Such was the end of a campaign, the commencement of which augured the most fortunate results. The men who composed this fine army—which, at Rodrigo, Badajoz, and Salamanca, carried all before them—were now greatly changed for the worse. Scarcely a man had shoes; not that they were not amply supplied with them before the retreat commenced, but the state of the roads, if roads they could be called, was such, that so soon as a shoe fell off or stuck in the mud, in place of picking it up again, the man who had thus lost one kicked its fellow-companion after it. Yet the infantry was efficient, and able to do any duty. No excesses were committed, for Lord Wellington having taken the precaution of keeping the army away from the different villages, no man had an opportunity of obtaining wine or spirits, and thus drunkenness and insubordination were not added to the list of our misfortunes.
But the cavalry and artillery were in a wretched state indeed. The artillery of the 3rd, 6th, and 7th Divisions, the heavy cavalry, together with the 7th and 12th Light Dragoons, were nearly a wreck; and the artillery of the 3rd Division lost seventy horses between Salamanca and Rodrigo. It was next to impossible that the artillery and cavalry could have made, if vigorously pursued, three marches beyond the latter place. What force, then, was to arrest the enemy in his pursuit?—The infantry, and the infantry alone; yet this main-prop of the army was, by mismanagement, left without the means of nourishment! Had not the infantry, by their firmness in bearing up against all the evils they had to surmount—such as bad clothing, no tents to shelter them from the heavy rains that fell, and no means of dressing their food—presented the front they did, the army must have been lost before it could have reached Gallegos; and, if equal zeal had been exhibited by the general officers in providing for the wants of their troops, as was shown by the subordinate officers in the maintenance of discipline amongst them, the well-known letter of Lord Wellington would never have been written.[[36]]
[36]. Almost every officer of the Peninsular army who has written on the Burgos retreat, from William Napier downward, joins in the protest against Wellington’s objurgatory general order against his regimental officers, published at the end of this retreat. Grattan’s murmurs are but a sample of the rest.
The officers asked each other, and asked themselves, how or in what manner they were to blame for the privations the army endured on the retreat? The answer uniformly was—in no way whatever. The junior officers had nothing to do with it at all. Their business was to keep their men together, and, if possible, to keep up with their men on the march, and this was the most difficult duty they had to perform; for many, very many, of these officers were young lads, badly clothed, with scarcely a shoe or boot to their feet—some attacked with dysentery, others with ague, and more with a burning fever raging through their system, they had scarcely strength left to hobble on in company with their more hardy comrades, the soldiers. Nothing but a high sense of honour could have borne them on; and there were many who would have remained behind, and run all risks as to the manner in which they would be treated as prisoners, were it not for this feeling. The different bivouacs each morning presented a sad spectacle—worn-out veterans, or young lads unable to move, were abandoned to their fate. Some were thrown across the backs of the commissariat mules, and conveyed to the rear; but this was rare, for the drivers were obliged to make all haste to reach their destination, and the frames of the men, worn down by sickness, unhealed wounds, or old ones breaking out afresh, were unable to bear the jolting of the mules, and these men generally preferred taking their chance on the line of march to submitting to such an uneasy mode of conveyance.
Thus ended the year 1812, and thus ended our retreat upon Portugal. The details I have given of that retreat have not been the least exaggerated. It had, nevertheless, but little effect on my regiment, the 88th, for we scarcely lost a man by fatigue or sickness. The “boys of Connaught” were not much put out of their way by the want of shoes, a good coat to their backs, or a full allowance of rations: they took all those wants aisy! In short, it was astonishing to see the effective state of the regiment, as compared with others, when we reached our cantonments.
Since I commenced these pages, I have endeavoured to impress my readers with the idea—and I hope I have succeeded—that the 88th were none of those humdrum set of fellows that ought to be classed with other regiments; they, in fact, had a way of their own! There are many who will agree—cordially on this point, at least—with me; but their reading and mine of the text may be widely different, nevertheless.
The 88th was a regiment whose spirit it was scarcely possible to break, and the many curious incidents which occurred during this retreat afforded them ample food for that ready humour for which they were proverbial, and for which they got full credit; but, nevertheless, they still are in arrear, and they owe a debt to themselves which they must pay off—no matter what the price may be. It was well for them that they had food for their humour, for they had little for their stomachs; but that did not cause them much uneasiness. The state in which some of the officers were placed was quite pitiable. Many were obliged to throw off their boots, their feet having become so swollen that they could not bear them. Those so circumstanced were necessitated to look to the soldiers for a new fit-out. But where could that be found? The men themselves, not caring much whether they had or had not shoes, left those they had worn in the muddy roads, and it would not be an easy matter to find on this same retreat a second pair with any man. However, by hook or by crook, those who wanted shoes were supplied; yet, though the soldiers might be termed the shoemakers of their officers, they never got the upper hand of them!
