I was far from being in want.
"I now became a complete Robinson Crusoe in my daily labour, when regimental duties permitted; and much I owe in gratitude to the memory of those who then superintended those duties for the indulgent manner in which I was treated, and not being troubled with vexatious interruptions to draw me off from my domestic avocations. They are now no more; they have fallen on the battle-field of a foreign land. A few men willingly afforded me every assistance; their only recompense being a small drop of spirits, which my wife had carefully reserved from my daily allowance. The wood was at no great distance, and the face of the hills was covered with broad ferns, which served for thatch.
"I now laboured hard for three days, and every spare hour, when off duty, was dedicated to the rendering of my hut proof against the weather. My friend Fraser gave me the use of the intrenching tools, and I dug an ample space within, three feet deep, and a trench around the outside, four feet deep; this was to carry off the water from the roof, and the latter I secured more substantially than many of our Highland bothies are in the north of Scotland, or than the cabins in the remote districts of Ireland. We were enjoying the comfort of its nightly shelter, and I was adding something daily towards its stability for upwards of two weeks; at last I constructed a fireplace under the roof, and one of the men had brought a bundle of sticks for fuel, and the fire was lighted for the first time.
"I was sitting on my knapsack taking a late dinner, quite at home, with the dish on my knee, for I had no table, when the drum beat 'Orders.' I set down my dish (a wooden canteen, the one end of which was taken out) unfinished, attended the call, and with no small regret heard that the camp was to be struck, and everything ready to be moved off that night (November 9, 1813). I cannot express how vexed I was to leave my little habitation, my sole property, which I held by military right; but I was bound to follow my feudal superior. I had reared it at the expense of a blister on every finger, and I exulted as much over it, in secret, as the rich man in the Gospel did over his extensive possessions and his plentiful stores. On leaving the camp that night, many of the married people set fire to their huts, but I left mine with too much regret to become its incendiary; and my poor Mary shed tears as she looked back upon it, as a bower of happiness which she was leaving behind."
What the poor soldier's wife felt as she hung in the rear of the fighting line and watched the drifting smoke, pierced with gleams of red flame, where her husband stood to shoot and to be shot at; or with what emotion she scrutinised the figure of each wounded soldier limping, or being carried, to the rear cannot be guessed; and Anton does not stop to tell. Perhaps he had not imagination enough to understand any such emotions in his wife's bosom. Nothing, indeed, is more wonderful than the unconquerable cheerfulness Anton shows, as a husband, under all conditions; and if his wife ever grumbled, Anton does not allow her complaints to become audible to us. After the passage of the Nivelle the regiment encamped on the actual scene of the fighting. Says Anton:—
"We bivouacked on the field until morning, and fortunately for us the night was fair, though cold and frosty. This was the first night on which my wife and I had to lie down with no other covering than a blanket between us and the sky, but we had many worse nights than this afterwards, and worse fields before us; however, on looking around, we generally saw many worse off than ourselves; and, doubtless, were we always to look into others' misfortunes or sufferings, when we suffer ourselves, we would find some cause for self-congratulation amidst the most distressing hardships."
It would be interesting to know whether Mrs. Anton shared her husband's stubborn Scottish philosophy. But she is the inarticulate figure of the two. Her notes on her husband's memoirs would be very interesting; but, unfortunately, they are not handed down to us. Occasional glimpses are afforded us of the experience of other wives whose husbands probably had less of resource and address than Anton. Here is another picture of a woman's experiences in a campaign:—
"In the neighbourhood of our bivouac were a few straggling houses, in which some staff officers took up their quarters, and our guard was posted under the leafless branches of a chestnut tree in the close vicinity. The sergeant of our guard, being a married man, considered himself very fortunate in having secured a small pig-sty near his post for his wife's accommodation, and the poor woman felt happy in the possession, small as it was; for its roof was a shelter from the wintry blasts, and its contiguity to the guard left no room to fear danger, were she permitted to keep possession; however, this was not to be the case.
