It was twelve o'clock next day before proper quarters could be procured for my wounded friend; and about an hour before we removed him from the hospital, Lord Paget, Captain Paget of “the Revenge,” and Captain Richardson of “the Cæsar,” came in to visit the wounded. My friend was lying upon one side, apparently asleep, after having taken a cup of tea. These officers made the kindest inquiries after, not only him, but every man who seemed to be severely wounded. Next to my poor friend lay a man who had been shot through the body two days before; he was sitting up, or rather propped up by pads or pillows, and suffered, to all appearances, excessively from difficulty of breathing,—I suppose from being shot through the lungs. Captain Richardson recognized him as a man who came to Walcheren on board of his own ship, and spoke to him in the most tender-hearted manner. “Poor fellow!” said the Captain, “he has a wife and five small children, God help him!” and the manly weather-beaten cheek of the sailor felt the purest tear upon it that sensibility ever shed. He strove to restrain his feelings, and turned aside. The poor wounded soldier wept loudly as he cried “God bless your honour!” and those who were present joined in his feelings. Captain Richardson was, from appearance, the last man in the world, I should have thought, to have been capable of the “melting mood,” for he was a brawny stern son of the sea; however, the feeling heart was there; and never did it appear more evidently than in the behaviour of that rough sailor. I am convinced that the last moments of the poor soldier (who very soon after died) were softened by his tenderness. Lord Paget and his brother did honour to their feelings also, in the kindness and solicitude they manifested for the sad sufferers; indeed, his Lordship (I understood from one of the surgeons after the siege was over) visited the hospital several times a-day, divested of all the “pomp and circumstance” of his rank, and used to go from bed to bed, making the kindest inquiries about the men. Here, too, appearances would have deceived as much as with Captain Richardson, but in a different way; Lord Paget was a perfect military beau, bedecked with all the gaudery of a cavalry general, still farther set off by the oak branch waving gracefully in his chapeau, the very picture of military splendour; yet the feeling heart was shown in him as well as in the rough sailor: indeed his Lordship's subsequent conduct at Waterloo proves that the best qualities of the soldier may glow beneath feathers and embroidery. Truly, now-a-days it does not appear necessary that a good soldier must be dressed, like Charles the XIIth, in greased jack-boots and buckskin breeches; for it is generally reported in the army, that the Duke of Wellington has been heard to say, that “his dressy officers were his best soldiers.”
My wounded friend was now removed to a house in the village, where there was not a being but an old woman, and a little boy of about nine years old, whose name (Yacob) was as quaint as his dress—a fac-simile of the costume of Queen Anne's time—knee-buckles, shoe-buckles, tight cravat, and a three-cornered “pinch,”—his lips holding a short tobacco-pipe, which he smoked by command of the old woman whenever he went out of doors. These two denizens of the cottage had only returned to West Zuburg that morning with a few other inhabitants. They were of great use in attending upon my friend; and to do the old woman justice, she behaved with great humanity, notwithstanding the irritable state of her mind, owing to the presence of the army in her village. She was very obliging except whenever her china basons or plates were touched, and then she lost her temper; for like Goldsmith's tea-cups, they were only ranged for show.
I continued with my friend for two days, during which time the poor fellow talked almost incessantly of his father, and felt every apprehension of death: alas! this was but too well-founded; for after giving me his watch and other little articles of value for his parent, he closed his eyes for ever. The last duties were performed next day over his body and that of a German rifle officer, who was killed the day before. The officers of their respective regiments attended, and in plain deal coffins we consigned to the earth the bodies of two as fine young men as any in the army.
It was a melancholy scene; yet there was a stern terror in the circumstances around, which kept the mind from indulging in weakness. There was no tear shed, and few words were spoken. The melancholy drum, mingled with frequent sounds of cannon from the town, was the dirge; and the deserted village through which the procession moved, with the warlike figures composing it, imparted feelings indescribable, and only to be understood by those who have been in similar circumstances. The sense of death and desolation, together with the peal of the cannon, wrought their combined effects on the faces of all; and I firmly believe, that had the officers and men, composing the mournful procession, their choice of immediate battle or undisputed victory, they would have taken the former. Woe to the foe who should have dared to encounter them at that moment!
The enemy continued to annoy the British lines during the whole of the time we lay before the town (twelve or thirteen days) previous to the bombardment. Their riflemen were constantly creeping in front, behind low walls and fences, to pick out an odd man from our working-parties, and our German riflemen played at “hide and seek” with them wherever they could. The guns and mortars from the town, too, were ever and anon employed upon any party, or even a single man, at whom they could be brought to bear. The shells were also thrown amongst the huts or houses in which the enemy supposed any of our men might be, so that we were obliged to be constantly on the look-out, to avoid them when they fell. As instances of the precision with which they, as well as the shot, were thrown, I will mention two cases; one relating to Major Thompson, of the 68th, and the other to Mr. Cheselden, assistant-surgeon of the 81st. The former had moved out from behind the cover of a hedge, to direct some of his men, who were employed in working; he had not been thus exposed two minutes, when a shell was thrown close to him, and exploded, shattering his right arm below the elbow. This officer, on having the limb amputated, appeared to suffer no more than if the surgeon had been merely bleeding him; he looked steadily at the movements of the knife, occasionally directing the assistants to bring water, sponge, &c. &c. The other instance was this: Mr. Cheselden, in company with an officer of the Quartermaster General's staff and another, was amusing himself in looking over the lines. They had stopped upon a rising part of the road to talk with an orderly man and a drummer, who stood near. In a few moments a gun from the town was levelled at them, and the shot struck the earth close by, passing through the group, knocking them all down, and almost covering them with fragments of earth and sand. Worse consequences, however, followed: Mr. Cheselden's thigh was shattered, and the orderly man killed; the others received no injury except the discoloration of their clothes. The assistant surgeon's thigh was immediately amputated.
