I arrived at the Crown Inn at Deal about dusk, where I found some of my brother-officers just set up; for they had returned on shore after having embarked that day. To get a bed was out of the question, either in the house at which I stopped, or any other in the town; for every hole and corner, crack and cranny, was crammed. My friends, consisting of five as jolly subs as ever looked out for a company, and myself, sat down in the coffee-room, and there we “kept it up” until three o'clock A.M.; when, stretching ourselves at full length upon the carpet, in company with about two dozen more, we slept until half-past nine o'clock, and arose as refreshed as if we had reposed all night upon a bed of down.
The afternoon of that day I spent in providing those little articles which were pointed out to me as necessary by an old campaigner,—one of Sir John Moore's; and having done this, as well as replaced what I had lost at Canterbury, I went with my companions on board the vessel wherein were our head-quarters,—a transport: here I dined, and felt myself once more at home. I really felt it was my home; for I thought then, and think now, that the home of every officer ought to be the place where his regiment is.
We had an excellent mess, and our sea-stock was worthy of the approbation of the Commander-in-Chief himself—every thing was fresh, good, and strong.
We lived on board, expecting every day to sail; but occasionally visited the town, any thing like the bustle of which I never beheld: a most soul-thrilling and interesting scene there presented itself at all hours of the day; myriads of splendid uniforms—military and naval, lovely women, money flying, trade in full motion, faces all smiles, and the weather all beauty,—glasses, cups, and bottles, savoury odours, and harmonious sounds,—every thing alive and on tiptoe with delight! The fine yellow beach stretching along before the houses, within twenty yards of which were its waves foaming brightly, and slowly rolling! the wide and majestic expanse of the Downs literally covered with ships, about which boats were constantly crowding; signals passing through the fleet; the sound of occasional guns; the constant arrival of vessels to join the divisions; the bands of music in the ships and in the boats on the waters!—all made such an impression on the senses, as may not be renewed once in a century.
On the 27th, the Blue-Peter was flying, and next morning, at half past ten o'clock, the signal was made for the sailing of the third division of the fleet, to which our regiment belonged. The anchors were soon weighed, and with a light breeze we set sail from the Downs, for the “unknown land.”
As I had settled all my sentimental matters before I left London, (for which the post is my debtor some odd pounds,) I had nothing to restrain my mind from the enjoyment of the scene before me; and perhaps the thought that I was now quitting those I held dear as life, might have added to the interest with which I contemplated it. The land lessening into blue mist; the ocean expanded to my view, not in a solitary ship, but in the midst of moving cities; hundreds on hundreds of vessels, holding on in the same steady course together, with the warlike crowd visible on the decks of all; when contemplated in the mass, the whole North Sea seemed like a forest! It was a scene sublime and magnificent beyond description.
We had no bad weather; a fine light breeze favoured us during the whole of our voyage; and at night it was not the least delightful of our pleasures, to listen to the glees of the German riflemen who sailed in our division; they were at once harmonious and characteristic, and gave a charm to the scene which kept many a hundred listeners awake. It has often been a matter of annoyance to me, to think that the peasantry of Great Britain alone are the only people in Europe who cannot sing in harmony; the lower orders of every other country are qualified to take a part in a glee. Amongst my countrymen, I have heard even an harmonious second condemned as “not in tune,” or “putting the singer out!” Of late years, however, the nature of harmony has been more comprehended—no doubt, arising from the practice of singing psalms;—if so, this is one good thing that may be set down to the credit of “the saints.”
On the 29th we came in sight of the low sandy shores of Zealand, and on the 30th we anchored within about two miles of Campveer, having safely explored a most dangerous gut or branch of the Scheldt, every ship sounding as she proceeded; while “By the Mark Seven” was melodiously sung by the crews of the various vessels! A calm and sunny day added much to the effect of the scene.
The troops were now landed, our baggage remaining on board, and General Frazer, under whose command our regiment was, proceeded to attack Campveer. A small battery in our way was abandoned, and the enemy hotly followed to the gates of the town. So sudden was the panic, that Colonel Pack, with his regiment (the 71st), pursued them even beyond the first drawbridge, and was proceeding to attempt to take the town by assault, when two six-pounders were brought to bear by the enemy in front of him, which cleared a lane through our men, killing eighteen and wounding twenty-six: among the former were an ensign and an assistant-surgeon. The latter's head was completely blown to atoms. It has been thought by many, that the French left the drawbridge down on purpose to lead their assailants into a trap; and this opinion is strengthened by the trickery which is well known to prevail throughout the French mode of warfare. Colonel Pack very narrowly escaped being taken prisoner; in fact, he may be said to have been a prisoner, for a few moments after his regiment retired in confusion: he escaped, however, by cutting down the French soldier who took him.
Campveer is an inconsiderable fortress, and was then garrisoned with not more than 400 men; therefore it could not have been supposed to stand long against such a force as we were capable of bringing before it. The fact was soon proved: one day's cannonade and bombardment from our gunboats silenced their batteries, and the garrison capitulated.