Amongst his whims was that of governing his soldiers without flogging; and in this task (which is no very easy one) he succeeded so well, that when his regiment, the 2nd Battalion of the 48th, was reviewed by Sir David Baird on the Curragh of Kildare, that general officer complimented him by saying, that “it was as fine and as well disciplined a corps as he would ever wish to command.” This is certainly an argument, and a strong one, against the punishment of flogging in the army; but then, to make the argument perfect, we must provide that there should be an “Old Charley” in every regiment; or, in other words, a commanding officer whose qualities of government can supersede the necessity of the lash.
He pleased both officers and men under his command, although he sometimes was harsh with them, for they knew this harshness was dictated by a wish for their welfare—it was that of a father for his children.
The Colonel had been removed from the second battalion to the first, and for a considerable time had not seen his favourite men. Previous to the battle of Talavera, Lord Wellington reviewed his whole army on the plain, in order to show his ally, the Spanish General Cuesta, a specimen of the British forces in all the pride of their excellence. As the Generals rode along the line, which was of immense extent, each soldier stood fixed in his place; each battalion silent and motionless; scarcely the eyelids of the soldiers twinkled, as the cavalcade of the chiefs and their staff rode by. All on a sudden, a bustle and murmur took place in one regiment; its line lost its even appearance; and caps, and heads, and hands, and tongues moved, to the utter dismay of the officer who was in command of it. In vain did he endeavour to check this unseemly conduct in his men, and Lord Wellington was himself astonished and exasperated at the circumstance. The fact is, the irregular regiment was the second battalion of the 48th:—Colonel Donellan happened to be riding along with the staff, in his stiff buckskins, powdered hair, and square-set cocked hat—his men, from whom he had been separated, perceived their beloved commanding-officer, and every one murmured to his comrade—“There goes old Charley!”—“God bless the old boy!”—“Success to him!”—“Does not he look well?”—and so on; bustling and smiling, evidently from an impulse they could not resist. When this was known to the Commander-in-Chief he was perfectly satisfied; and all were delighted as old Charley uncovered, and shook the powder from his cocked hat in waving a cordial salute to his worthy soldiers.
In a very short time after this circumstance the battle of Talavera took place, and then the Colonel showed that he knew the use of steel and ball as well as of powder. He was engaged at the head of his regiment, in the thickest of the fight: for several hours he had stood the fire of the enemy, and drove them from their ground frequently, during which time he had two horses shot under him. The presence of the fine old soldier, like Charles the XII. in scarlet, animated his men, and they fought with the energy of true courage. His voice, as he gave the word of command along the line of his battalion, was like a match to the gun—“Steady, officers! cool, my men—Ready, p'sent, fire—that's the way, my lads.” Thus old Charley, at a word, sent showers of well-directed balls into the blue ranks before him; and in the heat of a well-returned fire, was as cool as on the parade, and as primly caparisoned. He perceived a few of his men fall from a discharge of musketry, at such a distance as made him doubtful of being within range—“Curse the fellows,” said he, “those damn'd long guns of theirs can shoot at two miles off!” and immediately advanced his battalion to such a proximity of the foe, that he soon made them shift their ground.
Very shortly after this, a dreadful charge upon the French was made by the Guards; but in their pursuit they went rather far, and a reinforcement of the enemy came upon them. Colonel Donellan instantly advanced to the support of the threatened regiment at double quick time: but in this glorious moment, the gallant leader received a ball in his knee: he beckoned the officer next in command, Major Middlemore, and, although suffering the most excruciating torture from the wound, took off his hat, and resigned the command just as if he had been on the parade of a barrack-yard. His enraged men went on like lions, taking ample revenge upon their enemies—and that too with the cold iron.
The Colonel, with his knee broken in a most dangerous manner, was, without loss of time, carried to the rear by four of his musicians, and placed on a straw bed in the town of Talavera: had there been surgeons to have amputated his limb on the instant, it is supposed he would have survived; but this not having been the case, mortification took place, and he died on the fourth day after the battle, surrounded by thousands of dying and dead.
Owing to Cuesta's illiberal opposition to Lord Wellington, he, as well as the rest of the wounded, were left in the hands of the French; as were also several English surgeons, who remained at the mercy of the enemy.[6] The Colonel, however, was treated with the greatest respect and kindness by the French officers. Some of them remembered seeing him at the head of his battalion, and warmly praised the veteran's gallantry. His soldier-like appearance, too, commanded their regard, and they carried him in a cloak to the spot on which he had led his regiment so bravely, and there they buried “Old Charley” with the true honours of a soldier.