The annoyance from the enemy's rifles was a good deal lessened by the brigade of sailors. These extraordinary fellows delighted in hunting the “Munseers,” as they termed the French; and a more formidable pack never was unkennelled. Armed, each with an immense long pole or pike, a cutlass, and a pistol, they appeared to be a sort of force that, in case of a sortie, or where execution was to be done in the way of storming, would have been as destructive as a thousand hungry tigers: as it was, they annoyed the French skirmishers in all directions, by their irregular and extraordinary attacks. They usually went out in parties, as if they were going to hunt a wild beast, and no huntsman ever followed the chase with more delight. The French might fairly exclaim with the frogs in the fable—“Ah! Monsieur Bull, what is sport to you, is death to us.”
Regularly every day after their mess (for they messed generally on a green in the Village of East Zuburg) they would start off to their “hunt,” as they called it, in parties headed by a petty officer. Then they would leap the dykes, which their poles enabled them to do, and dash through those which they could not otherwise cross; they were like a set of Newfoundland dogs in the marshes, and when they spied a few riflemen of the French, they ran at them helter-skelter: then pistol, cutlass, and pike, went to work in downright earnest. The French soldiers did not at all relish the tars—and no wonder; for the very appearance of them was terrific, and quite out of the usual order of things. Each man seemed a sort of Paul Jones—tarred, belted, and cutlassed as they were. Had we had occasion to storm Flushing, I have no doubt that they would have carried the breach themselves. The scenes which their eccentricities every hour presented, were worthy of the pencil of Hogarth. Among the most humorous of these, were their drills, musters, and marchings, or as they generally called such proceedings, “playing at soldiers.” All that their officers did, had no effect in keeping either silence or regularity; those officers, however, were “part and parcel of the same material as the Jacks themselves, and as able to go through the pipe-clay regularity of rank and file, as to deliver a sermon on the immortality of the soul.” But the fact is, they were not either expected or intended to be regular troops, and their drills were merely adopted to teach them to keep together in line when marching from one place to another; so that they might not go about the country after the manner of a troop of donkeys. These marches and drills afforded the highest degree of amusement, both to soldiers and officers; the disproportion in the sizes of the men—the front rank man, perhaps, four feet one, while the rear rank man, was six feet two; the giving of the word from the “middy,” always accompanied by a “G—— d——n;” the gibes and jeers of the men themselves. “Heads up, you beggar of Corpolar there,” a little slang-going Jack would cry out from the rear-rank, well knowing that his size secured him from the observation of the officer. Then perhaps the man immediately before him, to show his sense of decorum, would turn round and remark: “I say, who made you a fugle man, master Billy? can't ye behave like a sodger afore the commander, eh?” Then from another part of the squad, a stentorian roar would arise, with “I'll not stand this, if I do, bl——t me; here's this here bl——y Murphy stickin' a sword into my starn.” Then perhaps the middy[12] would give the word “right face,” in order to prepare for marching; but some turned right and some left, while others turned right round and were faced by their opposite rank man. This confusion in a few minutes, however, would be rectified, and the word “march” given: off they went, some whistling a quick-step, and others imitating the sound of a drum with his voice, and keeping time with the whistler, “row dididow, dididow, row dow, dow”—every sort of antic trick began immediately, particularly treading on each others' heels. I once saw a fellow suddenly jump out of the line of march, crying out, “I be d——d if Riley hasn't spikes in his toes, an' I won't march afore him any longer,” and then coolly fell in at the rear. “Keep the step,” then was bandied about, with a thousand similar expressions, slapping each other's hats down upon their eyes, elbowing, jostling, and joking—away they went to beat the bushes for Frenchmen; and even when under the fire of both the hidden riflemen and the rampart guns, their jollity was unabated. One of these odd fellows was hit in the leg by a rifle-ball which broke the bones, and he fell: it was in a hot pursuit which he and a few others were engaged in after a couple of the riflemen, who had ventured a little too far from their position, when, seeing that he could follow no farther, he took off his tarry hat and flung it with all his might after them; “there, you beggars, I wish it was a long eighteen for your sakes.” The poor fellow was carried off by his comrades, and taken to the hospital, where he died.
