I have digressed thus far before touching on a subject that, no doubt (although I have not seen any work of the kind), has been written upon, and upon which much diversity of opinion did exist at one time in England; whether it still exists or not I shall not pretend to say, not having been in the United Kingdom for some years; but certain it is that a very general opinion was prevalent that the war in the Peninsula was carried on, on the part of the peasantry, in a spirit bordering more on a crusade than the ordinary exertions of a brave people struggling for liberty, and that those heroes fought more like a parcel of devils incarnate than mortal men. Indeed, the engravings struck off at Lisbon in commemoration of those days certainly represented them as a gigantic, ferocious people, while the few British that were thrown into the background looked like so many dwarfs who were afraid to come to close quarters with the French. I have ever combated this mistaken opinion, nor does the recollection of the hundreds of those heroes that I have seen marched to the different depôts, handcuffed like a gang of criminals, weaken the view I have taken of the voluntary part the Peninsular people took in the contest. In a word, their plan was this:—
The moment our troops had completely routed a body of the enemy’s infantry, strewing the ground with dead and wounded, disorganised a park of artillery, or unhorsed some squadrons of dragoons, then, and then only, would these gallant fellows sally forth from their lurking places, and (first taking the precaution to put a stop to any sort of parley from their unfortunate victims by knocking them on the head) completely rifle them of everything they possessed. On the contrary, if our troops met with any reverse, as in the case of Don Julian Sanchez and his ragged band, our allies would take advantage of every incident of ground, and make one of their rapid retrograde movements, sufficient to baffle the evolutions of the most redoubtable legère regiments in the French army. This I say is the true harassing system, and the one suited to the genius of the Peninsular nations. It weakens your enemy, and is attended with no risk to yourselves or your friends, which is the same thing; but in England many think that the Portuguese and Spaniards did as much, if not more, during the Peninsular contest than the British army.
Matters remained tranquil in our neighbourhood after the battle of Fuentes d'Oñoro, and the retreat of the army of Portugal across the Agueda, and Lord Wellington employed himself in giving directions for the repairs of the injury inflicted by Brennier upon Almeida previous to his evacuation of that fortress. The troops had recovered from their fatigues and were fresh again and ready for anything, when accounts reached us from the Alemtejo that General Beresford was carrying on the siege of Badajoz, in which operation he was likely to be disturbed by Marshal Soult, who was on his march from Seville. Our division broke up from its cantonments on the 16th of May, and Lord Wellington, who rode at a rapid pace, reached Elvas in three days. There he received the report of the battle of Albuera.
The weather was fine and we continued our route without any forced marches, taking the old beaten track through Castello Branco, Niza, and Portalegre. Our march was uninterrupted by any particular incident; we had no enemy near us, and were therefore left to ourselves.
The French army have the character of being the best marchers in Europe, and I know from experience that no men, to use a phrase of the Fancy, understand better than they do how to “hit and get away”; nevertheless I would say, that an army composed exclusively of Irishmen would outmarch any French army as much as I know they would outfight them. The quality which carries a Frenchman through, and enables him to overcome obstacles truly formidable in themselves, is his gaiety, and his facility of accommodating, not only his demeanour, but his stomach also, to circumstances as they require it. An Irishman is to the full as gay as a Frenchman; if he does not possess his piquant wit—and I don’t say that he does not—he has in a paramount degree the rich humour of his own country, which is nowhere else to be found. He can live on as little nourishment as a Frenchman; give him his pipe of tobacco and he will march for two days without food and without grumbling; give him, in addition, a little spirits and a biscuit, and he will work for a week. This will not be a task so easy of accomplishment to the English soldier; early habits have given him a relish for good eating, and plenty of it too; if he has not a regular allowance of solid food, it is certain he will not do his work well for any great length of time. But an Irish fellow has been accustomed all his life to be what an Englishman would consider half-starved; therefore quantity or quality is no great consideration with him; his stomach is like a corner cupboard—you might throw anything into it. Neither do you find elsewhere the lively thought, the cheerful song or pleasant story, to be met only in an Irish regiment. We had a few Englishmen in my corps, and I do not remember ever to have heard one of them attempt a joke. But there are those who think an Irish regiment more difficult to manage than that of any other nation. Never was there a more erroneous idea. The English soldier is to the full as drunken as the Irish, and not half so pleasant in his liquor.