"Our adjutant's clerk, who had never occasion to approach the field in time of danger, had taken up his quarters in one of the adjoining houses, after the action ceased, but, being dispossessed by some superiors, and every other place preoccupied by soldiers who would not suffer his intrusion, he meanly invaded the miserable shelter selected for the poor woman. In vain she remonstrated with him, in vain she requested him with tears to allow her the sole possession of a place so unfit for his accommodation, and which she had laboured hard to clean out for her own; but to no purpose, she might remain if she pleased, but he should not depart. It is doubtful whether we had a woman in the regiment so regardless of her character as to have taken a night's shelter, in the absence of her husband, otherwise than with the crowd, where no advantage could be taken of her situation or weakness; but every man acted towards a modest woman with that kindness which he would towards a sister. Indeed, we had women in the regiment that, if they had been in possession, would have kept him out and put him at defiance to enter, but this one was not possessed of that masculine boldness; she therefore bundled up her few articles, and, hastening across the road, the only distance by which she had been separated from her husband, threw herself in his arms and burst into tears.
"Three months only had elapsed since this couple joined the regiment. She was a comely, modest, interesting young woman, and always unassumingly but cleanly and decently dressed. But allowing that she had had but few or no accomplishments or amiable qualifications to recommend her to sympathy, it is but natural to think that whatever distressed her affected the husband. They had as yet seen or experienced but little of the petulant intrusions or consequential presumptuous ill-manners to which soldiers and their wives are sometimes obliged to submit without remonstrance. 'What is the matter with you, dear?' the sergeant asked, somewhat astonished at her unexpected appearance. 'Oh!' she exclaimed, 'I've been turned out o' yon bit placey that I was in, an' I'm come to stop wi' you a' night.' 'Who turned you out?' the sergeant hastily inquired. 'Oh, say naething about it, I'll be as well here wi' you as I would ha'e been yonder by mysel'; let us mak' no disagreement about the matter wi' them that we canna shake oursel's free o'; let the proud little creature keep it to himsel' in quietness; we are strangers as yet, so dinna let angry words be heard.' 'But what creature turned you out? surely it was not a man.' 'Ay, he thinks himsel' ane;' she whispered, 'It was G—t.' 'Is it possible,' said the sergeant, 'that a married man can be possessed of so little feeling as to turn you out to the inclemency of the night, and neither his wife nor child accompanying him to plead for the accommodation?' 'I am happier with you,' she replied, 'than if I had lain all night in yon hole; but, dear, oh, dear, how hard it rains; the fire will be drowned out, an' we'll be starved to death before mornin'.'
"'Poor body!' the sergeant ejaculated, as he wrapped the blanket round her shoulders, 'I'll soon make a good fire; sit you under that branch of the tree, the reek will annoy you less, and the drops will not fall so thick nor so heavy.' 'I'm well enough,' she returned, 'and I care na' for the reek or the rain when wi' you; but dinna min' the fire till this heavy dag's o'er, ye'll get yoursel' a' wet.' The sergeant threw a faggot of wood on the fire, and in a short time nothing was heard but the rattling of rain and hailstones, the braying of mules, and the tinkling of their bells.
"This was a severe night, the rain poured down in torrents until midnight, when it was succeeded by snow, which covered the face of the country before daybreak."
It may be suspected that Anton, who is much given to literary excursions and alarums, has infused a little of what he regarded as appropriate pathos into this scene. Nevertheless, it is a picture with real human interest.
Here are some additional examples of what the soldiers' wives in Wellington's campaign suffered. The troops had to ford the Adour, whose ice-fed and ice-cold waters were swollen with winter rains. Says Anton:—
"In passing through, the men supported each other as well as they could, so as to prevent them falling, for the stones in the bottom were very slippery. The wife of a sergeant of one of the regiments attempted to pass on a donkey with a child in her arms, and owing to some sudden stumble or slip of the animal, the child gave a start and dropped into the stream; the distracted mother gave a shriek, leaped after the infant, and both were swept off by the rapid current in the presence of the husband, who plunged into the water in hopes to recover them, but they were gone for ever, and he himself was with difficulty rescued. After this accident, the women who were following the army remained until the bridge was so far repaired as to enable them to pass over."
Anton's own wife had an unfortunate experience on the Adour:—