Lord Chatham generally visited the lines every alternate day, attended by his staff and a few general officers, but he seldom remained long with us, and returned to his quarters at Middleburg. The more detailed duties were left to Sir Eyre Coote, who was extremely active during the whole time of the siege. Some amateurs also came occasionally from Middleburg, and we began in a few days to feel a little more comfort; for various pedlars ventured amongst us with different commodities, which greatly ameliorated our situation. The villages of East and West Zuburg became like a fair, with this exception, that the houses were deserted by their inhabitants and occupied by military officers. One of the civilian visitors had a very narrow escape in one of his walks, for in the midst of his contemplation of a statue in the garden attached to Sir Eyre Coote's quarters, a cannon-ball struck the marble, and threw the fragments about him. He soon decamped, and I will venture to assert, that he kept at a more respectful distance from the scene of operations ever after. Except an attempt to drown us all by opening the sluices, which failed, nothing very particular occurred after the sortie, until the bombardment. This threatened flood alarmed every body for a short time, but several of the principal inhabitants came from Middleburg to examine the state of the sluices, &c. and gave it as their opinion that the utmost extent of the threatened mischief could amount only to annoyance from the water, as they had it in their power to counteract its effects by means of their sluices and canals at Middleburg.
By the 11th, the heavy cannon had been all brought up to the lines, principally dragged by sailors, and on the 13th (Sunday) at one o'clock all our batteries were ready to open. Every gun was manned, and the matches lighted, while a deathlike silence pervaded the air, not a breath stirred, and the sun was broadly shining, when the signal was given, and a hundred metal mouths opened upon the devoted town. The peal was like a thousand thunder claps: it shook every thing around, and gave to every heart an ecstasy of courage. At the moment the men felt that they could have conquered thrice their numbers—their countenances brightened, and every peal seemed to impart an electric delight to their bosoms. The cannonade continued without an instant's intermission until 10 o'clock in the evening, when it ceased; but the mortars continued to throw shells during the whole of the night. Immediately after the cannonade ceased, the Congreve rockets were despatched upon their destructive missions. It was the first time they had been used in hostility; and indeed the manner in which they were managed, amply proved that practice was much wanted in order to render these destructive engines effective. Not more than one in six fell within the walls of the town, and a much less proportion went far enough to do injury. They usually dropped short in the ditches, and for the first hour we had no hope that the evil could be remedied; however, an improvement in their discharges might have been gradually observed. A more awfully grand effect cannot be imagined than these rockets produced. They and the mortars continued to play all night without intermission, and the garrison bravely returned the fire as well as they could; but the guns on the ramparts at many points were gradually silenced, and on the whole, the enemy was evidently getting the worst of the affair. Next morning, Monday 14th, the fleet bore up, and attacked the town, the walls of which were washed by the sea; they were mostly line-of-battle ships, and commanded by Sir Richard Strachan. It was about ten o'clock in the morning when they passed. They were full in our sight, and a grander effect could scarcely be imagined than the sight of their operations—sailing with a light breeze slowly up the broad Scheldt, and nearing the town, these immense moving batteries, as they passed, poured in tremendous broadsides, which were returned from the town. At each discharge from the ships, the bricks, tiles, &c. were seen flying into the air, whereas little or no effect was made on the ships by the guns from the town. One after the other following the same track, and doing similar execution, each grand and beautiful vessel passed by, until the St. Domingo grounded close to the town. In consequence of this, she was terribly peppered for half an hour—after that time the tide rose sufficiently to float her off; but she, sooner than remain idle, amused herself with repeated broadsides; so that, considering the immense damage done to the town, I am of opinion that the enemy would have much rather that the accident had not happened.
This attack from the sea did an immensity of damage to the enemy, and contributed mainly to their conquest; indeed, they were so completely reduced, by this time, to all appearance, (having but a few guns capable of service,) that a flag of truce was despatched to them, in the full expectation that they would capitulate, and thus save farther injury to the unoffending inhabitants of the town. During the negotiation, which lasted about two hours, our ears were relieved from the monotonous thunder of the field, and we hoped no more blood would be shed in taking the place. But in these hopes we were disappointed, for the Commandant, General Monet, was determined to hold out to the last. In consequence of this the whole of the batteries were opened again upon the devoted town at about sunset, and with redoubled energy, for our men felt provoked at the enemy's obstinacy, and laid their hands to the work with renewed spirit and determination. The sailors' battery, containing six twenty-four-pounders, almost split our ears. These enthusiastic demidevils fired not as the other batteries did, but like broadsides from a ship—each discharge was eminently distinguished by its terrific noise, for the guns were all fired at once, and absolutely shook the earth at every round. So vehement were these seamen in their exertions, that they blew themselves up at last! This was done by a little squat fellow, who served the guns with ammunition: he placed a cartridge against a lighted match in his hurry; this exploding, communicated with a large quantity of powder, and the natural catastrophe followed. About twenty of the brave fellows, among whom was a young midshipman, were severely burnt and bruised; out of which number, were I to judge from their appearance as they were carried past us, I should suppose not more than half a dozen recovered. They were all jet black, their faces one shapeless mass, and their clothes and hair burnt to a cinder. In the midst of their suffering the only thing that seemed to ease them, was swearing at the little sailor, who was the author of their misfortune; while he, poor creature, in addition to his wounds and burns, patiently suffered the whole torrent of his comrades' abuse.