These opinions are, however, mere matter of fancy. Some of our best regiments were English, and one, to please me, decidedly the finest in the Peninsular army, the 43rd, was principally composed of Englishmen. Then there was that first-rate battle regiment, the 45th, a parcel of Nottingham weavers, whose sedentary habits would lead you to suppose they could not be prime marchers; but the contrary was the fact, and they marched to the full as well as my own corps, which were all Irish save three or four. But if it come to a hard tug, and that we had neither rations nor shoes, then, indeed, the Connaught Rangers would be in their element, and outmarch almost any battalion in the service; and for this plain reason, that scarcely one of them wore many pairs of shoes prior to the date of his enlistment, and as to the rations (the most part of them at all events), a dozen times had been in all probability the outside of their acquaintance with such delicacies.
But the grand secret in a good marching, good fighting, or loyal regiment, one not given to a habit of deserting, is being well commanded; because the finest body of men may be ruined, the efforts of the bravest regiment paralysed, and the best disposed corps become marauders and deserters, from having an inefficient man at their head.
Colonel Alexander Wallace, who commanded us for so many years, and under whom the regiment repeatedly covered itself with glory, was the very chief we wanted. Although a Scotchman himself, he was intimately acquainted with the sort of men he had under him, and he dealt with them and addressed their feelings in a way that was peculiar to himself and suited to them. In action he was the same as on parade, and in either case he was as he should be. If we were placed (as we often were) in any critical situation, he would explain to the soldiers what he expected them to do; if in danger of being charged by cavalry he would say, “Mind the square; you know I often told you that if ever you had to form it from line, in face of an enemy, you’d be in a d—--d ugly way, and have plenty of noise about you; mind the tellings off, and don’t give the false touch to your right or left hand man; for by G—d, if you are once broken, you’ll be running here and there like a parcel of frightened pullets!” But Colonel Wallace was out of his place as a mere commander of a regiment; he was eminently calculated to head a division, because he not only possessed that intrepidity of mind which would brave any danger, but genius to discover the means of overcoming it. It was by his foresight that our brave companions, the 45th, were sustained in their unequal contest with Reynier’s division at Busaco; and Lord Wellington, who saw and fully appreciated the manœuvre, rode up to the 88th Regiment, and seizing Colonel Wallace by the hand, said: “Upon my honour, Wallace, I never witnessed a more gallant charge than that just now made by your regiment.” The dead and wounded of the 2nd and 4th Léger, the 15th and 36th (four French regiments which were opposed to the 88th singly), lay thick on the face of the hill, and their numbers gave ample testimony that we deserved the praises bestowed upon us by our General. The 45th also came in for their share of praise, and no battalion ever merited it better than they did;—at one time they were engaged with nearly ten times their own number.
It was the fashion with some to think that the 88th were a parcel of wild rattling rascals, ready for a row, but loosely officered. The direct contrary was the fact. Perhaps in the whole British army there was not one regiment so severely drilled. If a man coughed in the ranks, he was punished; if the sling of the firelock, for an instant, left the hollow of the shoulder when it should not, he was punished; and if he moved his knapsack when standing at ease, he was punished—more or less of course, according to the offence. The consequence of this system, exclusively Colonel Wallace’s, was that the men never had the appearance of being fatigued upon a march; and when they halted, you did not see them thrusting their firelocks against their packs to support them. Poor Bob Hardyman of the 45th said the reason the Connaught Rangers carried their packs better than any other regiment was “that they never had anything in them”! and, to speak candidly, we never had more than was necessary, and in truth it was very little that satisfied our fellows.
At drill our manœuvres were chiefly confined to line marching, echelon movements, and formation of the square in every possible way; and in all these we excelled. Colonel Wallace was very unlike an old Major who, having once got his battalion into square, totally forgot how to get it out of it. Having tried several ways, each time more effectually clubbing the sections, he thus addressed his officers and soldiers: “Gentlemen! I can clearly discern that there is a something wanting, and I strongly recommend you, when you reach your barracks, to peruse Dundas![[14]]—Men, you may go home,” and he thus dismissed them.