It is true, that when cantoned the army were spared from these annoyances. The strict eye kept by Lord Wellington over the commissariat at these times, secured a plentiful supply of necessaries for the troops, and under huts or canvass they were tolerably protected from the weather; but at the sieges, the retreats, and the rapid advances in bad weather, nothing could surpass the misery endured through cold and heat, hunger and thirst, continued fatigue, and all the ills the soldier’s life is heir to.
Bright as the hour of triumph appears to the conqueror—brilliant as the foughten field that ends in victory—“the tale of war still bears a painful sound,” and many a heart-rending story of distress might be narrated attendant on the storms of Badajoz and Rodrigo, and the retreats to Corunna and the Lines. The state of the sick, the worn-out, and the wounded, were pitiable. Unable to extricate themselves, numbers, “with vulnerable wounds,” perished of cold and hunger in the ditches of the captured fortresses—or, after struggling to the last, died on the line of march, abandoned of necessity by their comrades, and ridden over or put down by merciless pursuers, who had neither leisure nor inclination to extend succour to these deserted sufferers.
In speaking of the retreat from Burgos, an infantry officer says,—“The privations which the army suffered were unusually severe: I saw many a brave fellow lying on the road, dying from fatigue, famine, and the inclemency of the weather. On one spot, about one hundred English and Portuguese soldiers lay extended after the retreat. One miserable instance, was a soldier of the ninety-fifth; having marched as far as he was able, at last he sunk from exhaustion, and crawled upon his hands and knees, until he expired.”
Another thus describes his misadventure. “We travelled the whole of that night, our army in full retreat, and the French in close pursuit; the weather wet and miserably cold, and the roads so drenched, it was up to the middle in mud; the animals were knocked up, and I unfortunately fell into the hands of the enemy, a French hussar regiment, who treated me vilely.
“They knocked the cart from under me, sabred the men, and dragged me into the middle of the road; stripped me, tearing my clothes into shreds, and turning me over with their sabres, plundered me of what little I had remaining; tore a gold ring from my finger, and then left me naked, to perish with cold and hunger.
“I lay in this miserable state two days and nights, with no mortal near me, except dead ones; one of which lay with his head upon my legs, having died in that position during the night preceding, and I was too weak to remove his body; I could not raise myself, I was so reduced.
“In this suffering state I continued to exist, which I attributed to some rum, of which I drank a considerable quantity from a Frenchman’s canteen, who was humane enough to let me do so, when I explained to him that I was a British officer: the rum soon laid me to sleep. The Frenchman was a hussar, and appeared to belong to the regiment who had treated me so inhumanly in the morning (it was now past dusk). I begged him to take me up behind him. He shook his head; but kindly took an old blanket from under his saddle, covered me with it, and then rode off.”
In this wretched state the narrator was discovered by an Irish soldier who turned out a true Samaritan.
“The poor fellow found me literally in a state of starvation, and took me upon his back (for I was quite helpless) to the village; begged food for me from door to door; but the inhuman Spaniards shut them in our faces, refusing me both shelter and food, at the same time they were actually baking bread for the French. However, my fellow-sufferer, by good chance, found a dead horse, and he supplied me with raw flesh and acorns; which, at the time, I thought a luxury, believe me, and devoured, when first given me, in such quantities, as nearly put an end to my sufferings.”
A very creditable exception must be made in favour of the Spanish women, who, during the Peninsular campaign, exhibited the greatest kindness towards the British, and afforded to the sick or wounded soldiery the most disinterested and devoted attention. In the higher classes this feeling was frequently indulged, even at the risk of family or personal proscription; and it would appear that among the humbler grade a warm sympathy existed towards their deliverers. “Two girls, daughters of the baker of the village, notwithstanding the threat of punishment to those who should relieve me, absolutely did, two or three times, bring me a little food saved from their own meals.”—Military Recollections of Four Brothers.